[Fiction] The Reservation, Part Two

If you're behind, the first part of The Reservation is here

Carson examined the sleek back barrel of his Falstaff Arms M-31 Manstopper. He peered through the rangefinder and flicked through its settings idly. It chirruped happily as the sabots cycled in the barrel. After a moment he sighed and slipped the weapon back into the holster beneath his shoulder. It nestled snugly under his arm and reminded him, more so even than the badge in his coat pocket, of the power given to him by the City.

Sweat dripped from the tip of his nose and splattered against the replica oak desk. It was always hot outside the City – these yokels either didn't have proper air conditioning or didn't see the need for it. Even here, with a whole solar array on the roof and fans spinning overhead, they couldn't keep the damn thing in repair. Supposedly there were weather satellites up above controlling the whole affair. Why, then, couldn't they just make it temperate out all the time?

His reverie was interrupted by the sound of someone coming into the office. The door hissed open and the buzzer on his desk chuckled appreciatively, as though he couldn't see across the room. The sheriff's building was a simple prefab hut of exoplastic and chemsteel girders and little more than ten yards across so he didn't see the need for an alert system: there was no way he could miss a complainant.

Not that there were usually many of them. The locals really didn't like to be seen coming or going in the office, and that was fine by Carson. The less he saw of them the better, really. He hadn't yet been on the Syndic payroll back during the resistance, but he knew people who had.

Standing there in his doorway was the mechanic in the greasy overalls. John something-or-other. Carson stubbed out his cigar (those goddamn ecoleaves where disgusting anyway -- so much for the triumph of hydroponics) and leaned back in his chair. The damn thing groaned under him like it was ready to fall apart. "John," he said magnanimously. "What brings you in?" He feigned nonchalance, as though he had been in the middle of something important. The reality was he had little to do in the day-to-day and couldn't wait for the week-long leave he got once a month.

John shuffled uncomfortably in the center of the room. He was leaving grease stains on the floor. "It's about Mister Gutman," he said. "I need to lodge a complaint."

Carson rolled his eyes. These hicks all hated the Gutmans, probably because they were jealous of his connections. The Gutmans had some sense (though not much, since they lived here) and had started working with the Syndic. John must've noticed the expression on the sheriffs face because he held up his hands and said, "I wouldn't be here if it wasn't important, sheriff. Sam Stalton sent me."

He sat up at that. Sam Stalton might be one of these recidivists, but he had a head on his shoulders. A frown creased Carson's face. "Tell me," he said.

---

Sheriff Carson didn't have the kind of manpower for this. Once John had finished his story and the sheriff had grilled him six different ways he made an executive decision. "I'm going out there." John started to complain, but Carson cut him off. The sound of the Manstopper cycling its rounds was enough to enforce his point.

John made his way back to the diner, lingering along the roadside and watching as the sheriff's aircar grew smaller and smaller before it finally turned off towards the farm. Several trucks thundered by as he walked. He recognized each of the drivers: local folk. There was Sylvia in her giant red airtruck, which kicked up dust and grit as its compressors clinked and tinkled with sounds of heat. He could have a look at it, if she stopped in town any time soon. Next came Gus and Tom in rapid succession, both in their electric flatbeds. They were heading back to their farms.

Last of all was the white hydrogen coupe that John knew belonged to the Gutmans. It was coming in from the City so he went as fast as he could over to the diner after that. Sam was gone when he got inside and he called Edith for a cup of coffee and one of the soggy donuts that sat in vegetable oil for three days before they were served to anyone.

It didn't matter. Greg Gutman thrust himself into the diner moments later, his thick waist buckled with a wide belt displaying a prominent pressing of his own name. It had clearly been made for him in the City. Having worked with cars, tractors, engines, compressors, air filters, condensors, and cooling coils all his life he had a good eye for synthetic material. The snakeskin belt the buckle sat on was synthetic too, of course, but everyone knew that. It was good synth, but synth all the same.

It spoke to the place Greg Gutman had found himself in the world. He'd been a big-time cattle rancher, once upon a time when his hair was oily black instead of gray. He and Sam Stalton had seen some of the resistance together and it had been the Gutman money that had finally helped win the day. The people up in the bureaus and departments (John had a very hazy understanding of how things worked out towards the City) generally kow-towed to Greg Gutman. He had his share of toadies.

That was how he'd won the wind farm contract, though the Stalton place had more land and the wind was more regular and of greater strength out at Sylvia's. She didn't mind, though. She liked driving her route, though someday soon the trains would make it irrelevant. Cost a hell of a lot of electrodollars to power an air compressor engine and the Syndic had already built the tracks. Everything was always changing, even something so simple and basic as shipping.

Mister Gutman came right over to him. "John," he said. He spoke expansively, broadly, with his belly thrust out as though it were a third member of the conversation. His little goatee made his fat face seem even fatter, comically oversized chins a vast wasteland of unclothed flesh. "You didn't get around to fixing the GM yet, I hear from the Missus."

"Not yet, sir," John said, trying to maintain eye contact. Looking into Greg Gutman's eyes was like staring into a twin pair of watery quagmires. They were like quicksand. He looked away. "I haven't gotten a chance yet."

"That's alright, John my boy," said Gutman amicably. He clapped John on the back with a too-broad and too-firm palm. John aspirated some coffee but managed to reign in his coughing fit before it could put Mister Gutman off too much. "I was hoping to show it off to the Adjutant when he comes down this week. Shame to see Sheriff Carson go, but he needs his holidays I understand."

Oh no, thought John. Carson was going to be gone for a whole week come Wednesday. If the stories' out by then, what will I do? Mister Gutman was a powerful man. There's no telling what powerful men like him would do to hold on. The Adjutant wasn't a friend of John Harpers, either, no more than he was a friend of anyone in this town. He came around infrequently to cover Carson once every now and again and, though he was the official representative of the district to the Syndic, he seemed to care less for its people as Carson did and that was saying something.

Gutman held on tight to John's shoulder instead of lifting his hand. His grip was beginning to make John nervous. "Why don't I give you a lift up there?"

"Oh, no thanks," John stammered, dropping his doughnut. Crumbs of aspersucre fell from his fingers in a little shower.

"Now, now, it's self interest, really," Gutman charmed. "I just want you to have a look at the GM before you get too busy later in the day." Those big fat fingers massaged his shoulder, rolling across the muscle painfully.

There was no way John could say no without raising suspicion. Well, he figured, at least the sheriff would be there with him.

Asking People Stuff

It seems that people have forgotten how to live without the internet. When you have a question, how do you answer it? Increasingly, the common answer is to pull out your smartphone and check Wikipedia or even Google. This isn't an inditement of the modern age, as I'm not a Luddite–I love having information at my fingertips, it's revolutionized how we find things and the way memory works. After all, why do I have to have an amazing memory when the internet acts as a collective memory for all of society?

But, as I said in Information Before the Information Age, there are skills that are atrophying amongst people used to bathing in a sea of (nearly) free information. One of those is the simplest of all: Asking People Things. Where's the nearest inn? Have you heard anything about those creepy ruins? How can I find Lady Soldava's house? Do you know the best path over the mountains? These questions are simple ones that things that could save the lives of many PCs. But, more and more, they don't ask them.

The First Test

So, we went through about 4 hours (online time, that's probably 1/2 hour of in-person playing) of the Heart of Darkness (we call it Heart of Dorkness) module last night. Here are my thoughts:


* Need a longer time before the players enter the valley and the "fun" starts, otherwise they don't even know what's happening when they start getting slammed with foes.

* Probably gonna need an "on horror" section to help DMs describe things in a horrible (do ho) way. I'm not a fan of boxed text, so unless someone comments that they MUST HAVE IT, I am not going to include it.

* Some of the actual text of the adventure that I thought was pretty done turns out to not be pretty done after all. I gotta work on that.

* The pregens, after tooth-pulling discussions about how other people were going to have to play them too, actually turned out being pretty awesome.

* Steve's artwork is great and I can't wait to start laying out Heart of Darkness.

Stories that define a World

Fantasy stories tend to get stuck into a particular kind of trope, namely defining the world in which they take place. As a nascent writer (I'm not very good at long form stuff, and some might argue that my short stories leave something to be desired as well) I like to think about these kinds of things. This isn't really related to D&D, save incidentally, but is more about the nature of fantasy.

So, anyhow, fantasy stories tend to take a world-definitive approach. When you read a fantasy story, you probably aren't going to read a second one set in the same world: the world has been defined and its heights and depths clearly staked out. If there are more stories to come, they will be set in a future time when the world has changed because, let's face it, you've seen it all already.

Fantasy, unlike most other genres, often seeks to exhaustively define every aspect of its setting. The heroes go to all the places and meet all the people. Every major event is incorporated. Everything changes at the end. Perhaps this is a hold-over of the mythic hero-journey. Here's what really interests me: most other genres of writing don't do that.

You wouldn't read a murder mystery and think "Huh, I've seen everything there is to know about earth now. I've pretty much exhausted all the places in it." That's because murder mysteries don't seek to define the entire planet, they simply exist within it. Fantasy tales are generally about big, world-changing, sweeping events. They must by their nature define the world they exist in both because their plots are about changing everything and because the reader doesn't really know what the setting itself is.

Against Scholarship

Wizards in Arunia are strange creatures. I mean, I'm sure they're strange everywhere, but the inspiration for Arunian wizards comes from a pastiche of particularly strange sources. Of course there's some Gandalf in them, but there's a whole lot of Soulcatcher and Lady in there as well. What, never read the Black Company? You should! Whether or not you should before we go on with this little essay is up to you.

Magic is a powerful force, and those few who wield it are substantially different from the masses of Artless Arunians... even if it is only because they think they are. Sorcerers and wizards hold themselves apart from society, as evinced by the infamous Arunian phrase "Wizards build tower." Schools of like-minded wizards have existed (generally in the far past) and continue to exist (in some exotic lands) but they have the deck stacked against them from the outset.

Men (and elves) are contentious creatures. They cannot be in each other's company for long without coming to a disagreement over something. Competing philosophies lead to bloodshed but it needn't be something so high-flung as that: theft, envy, greed, insanity... there's a whole host of ills just waiting to insert themselves into social situations and put people at odds. There are destined to be arguments, even if they are only small ones that end with every party agreeing they were in the wrong, collectively taking the blame, and moving on.

Except wizards aren't like most people. When your neighbor gets angry that you've emptied your chamber-pot on his store-sign, he yells at you because that's what he can do. If he's very angry he might threaten you with a club or bit of wood. That's because your neighbor can't bend the fabric of reality to his will. Wizards are, after all, self-important little demigods. And like demigods of any real-world religion, they're prone to infighting.

Struck but unharmed

This is a topic that was brought up on The Dragon's Flagon: what happens if you are struck by something gigantic? In Second Edition, the giant thing provokes a saving throw (usually vs. breath weapon) to see if you can fling yourself out of the way. So far so good, right? But what happens if that giant thing is tossed by, say, a giant? Well, now it's an "attack" and you don't do anything. The giant rolls to-hit and the boulder either strikes you or passes you by.

Why is this unsatisfactory? There are many reasons. The first and most obvious was brought up Mr. Treasure, and that is this: armor can't protect you from boulders, axes the size of a bus, or hammers with a 15' long haft. These things are less like attacks and more like traps. The giant doesn't have to work very hard to try to hit you, he only needs to pass his weapon into roughly the same space that you're standing in.

I'd take the attack roll for throwing objects. Perhaps you're struck a glancing blow by a boulder that's tumbling towards you, saved by your armor. But no one who is struck by a giant's hammer, glancing or otherwise, is going to be ok.



Eric suggests a saving throw to avoid being hit. I think that's a good idea, but it does reduce a combat action to a "sure thing" every round for the gigantic attacker. He will be scattering the party hither and yon with every step, sending folks flying or diving for cover. Maybe that's good! I don't know, I haven't seen it in play yet.

We are certainly going to try it out and see how it fares. It may be too much, it may be just right. Either way, it is an excellent suggestion because there's just no way that I can see a man being hit with a bus and standing there unharmed, no matter how good his armor.

The World Is Wide or In Media Res

You can write the most gripping and detailed setting document you want. You can record yourself singing ancient epics of your land. You can patiently sit your players down and tell them about the world. Yet you are still guaranteed to find that, at least a few times, there are players who just don't want to hear it or read it. These people aren't malicious and they aren't stupid, they simply don't find any joy in reading setting material that is unrelated to their own experiences. They may be a bane to your existence or you may in fact be one of them. The thing is, anyone can have this experience at any time.

I used to write very long setting documents. Rambling mythologies, I would take my players on long walks around my highschool campus and describe in gory detail the relationships of the gods and the world, how magic worked, and all that jazz. People who didn't pay attention I singled out as troublemakers, paying close attention to them and making sure I gave them more material to absorb on the theory that if they were paying attention less and I threw them more, at least some of it might stick.

The Contract

As a player in a social game, I recognize that the following contract (which until now has been unwritten) applies to my behavior and I will try to follow its standards as best I can.

1) As the fun of each relies on the fun of all, I will do my best not to design characters who have core problems with other members of the party.

1a) As a corollary to the first point, I shall not design a character who, before the game has even begun, wants to kill another PC for any reason.

2) As this is not a primarily thematic medium (in an Aristotelian sense), I shall refrain from making characters with unresolved issues that I can resolve throughout the course of the game and instead allow such instances to arise naturally, if at all.

3) I realize that not all evilly aligned people need to be assholes and can, in fact, be quite charming and pleasant. I will only play an asshole if my group approves.

3a) As a corollary to the third point, I realize that not all evilly aligned people would betray their closest friends and allies for a small material gain and I shall endeavor not to do so if I do decide to play someone evil.

3b) As a further corollary, I will not play an evil character if there is general outcry from my DM or group.

4) I shall engage in inter-character bickering and banter only to the extent that it is amusing and not to the extent that it actually splits the party into fighting factions.

5) Every one of these rules relies on the agreement of each player and I realize that we can collectively agree to break any of them at any time... but until such a time as that (when each party, including the DM) has vocalized a desire to break these rules, I shall do my best to abide by them.

Chicken with Plums

Ali Nasser was a great violinist... and now he wants to die. This film, by the author of Persepolis, is a wonderful meditation on what art means, how we live our lives, and how we relate to and with other people.

I saw this movie yesterday and I felt that, contrary to my popular style, I wouldn't write an essay or give you some stats but rather simply encourage you to go out and find somewhere playing this before it was gone. It was only available at one theater in NJ, in Montclair, so I don't know if it's still playing anywhere.

If not, maybe give it a little download from a torrent site and, if you enjoy it as much as I did, buy it afterwards.

Sunday Sneak

So I thought I'd let you all in to the Atlas of Arunia stuff I've been working on behind the scenes. This is part of the boxed set, which won't come out until next year (around GenCon) or later -- next year, I suppose, if we're lucky. For those of you who reviewed Sordid Stories or The Imperial City, never fear: the October Frightfest known as Heart of Darkness is pretty much textually finished, I just need to run it a few times and see where/if it is broken or made nonsensical by player action.

So, without further ado, here is the opening of the Atlas of Arunia:

Arunia, the World

The phrase Arunia Ecumenia (ah-ROON-yuh ec-yoo-MEN-iya) in Varan and all dialects of elvish means “the inhabited world.” Arunia Ecumenia is made up of many parts. The easiest and most prominent division is that made by the scholars of the north: Atva-Arunia, Arunia Oriens, and Sudus-Arunia, that is Northern Arunia, Eastern Arunia, and Southern Arunia. Of course, this simplistic division does little to capture the multitudes of cultures, kingdoms, and geographic regions of the land.

Atva-Arunia is made up of a number of continents: Aquilis, Avium, Substrictus and the semi-mythical Domum Nubium which we can translate easily as Cloudhame. Aquilis, Avium, and Substrictus are contiguous land masses and one can (somewhat) easily traverse between them. Cloudhame lies far to the north, in the Sea of Clouds, unreachable save by ships stocked with months of food and a crew capable of making a dangerous icy voyage.

Death or Retirement

Like classical tragedy and comedy, there are two ends that may come to a character in a D&D game. These represent continuity and discontinuity; while classical tragedies end with a death and classical comedies with a marriage, something similar can be said about the career of many a PC. Replace marriage with retirement, and you have a paradigm that is eminently workable in both theme and particulars to describe the life of an average PC.

Discontinuity is by far the most likely course for a character, even once they pass that dangerous threshold of the first level and manage to get some experience under their belts. There are endless opportunities to die and the law of averages states that the longer a PC pushes his adventuring career the more likely it is to end in sorrow. The tragic death (for in this example all deaths, whether filled with poignant dramatic irony or not, are tragic) of a PC completes the arc -- unless they are returned from the grave, but we all know that I personally believe that cheapens the very meaning of death itself unless it is rare, difficult, and grim.

Bad wrong fun

I've been keeping an eye on the hits and I can see that you guys are getting tired of monsters and magical items. Which is good, because I have an essay here for you today.

Sometimes, when people don't like some argument being advanced against their chosen system they invoke the internet meme NOFUNALLOWED or Bad Wrong Fun. This is to suggest that their opponents, who are launching these nofun attacks, are pedantic to the point of absurdity and that their arguments amount to "You thought that was fun, now I want you to stop it." While it is possible that the exact scenario I have described has come up before, I have never ever seen nofun invoked in a case like that. The cases I see are always markedly different.

Magic of Miles, Vol. V

These are the last of the magical items I have prepared for the Milean Empire. I know there's been a lot of these recently, so I promise this will be the last one of the month!

Travel Charm

xp value: 200
gp value: 800+

Travel charms were first created by the Sacred Heralds in the dark ages after the Fall. During the long decline of Miles, the roads became more and more dangerous to travel and the Heralds turned to the nascent Poor Knights of Vaela for assistance. Together the paladins of Vaela and her Sacred Heralds created the first Travel Charms that can now be found all throughout the communities of pilgrims, wanderers, and merchants.

Travel charms come in a variety of shapes but the most common is a blank shield with a tall staff behind it. They are most commonly made of silver though it is not unheard of for them to be made of gold or even electrum. They are almost always worn as pendants with a small minority having been created as broaches and cloak pins.

The affects of travel charms are minor but useful. They grant a +1 bonus to all saving throws, a +1 bonus when checking to see if the character is surprised (as the charm helps prevent ambushes) and allow characters wearing them to find better paths, speeding their progress by 1d4 miles per day. These effects do not stack with multiple charms in a group and only one character can attempt to pathfind.

Xoantha Staff

xp value: 2,000
gp value: 20,000

Xoantha is a legendarily sacred wood that grows only in warm climes and was first cut upon the isle of High Aellon. Xoantha-wood is said to be the most magical of all trees and thus has classically served as the wood used in the most powerful staves and wands though, famously, the Wands of High Sorcery were actually not made of xoantha.

The xoantha staves to which this entry refers are neither the most powerful nor the most unique of the staves available to wizards. However, they were made with some frequency during the ancient and ancient-classical period and thus can be considered more distinctly Milean than more powerful and unique staves that were made in Miles, High Aellon, Llynder, or any of the other ancient and ancient-classical civilizations.

The xoantha staves of Miles are, like all wands and staves made of that legendary wood, knotted and twisted. The Milean schola and wizards of the dark ages that made these staves did not band them with gold, iron, or any other metal nor did they plane or pole them into lengths of wood straight as an arrow. As such, they are unsuitable for use as melee weapons and thus suffer a -1 penalty to-hit when wielded as normal staves.

However, a wizard wielding a xoantha staff has access to a number of powerful benefits that make up for this. Firstly, the staff can be used to create cantrips or unseen servants three times per day. Additionally, all saving throws against the spells cast by the wizard will suffer a -1 penalty. Dispel magic spells used by the wielder are cast as though they are two levels higher.

They can also be commanded to radiate light of any color by muttering the appropriate command words. This light appears hovering above the tip of the staff as a flaring heatless flame.

Lastly, charges can be expended to power the following abilities:

1 charge  -- Floating Disc
2 charges -- Dispel Magic (cast at 12th level)
3 charges -- lightning bolt

Magic of Miles, Vol. IV

It seems as though this series shall never end! Here's some more of the Milean magical items that you know you want! Don't worry, there's only one more to this series (at the moment).

Index Stone
xp value: 500
gp value: 1,500

These small stones, related to Ioun stones, are rounded and come in a variety of colors depending on their strength. They were originally created by the god Quilian Knowais and were given to his most favored gnomish servants. Many of these stones found their way beyond the borders of the empire and are now in the hands of Quilian monks, scholars, and priests of all kinds.

Index stones are the size of a skipping-stone and hover around their users head much like Ioun stones. They gather and collate data from the region around them and transfer the knowledge directly into the mind of their user. This informs the user exactly where (in each book, on each scroll, wherever) the exact piece of information they are looking for is located.

Note that the index stone cannot decode magical writing; however, it will inform the user where information is located even if they cannot themselves read it. It will not translate this information for the user. In addition, it is easily fooled by magical writing-traps and has a tendency to direct a seeker towards pages with those traps on them when they attempt to find information contained nearby.

Red Stone:  30 yards
Blue Stone: 60 yards
Yellow Stone: 100 yards
Orange Stone: 160 yards
Green Stone: 200 yards

Ring of the Scholars
xp value: 800
gp value: 5,000

These ancient rings were created by the imperial schola by their high magisters. The rings are made of jet and chased with gold and many of them contain a stone of some value. Like all magic rings, they change their size to fit any finger.

Each ring of the scholars contains a storehouse of knowledge equivalent to one obscure knowledge proficiency. Many of these are varying types of sage knowledge or ancient history though languages are common as well. As the ring is slipped onto the finger, this knowledge instantly becomes available to the character wearing it... however, once the ring is removed, the knowledge fades from the wearer's mind and the physical form of the wearer is wracked with weakness; they lose 1d4+1 strength and 1d4+1 constitution (but never fall under less than 1). These points return at the rate of 1 per hour.

Additionally, removing the ring immediately wipes the character's mind of all wizardly spells that have been stored in memory.

Semul-shield (Shield of the Charge)

xp value: 1,550
gp value: 10,000

These shields were first made in the dark ages after the fall of the Second Empire. They sprang up in the valley-kingdoms that succeeded the Second Empire during a time when local nobles were badly pressed by the violent circumstances of the imperial collapse. This was also the time that scholars posit the first semul statues were carved for noble houses and the art of heraldry came across the sea from Llyris.

Semul-shields can bear a plethora of heraldic devices upon their faces. Most have been repainted and repurposed since their original creation during the bloody dark ages, but those that are truly from that period can be identified by the strong aura of magic that surrounds them.

These shields blunt all attacks coming at their wielder from the direction in which the shield is borne (for example, from the front if the wielder holds it strapped to one arm, from the rear if strapped to the back, etc); all weapon damage from this direction is reduced by 1 point per die. Additionally, they provide a -2 bonus to AC and grant their wielders a passive 10% magic resistance.

Staff of Brass

xp value: 1,700
gp value: 13,000

Staves of Brass are very rare in this later age of the world though not as rare as their more powerful counterparts, the Staves of Iron. They were originally made by the dwarves and brought to Miles as gifts for the emperor and his court. They were replicated by dwarven smiths who stayed on in the city and a number of them were eventually made for Milean nobility and high officials.

The staves of brass are legendarily heavy, requiring a Strength 15 to wield properly. Everyone else attempting to use it suffers a -4 penalty to-hit. They act on speed 6 (as opposed to speed 4) and have no magical to-hit bonus; however, they deal double their dice in damage when they do land a hit. They are also filled with magical charges that can be expended to accomplish the following effects:

1 charge -- shatter (40' radius)
2 charges -- passwall (self only)
4 charges -- dig (once per day only)

Staff of Iron

xp value: 3,000
gp value: 30,000

Created by Hierian priests with dwarvish aid during the heyday of the empire, these relics are also known as the staves of law. They were modeled on the earlier staves of brass but vary from those dwarvish relics in many important respects. Firstly, they are constructed of a core of iron and wrapped with bands of gold which is itself inscribed with passages from the Scrolls of Law in ruby ink.

Secondly, these staves are magically light and can be wielded by just about anyone. However, if a chaotic character grabs one of these staves it deals 2d6 points of damage to them until they let it go. Many of the functions of the staff of iron can only be used by lawful priests, though lawful characters of other classes may still utilize some of their powers.

Staves of Iron deal 2d6 damage when they strike their opponents and count as magical weapons of the +2 variety. They have a +2 bonus to-hit and damage when wielded against chaotic enemies. Lawful priests receive the benefit of 20% magic resistance when wielding a staff of iron and may attempt to dispel hostile magic once per day -- in this case, the staff itself casts dispel magic at their command.

Magic of Miles, Vol. III

What's that? More magical items from Miles? Don't mind if I do!

Milean Shortblade
xp value: 1,000
gp value: 1,200

Short swords were common use during the late Second Empire and have been a staple of imperial weapon-smiths ever since. The type of short-blade to bear this specific enchantment (the most common enchanted short swords in the empire) were once given out to senior aides, generals, and diplomats of the empire. Legend says that they were enchanted by one of the ancient schola and this is born out by the school-marks imprinted upon the base of the blade near the hilts.

The enchantment woven around them makes them unnering in combat, granting a +1 bonus to-hit and a +2 bonus to damage. They are extremely fast and well-weighted, giving them a speed of 1. Any wounds made by one of these ornamental short swords will bleed for two rounds afterwards, dealing an additional 1d4 points of damage.

Plumed Helm

xp value: 600

gp value: 6,000+

The nobility of Miles love displays of wealth and nothing shows off their power so much as an antique, except perhaps something from far away. The plumed helms of Milean knights manage both: peacock feathers from Mugharia (or even more exotic ones from Zesh) adorn these refurbished magical helms. Middle Second Empire in age, there are only a few hundred of these particular helms in the empire though it has become quite the style for the high nobility to fashion replicas.

Plumed helms deflect all critical hits that would strike the head, blunting them by the force of the gold-chased Maidic runes wrought upon their steel. In addition, those wearing a plumed helm will find fewer blows striking them (-1 bonus to AC) and discover that their sight has greatly improved, allowing them to pick out details at a range of about 300 yards.

Quill of Expedience

xp value: 200

gp value: 800

These quills have actually only become more common in recent centuries with the formation of the Grand Conclave of Wizards in Miles. Quills of expedience were first created by Quilian monks in the abbey of Saint Winter's on the Mermarche border and they spread to the capitol with great rapidity. There are perhaps five or six thousand such quills in the empire and smaller numbers that have made their way abroad.

Often known as the "scholar's ally" or the "wizard's friend," the quill, when placed upon a blank sheet of parchment, can hover in place and record the dictates of its master as he speaks. While this is useless for long documents (it cannot turn pages) or recording spells (since there are unnutterable sounds required), it serves as a common first-try enchantment for wizards getting their feet under them in the world of making enchanted items.

These quills are most often made from cockatrice feathers, though rocs have also been proven to produce passable results.

Troubling the Dead: Dwarven Draugr

Today we have a discussion of the dwarven draugr, or tomb-spirits, that can sometimes be found guarding the treasures of their clans or even their personal wealth. It's important to note that dwarves of all stripes (but particularly iron dwarves) are buried with great stores of money. Their bodies are generally not interred into the earth but rather placed into sacred sarcophagi or otherwise bound up and preserved.

Magic of Miles, Vol. II

Today I have three more items from the Milean magical items series...

Dwarfmake Armor
xp value: varies
gp value: 1,000+

There are several iron dwarven clans that live within the borders of the empire, which is good for imperial soldiers because that increases the chance that they'll be able to purchase some of the finest armor in the world. Generally dwarfmake refers to two things: either (the correct and precise definition) to armor that was made completely by dwarves from ore to finished product or to armor that was made by another race but was forged using superior ore purchased from dwarven furnaces.

The first type is true dwarfmake, and generally encompasses chain armors which are a favored of dwarven smiths. True dwarfmake armor is superior in all ways to mundane armor, being imbued with greater toughness and increased protection of a level commensurate with the skill of the smith. Enchanted dwarf armor may take a year or more to produce and can cost an astronomical amount. No dwarf smith will ever willingly work with a mannish one, so labor costs are increased as well.

The second type is common enough in the empire: false dwarfmake, or dwarf-steel armor is made from ore refined in the hidden furnaces of the dwarves. Since mannish bloomeries cannot refine iron ore to such a pure degree, plate armor is generally only made from dwarf-steel. Whether enchanted or not, plate armor costs a pretty penny. There are also dwarf-steel loricas and scale armors as well, though they are less common.

Magic of Miles, vol. I

I just landed a job the other day working at a startup that is going to call for long hours -- very long hours. I'm not sure what my schedule is going to look like in terms of the week, but I can imagine it will be at least 40-50 hours. That may cut into my ability to post up thoughtful essays, so I may have to reduce the number of them that I post.

On the other hand, I worked all night to bring you a multi-part series on magic items from the Milean empire! Here are the first four:

Ancient Lorica
xp value: priceless
gp value: 5,000+

These suits of banded armor have survived from the imperial period (generally the late empire). Whether they have been hidden in tombs or preserved by imperial nobility, the ancient pedigree of these suits alone makes an individual set at least as expensive as a Milean townhouse. What's more, many of these suits of armor were enscribed with ancient Maidic runes that can still be seen today in inks or etchings of blue, brilliant green, red, black, or white.

Those suits of the lorica antika that were enchanted can fetch upwards of eight thousand gold pillars on the open market. Their enchantments are generally not inconsiderable: the most common is a minor defensive magic (-2 AC bonus) and a boost in physical stature and appearance (+1 to Cha, maximum of 18).

Belt of the Blessed
xp value: 2,000
gp value: 6,000

These belts are common amongst the most powerful levels of Hierian priesthoods and some of the other clergy as well. Descending from the tradition of imperial office being strongly associated with belts (for example, knight's belts, official's belts, etc.), the belts of the blessed are ritual garments that can be bestowed upon heroes of the cult to mark them as particularly chosen by their deity.

The wearer of a belt of the blessed has the eyes of his god upon him at all times. Any time he prays for intervention there is a 5% chance that his deity takes notice (instead of the flat 1% chance). In addition, any spells cast by him or on him by priests of his faith have their maximum effectiveness. Of course, this attention means that his punishments for breaking the dictates of his faith are far more severe than others of his station.

Belts of the Blessed classically appear to be made from hammered gold and red copper, each panel depicting a scene from one of the myth-cycles of the relevant cult. Additionally, the buckle may be cast in the cult's holy symbol.

Back in the OSSR

There seems to be a lot of controversy surrounding the OSR movement. Accusations of elitism or of neglecting core aspects of what makes Dungeons and Dragons D&D fly fast and furious. There is a whole blog devoted to picking apart OSR dungeon and module design (Your Dungeon is Suck) and almost everyone that gets sent to my own blog from rizon.net where we run 10th Age games comes back full of tales of woe about the future of the hobby because of how exclusionary and elitist the Frothing Mug is.

I think that's a misconception about the OSR as a whole. I wouldn't even necessarily consider the Mug to be part of the OSR movement as it is focused on things that are decidedly outside of the scope of most OSR sites. Is there are a Middle School Renaissance? Is there a Second Edition AD&D Renaissance? Not that I know of.

I read a lot of OSR blogs and one of the things that strikes me as a very common cord is humor. The games that most OSR people run are filled with jokes and light-hearted monsters that are clearly not meant to be taken at face value. Many OSR leaders reject verisimilitude in setting, others characterization, and still others the value of comprehensively fleshed out worlds. These are things that are very dear to my heart.

Some maps, some hints, some things to come

Today I have for you some maps from the upcoming October module, The Heart of Darkness. These are depictions of the valley of Strathwait and its one town, Culcomb. Just north of the region known a the Valelands, Strathwait is a narrow valley nestled in the high Black Mountains that looks down on the great and trackless forest of Pinefall.

Several hundred years ago it is said that the Dorls (particularly the half-elvish Dorls in Tyrolin) began eying the Pinefall with angry eyes and muttering that the dwarves of Pinehall should not be its masters. In particular, the elf Tiriodar Baldannus and his nephew Alphonsar agitated for war between the great Protectorate of Dorlan and the tiny dwarven hold that clung to the feet of the mountains.

It's been so long ago in mannish terms; generations have passed. For the dwarves that survived the Siege of Pinehall and the slaughters which followed it seems like only yesteryear. Now Pinehall stands empty and abandoned, its surviving sons and daughters having retreated to the village of Culcomb. The valley's history is dark and full of bloodshed, but Culcomb itself has always been peaceful.

That is, until now...