Human Race-as-class

The folks over at Sanctum Secorum recently did a podcast on Jack Kirby's Kamandi series and how it's deeply influential to the upcoming Mutant Crawl Classics RPG. In their podcast companion (available here for free) they offered a Kamandi-inspired Human racial class that represented them as feral and violent creatures. That got me to thinking: What would a Human race-as-class based on the common fantasy milieu look like? Keep in mind that this is very "broad strokes"/"brainstorming" post that isn't necessarily immediately usable.

General Concept: The keyword I would use for Humans in D&Desque fantasy is "versatile". Think about the fact that in OD&D and most versions of Basic D&D that Humans can be a whole slew of things (Fighting-men, Magic-users, Thieves, Priests, etc) while Elves, Dwarves, Halflings, etc. have much more limited options (the Mystara Gazetteers added extra slightly different racial classes for them).

Hit Dice: Probably a d8 per level. Tough but not too tough.

Arms & Armor: Humans are proficient with all arms and armor except for those unique to other races (no Dwarven urgoshes or Elfin chain for us). What a Human uses ultimately depends on his culture, wealth, location, and personal preference.

Base Attack Bonus: I use the 3.x terminology simply because I just don't like THAC0 that much. Humans aren't necessarily the fightiest guys around so their attacks and bonuses should probably progress as a Rogue/Thief (what 3.x called an Average Base Attack Bonus).

Magic Items: Humans can use any and all magic items they find but if the magic item has some kind of racial requirement ("Only Orcs can use this hat of hatred") then there's a 50% that item will be crumble to dust immediate after the Human uses it. For scrolls and other nerd stuff, treat the Human's HD as his caster level.

Clever Attack: Humans deal extra damage equal to opponents they catch unawares. This deals an extra 1d4 points of damage per point of Int bonus, to a minimum of 1d4 and maximum of 3d4 or thereabouts.

Animal Kinship: Humans have some sort of natural affinity for dogs and horses (or vice versa). These would translate to a +20%/+4 (depending on your skill system) bonus on checks made to befriend/clam/train/whatever such animals.

Animal Enmity: On the other hand, wolves and big cats (cougars, lions, etc.) hate Humans and will go out of their way to attack and/or eat them.

Destined for Greatness (?): Strange forces watch over Humans. Perhaps it is the will of the gods or the manipulations of more sinister forces. In any case, once per day a Human way re-roll any dice result.

Rethinking Hobgoblins

I think it's safe to say that when most RPG players hear the word "Hobgoblin" they tend to visualize something that boils down to "a Goblin but bigger and with decent equipment". If we're mapping out an equivalency between Lord of The Rings and Dungeons & Dragons then Hobgoblins are the Uruk-hai to Goblins' Orcs (as an aside, I suspect that Bugbears are based the Olog-hai).
Of course, that isn't what Hobgoblins were like folklore (at least according to wikipedia):

Hobgoblins seem to be small, hairy little men who—like their close relative, brownies—are often found within human dwellings, doing odd jobs around the house while the family is lost in sleep. Such chores are typically small deeds, like dusting and ironing. Often, the only compensation necessary in return for these is food.
While brownies are more peaceful creatures, hobgoblins are more fond of practical jokes. They also seem to be able to shape-shift, as seen in one of Puck's monologues in A Midsummer Night's Dream. Robin Goodfellow is perhaps the most mischievous and most infamous of all his kind, but many are less antagonizing. Like all of the fae folk, hobgoblins are easily annoyed. They can be mischievous, frightening, and even dangerous.^[3] Attempts to give them clothing will often banish them forever, though whether they take offense to such gifts or are simply too proud to work in new clothes differs from teller to teller.

While certainly an interesting take, hairy little housekeepers aren't exactly prime material for most fantasy campaigns. At the same time, the militaristic Goblin jocks are a bit too overexposed. As an alternative, I present the Hobgoblins from Magic: The Gathering's Shadowmoor block:

Fair warning, I haven't been able to read the novels so the precise details might be off, I'm just going by what's on the cards. Shadowmoor's Hobgoblins are related to the setting's Goblins (who in terms of behavior are basically D&D Orcs). But they live in cozy cottages and pursue agrarian existences. So this is tying back into that domestic angle while also homaging Tolkienesque Hobbit/Halfling lifestyles. At the same time, they still have a sinister edge to them, as the flavor text for Hearthfire Hobgoblin (pictured above) states:

Hobgoblins are best left alone. They sharpen their farm implements far more than is necessary for their work in the fields.

 So behind this idyllic Shire-esque surface there's something dangerous, something murderous. But still, despite their seeming homicidal tendencies they don't seem to bother anyone who doesn't bother them. But look at the flavor text for Rugged Prairie:

Hobs bury their kin far from home. They believe the dry, open ground keeps hags from stealing the bones and gwyllions from stealing the spirits.

So what happens if a party of adventurers or Joe the peasant stumbles onto a Hob funeral? What happens when a Human village starts expanding out into Hob burial grounds? Sounds like an interesting potential encounter.

Extracting these Hobs from their native setting, think about how they could fit in to a "Traditonal" Fantasy setting. How are Hob-Halfling relations? What about Hobgoblin-Goblins relations? Are the Hobs ultimately just a weird off-shoot of Goblins or are they the product of Human-Goblin/Halfling-Goblin/Hobbit-Goblin pairings?

The last idea to consider is a bit more radical: Give Halflings the boot and replace them with Hobs. If the Short Guy PC race is composed of rustic axe-murderers instead of rustic thieves then it changes the flavor of the setting to something more sinister.

Roll d% to see if you rise as a Ghoul

One of the things has always bothered me about D&D is how so much of the fluff is segregated from crunch.

"You can fail a resurrection spell and someone back as zombie? That sounds -- oh wait, there are no rules for that."

"You can combine two animals into an abomination like an Owlbear? That sounds -- oh wait, there are no rules for that."

"People can spontaneously rise as undead? That sounds -- oh wait, there are no rules for that."

The last one brings me to today's post. I've been thinking on-and-off about developing my own retroclone-esque roleplaying game (probably something that'll end up an Owlbear-tier combination of GURPS, AD&D, 5e, and Mutants & Masterminds with a dash of Fighting Fantasy but I digress). 

One idea that keeps rattling about is a subsystem that allows the DM (or players, whatever) if a PC can rise as an Undead. Being a spy (or a voyeur) can make your PC rise as a Spectre. Party members near an evil shrine or temple may rise as Zombies. Eat any bit of the flesh of a sapient and you have a higher chance to rise as a Ghoul. Think of it as an earnest if somewhat misguided attempt to make those old adventure hooks into spontaneous self-perpetuating rules constructs. Anyway, on to the rules:

When the character dies, roll d% or 1d100. If the result is higher than the chance of rising then nothing happens. If it is equal to or lower than the percentage then the character rises as a Ghoul  about 24 (4d12) hours after his death. 

The base chance of a dead character rising as a Ghoul is 5% modified by the table below. Modifiers are cumulative. The final percentage cannot be less than 0% or greater than 100% unless you want to homebrew some crazy results.

The dead character . . .	% Modifier
. . . was Evil (if using an Alignment subsystem)	+10%
. . . was Chaotic (if using an Alignment subsystem)	+5%
. . . was Good (if using an Alignment subsystem)	-10%
. . . worshiped a god or power related to death, gluttony, Ghouls, or hunger	+10%
. . . had more than two character levels or Hit Dice (if using a level/Hit Dice subsystem)	+1% for each level/Hit Die beyond 2
. . . unknowingly ate the flesh of a sapient creature within the last 48 hours	+1% and additional +1% for every 5 pounds of sapient flesh consumed
. . . knowingly ate the flesh of a sapient creature within the last 48 hours	+10% and additional +1% for every 5 pounds of sapient flesh consumed
. . . killed a sapient creature within the last 48 hours specifically to eat it, but was in a state of extreme hunger and/or had no other food	+15%
. . . killed a sapient creature within the last 48 hours specifically to eat it, but was in a state of hunger and/or had little other food	+25%
. . . killed a sapient creature within the last 48 hours specifically to eat it despite having plenty of ordinary food	+45%

Here are examples of the system in practice:

Hogni Redbeard was a Lawful Evil (+10%) thief-acrobat-rogue with 3 Hit Dice (+1%). After becoming a devotee of The Great Maw, god of hunger (+10%), he adopted serial killing and cannibalism as hobbies. He kidnapped a Halfling merchant then killed him to make a stew (+45%). In the last 48 hours the only sapient flesh he managed to eat consisted of two hearty meals of Halfling stew which together added up 15 pounds (+10% for knowingly consuming, +15% for the amount consumed) before a band of vigilantes busted in and killed him. There is therefore a 96% (5% + 91%)chance that 4d12 hours after his death he will rise as a Ghoul.

Brother Magnus was a Neutral Good (-10%) Human 5^th-level (+3%) cleric. Trapped underground and without food, he stumbled into the storage room of some Goblins. Inside, he found some bundles of preserved meat. He ate 5 pounds of the meat without realizing that it was Elf jerky (+1% for unknowingly eating, +1% for the amount). Suddenly, two Hobgoblins appeared and attacked! Magnus was victorious but one of the dying Hobgoblins taunted him by revealing the nature of Magnus’ last meal. Distraught but still hungry, he grabbed some more of the meat and continued on his journey to find an exit from the underground hell. Although hungry, he only managed to eat another 5 pounds of Elf jerky (+10% for knowingly eating, +1% for the amount) before his moral repulsion overpowered his gnawing hunger. Alas, in his sleep a leak of toxic gas suffocated him. There is therefore an 11% (5% +6%) chance that he will rise as a Ghoul in 4d12 hours.

Now of course, there are some issues that I still have with my concept. Do the same rules apply to carnivores? What does this mean for creatures like Gnolls that deliberately eat sapients on large-scale? Are they basically guaranteed to rise as Ghouls? Should a mammalian humanoid incur the normal penalties for eating the flesh of sapient avian, insectoid, or reptilian humanoid or should they be diminished or waived? What about eating the flesh of sapient non-humanoids like Awakened Cows, Beholders, and Sphinxes?

I should have plenty of time to iron out the finer details later but a start is a start.

How many Hacks are too many?

If you follow OSR news then you may have heard a thing or two about The Black Hack. It's a streamlined retroclone that incorporates some modern D&D ideas like Advantage and Disadvantage. I've only skimmed it but it looks pretty great. There's just one thing that's bothering me: All the derivatives, splats, and hacks of it that are suddenly flooding the marketplace.

There are already about two dozen products that are either made to work with it or are based off it: A Hack of Class, The Class Hack, The Race Hack, The Bikini Hack, The Cthulhu Hack, Cyber-Hacked, The Gene Hack, The Jack Hack, The Wasteland Hack, The Drac Hack, Mirrorshades, Eight of Wands, The Solo Hack, etc. Some products like Mirrorshades, The Cthulhu Hack, and The Solo Hack also cost more than TBH itself.

I'm not complaining about TBH's popularity, which I think it frankly deserves. It's just that all these products pumped out makes me wonder how much of this is from enthusiastic fans of TBH wanting to contribute and how much of this opportunistic cashgrabbing, especially in the case of standalone games that are trying to force non-OSR genres like cyberpunk, beach adventures, and Star Trek-style sci-fi into OSR rulesets. Hopefully I'm just being too cynical and the truth is much more pleasant.

Blind Homebrew: Playable Zombies for AD&D

After a grueling senior semester I have returned to bring more you more ill-advised material for role-playing games. In case you're wondering what "Blind Homebrew" means, it means that I have a very shaky and incomplete grasp of the AD&D rules but I could not results the sweet siren's song to create, and so I made this. It's basically a 3.X-style template that uses the rules from The Complete Book of Humanoids. I should also note that technically this template is for Cannibal Zombies or Ghouls (I know some grognards bristle at the notion that regular zombies eat people in D&D). I conceived this template as part of a campaign idea - huge magical cataclysm, heroes dies, decades/centuries later spontaneously rise as smart zombies, struggle to save the world while avoiding fearful mobs and looking for some of that sweet sapient flesh.

 

Zombie Player Character Template

Ability Score Adjustments. The initial ability scores are modified as follows:

• +2 Str; -2, Dex, No Con, -2 Cha

Ability Score Range

Ability	Minimum	Maximum
Strength	6	As base creature +4
Dexterity	As base creature -2	As base creature -4
Constitution	-	-
Intelligence	As base creature -2	As base creature -2
Wisdom	3	As base creature -2
Charisma	1	As base creature -4

Class Restrictions and Level Limits

Same as base creature (i.e. Human Zombies have all the normal class restrictions and level limits for Human characters, Elf Zombies have all the normal class restrictions and level limits for Elf characters, etc).

Hit Dice.

Player character Zombies receive hit dice by class. In addition they receive 1 bonus hit point at each level.

Alignment

Zombies tend to either True Neutral or Neutral Evil depending on their creators. PC zombies may be of any alignment.

Natural Armor Class

Zombie have a natural armor class of 8.

Languages

Whichever languages the base creature could speak.

Special Advantages

• Do not need to eat (but see the Monstrous Craving trait below), drink, or sleep.

• Are immune to all mind-affecting effects (charms, compulsions, phantasms, patterns, and morale effects), poison, sleep effects, paralysis, stunning, disease, effects that require a save vs. death, damage to its physical ability scores (Strength, Dexterity, and Constitution), fatigue/ exhaustion effects, and critical hits.

• Always pass System Shock rolls.

Special Disadvantages

• Cannot heal naturally: Negative energy and Inflict spells heal damage. At the DM’s discretion certain unholy sites or artifacts may grant the equivalent of natural healing as long as the Zombie remains in that area or near that object.

Monstrous Traits

Bestial Fear (holy symbols and/or fire), Bestial Odor*, Monstrous Appearance 3*, and Monstrous Craving (once a week, at least 10 pounds of flesh from a sapient creature).

*for a total -8 penalty to reaction checks

Superstitions

Generally none but the Zombie may select personal superstitions as outlined in Chapter 6 of The Complete Book of Humanoids.

Weapon Proficiencies:

Same as the base creature.

Nonweapon Proficiencies:

Same as the base creature.

Readings: Chrysalis of Death

The semester's started and it look like I've got four fully writing-intensive courses ahead of me so I'll be posting even more infrequently than usual. I hope to read a few of the novels I have backlogged over the course of this semester although I have to juggle them and a whole shitton of Viking sagas for a course. Anyway, if you see a post with "Readings:" in the title it means it's about a book I just finished reading. And expect spoilers.

This cover doesn't lie, it just tells a half-truth.

I read through Eleanor Robinson's Chrysalis of Death this week. It's apparently Robinson's first solo book according to this post on her granddaughter's blog which I found while doing an image search for the cover. The internet can be really weird sometimes.

Dating from 1975, Chrysalis of Death is a bit of a strange book. Despite what the cover shows there are no cavemen (although there are some kind of ape-man-things) and they aren't helicopters that drop bombs (although they do basically drop napalm).

The story goes like this: In Lazy Creek (aka the middle of nowhere), Arizona, Jeff Bedloe, a hotshot paleontologist, devoted husband, and expectant father, goes to an abandoned mine in to blow up some rocks so he can give some quartz to the owner of the bed & breakfast he stayed at. This explosion frees an eggsack from the Pliocene era that bursts and releases huge spiny green-black caterpillars. People end up getting stung by these caterpillars.

So Jeff takes the quartz to Henry Andersen, owner of the Casa Verde bed & breakfast. Henry is an absolutely financial state, having been duped into buying this large estate in the ass-end of nowhere. To give you some idea of how bad a state Lazy Creek is in, about 60% of the population that we see lives or works in Casa Verde. Henry's wife, Martha, is also there at the Casa; the early chapters seem to indicate that she's wheelchair-bound while the later ones indicate she's perfectly fine. Rounding the Andersens are their two grandchildren: Karen Scott, who's college age and grieving about the death of her secret lover due to a drug overdose; and Johnny Scott, an infant who seems to be 3-4 years old.

The staff at the Casa is composed of Rene the Haitian chef,  Pedro the Mexican do-everythinger, and Juanita the Mexican maid/cook (and Pedro's girlfriend/fiance/wife).

Outside the b&b there's basically no one. Irv Parks runs the gas station, Mr. and Mrs. Dove run the diner and constantly argue, Otto runs the market, and Benjamin is a religious weirdo. We also have Mexican family that goes unnamed for most of the story and gets killed off rather quickly. One character among the townspeople that does become quite important is the Sheriff Rivera, who strong-arms some dumb tourists into paying him $10 a gallon for gasoline to get the big city. Keep in mind that those are 1975 dollars so according to one calculator that come out to about $45.24 a gallon in modern dollars.

The guests at the Casa are the aforementioned Jeff, an author named Robert Freeman, a mysterious man from "the Orient" who calls himself Wenner, the socialite Amelia Rhodes (who made her fortune by blackmail) and her maid Midge Muncy, football superstar Buck Marlino (who is a closeted homosexual) and his high-class wife Gail Marlino, and lastly business heir Morgan Crown and his gold-digger wife Vicky Crown.

Wenner gets stung by a caterpillar. After a load of projectile vomiting, he decides to stash his attache case full of drug money in the rafters, steal Jeff's jeep, and hide out in an abandoned mine to avoid undue scrutiny that a medical stay would bring. At this time the Sheriff hears that the feds are looking for a man that matches Wenner's discription to the letter, a man with lots of drug money. Amelia also gets stung by a caterpillar and becomes ill. With no doctor in town, Henry and Jeff phone the Public Health Service in Phoenix. A helicopter brings three new characters: The grim Dr. Lorrimer, the forgettable Dr. Gilbert, and Vietnam vet and pilot Riggs. Amelia dies. Lorrimer thinks there's a pandemic in the making and gets Lazy Creek quarantined. Wenner sleeps for 15 hours straight.

Remember that Mexican family I mention earlier? Well, the dad was out of town but the mother and son weren't. Wenner sneaks toward their house intent on stealing food but gets overcome by animalistic instincts and kills the two (and is also heavily implied to have raped the mother). Unsure exactly why he snapped, Wenner clears out the pantry, throws the bodies down a well then heads to the mine.

More people get stung but don't exhibit symptoms beyond swelling. Sheriff Rivera follows the Mexican family's dog to the well, then kills the dog, and throws it in there too; he doesn't want the feds involved, he wants to take the money and run. Giant black-gold butterfly begin to emerge from cocoons. The Public Health Service determines that whatever is causing the sickness is a synthetic biological weapon. Wenner attacks the market, killing Benjamin and mortally wounding Otto. Lorrimer and Karen fall in love. Wenner sneaks into the Casa to recover the money but it's gone. Freeman, Buck Marlino, and Vicky Crown all catch the disease. The dad/husband of the Mexican family sneaks past the barricade, finds his wife and son, and vows to kill whoever did the deed. Wenner's cognitive functions deteriorate.

Things go from bad to worse when Henry gets sick. Then Vicky, Buck, and Freeman go psycho just like Wenner did and blow up all the cars in the Casa, steal the horses, kill Rene, and kidnap Karen and Johnny. Wenner keels over and dies. Karen manages to hide with Johnny in one of the nooks of the mine while the "Hydes" try to make a bonfire. Jeff and Lorrimer launch a rescue mission to recover Karen and Johnny. Rivera (who is also sick by now) retrieves the attache case, then locks Martha up in Henry's room while he and everyone else march toward the helicopter evac site the Public Health Service designated.

Lorrimer and Jeff rescue Karen and Johnny, but Jeff is spotted by Buck and detonates his dynamite, presumably killing himself and the three mutants. Now experiencing symptoms of the disease herself, Martha apparently commits suicide and possibly murders Henry, who is also transforming. Johnny, who had previously contracted the disease, dies. Lorrimer notices that Karen is developing symptoms of the disease and apparently gives her a fatal dose of pills. Lorrimer sees the evac site in the distance. The helicopters unleash a cloud of greenish smoke which is then ignited, killing everyone who wasn't already dead. The helicopters turn around and head back to base, admiring a throng of giant black-gold butterflies flying toward Phoenix. That's how it ends.



I was really struck by how this book could be easily adapted into one of those low-budget TV mini-series; it wouldn't feel out of place next to The Langoliers adaptation. From an RPG perspective, the caterpillars and the "mutants"/"Hydes" they create could be interesting twist to a campaign: I could easily imagine an All Flesh Must Be Eaten game that borrows heavily from this novel. The novel is really a character drama/crime thriller with fantastical elements thrown in. The writing is a bit uneven. I think the most memorable things about it are the ubiquitous caterpillars and the "everyone fucking dies" ending.

Judgement: Definitely not a great novel but not a bad one either. I give it 7/10.

Death Dogs for Heroes & Other Worlds

[ Dog Barking ]

"Death dogs are large two-headed hounds which are distinguished by their penetrating double bark. Death dogs hunt in large packs. [. . .] There is an 85% chance that death dogs will attack humans on sight." - AD&D Monstrous Compendium Volume One

"Death Dogs are ruthless predators. Those who travel in their territory learn to listen for the double bark bark that heralds a pack's approach." - D&D 3.0 Fiend Folio

"Death dogs are two-headed, mastiff-like hounds, nocturnal killing machines that hunt their prey without hesitation across the desert sands and wastelands. Death dog packs have been known to share territory with little friction, although they do engage in dominance battles in leaner times when hunting is difficult." - Tome of Horrors Complete

Death Dog # Encountered: 1 or 1D12 ST: 13 DX:10 IQ:4 EN: 0 MV: 7 Behavior: Agressive (14) Habitat: Any warm desert, hill, plains, or underground. AR: -1 (Natural Armor) DM:1D10 (bites) SP: Disease TR: 0 Disease: A non-Death Dog creature dealt damage by a Death Dog's bites must make a 3/ST test or contract a terrible rotting disease. Every day the afflicted creature's total EN decreases by 1D2; if this would reduce EN to less than 0, apply the reduction to ST instead. This disease can only be cured by magic. At the GM's discretion any Cure spell (see Magi Carta) has a 50% chance to cure this disease.