From the October Country: Architurgy

The old house had stood near the crossroad since the Uld Dominion still controlled these lands. Now a rotting shell, its roof sagging like the broken back of a dead cat and obscured beneath a shroud of brown ivy, the building warned away all who approached with threats of imminent collapse and possible haunts.

The Hard Case Krewe arrived just as the moon rose, making their way through the once-fine front door and gingerly stepping over the shattered glass that littered the foyer. In the rotting sitting room, the youngest of the krewe moved to a mildewed divan and took a seat. Brushing a wayward strand of auburn hair away from her ear, she closed her eyes and listened. The rest of the group, arm, alert, and nervous, peered intently into the shadows around them.

High above them, the wind blew through the holes in the roof and pushed gently against the eaves. Ancient beams groaned softly and warped, water-damaged floorboards moaned as the decrepit house shifted in the breeze. The wind died abruptly and the young girl opened her eyes.

“The gold we seek is hidden beneath the floor of the nursery, but there is a spotted carnithing lurking in the attic that needs be dealt with first,” she said, staring up at the peeling ceiling overhead. Standing, she rejoined her comrades who were already drawing their blades and pistols and moving towards the creaking stairs that lead to the ruin’s upper floors…

Architurgy (base 0%) is a rare talent found both on Earth and in the October Country. Scholars of esoterica debate whether it is a true psychic ability or a form of minor, innate magic produced spontaneously by a gifted, yet untrained few. Whatever the case, architurgy (sometimes called domuscopy or “speaking the architongue”) is a potent if limited form of divination.

The successful use of architurgy allows the possessor of the talent to understand the “language” of old buildings. What sounds like the groaning of beams, the creaking of hinges, and the general noise of an old home settling is actually a secret language spoken only by buildings with long and often eventful histories. Using the talent requires a few moments (1d10 minutes typically) of quiet sitting and listening. If the environment is too loud and drowns out the building’s ambient noise, the talent cannot be used and the architurge must wait until quiet once again pervades the structure.

If conditions allow the use of the talent, the architurge focuses his or her mind on a question they wished answered or a condition regarding the house they’d like to know. When successful, they deduce the answer to their inquiry by the noises of the house. The clarity and detail of each answer depends on the age of the building: the older the house, the more detail it tends to provide. Unfortunately, with this detail comes greater difficulty in understanding what the building is saying. Most old buildings suffer from “emotional static”—emotions and psychic residue created by highly charged events that occurred within the building during its history. Breaking through that static is difficult, but if the architurge can do so, she can learn a lot about the building in which she stands. Architurgy cannot be used on a building less than 50 years old and suffers a -5% penalty for every 10 years past 100 that the structure has been standing.

Using the architurgy talent requires the expenditure of 1 MP for each condition or question the architurge wants to know about. An architurge can make a number of inquiries equal to half her CHA score, but must make a successful skill roll and spend a MP for each one. A failed roll indicates that she can coax no more information from the building and cannot attempt to learn more with the talent until she has advanced in its skill.

From the October Country: Boglins

As I mentioned previously, I'm going to be transporting some of the material I generated over on my Secret Antiquities blog to the Society so as to compile all my game designs under a single roof. This is the first of such transfers.

For almost two years I've been working on a new campaign setting that contains all the weirdness I enjoy and which would allow me to run nearly any form of role-playing adventure I might set my mind to. I've been using Goblinoid Games' free GORE system as the rule frame to build upon and have had a few play tests of that material. Tentatively entitled The October Country for the time being, I remain committed to one day compiling this setting, its inhabitants, and various new rules and systems into a single tome to share with other interested folks. The October Country mixes fantasy, "screampunk", conspiracy, Wild West, and other high weirdness in one delightful soup of a setting. I've purposely peopled it with unusual monsters that don't always conform to your usual fantasy expectations. Most of the recent material and play tests all revolve around the city of Midnight located on the edge of the Snakewater Swamp, an October Country analog for the Louisiana bayous and 18th century New Orleans. Let's meet one of the residents of the October Country now:

Out in the Snakewater Swamp are small hamlets inhabited by a race of green-skinned, violent, and stupid creatures known as Boglins. These vicious little brutes make their living by scavenging, banditry, and the brewing of “bug juice”, a potent liquor made from ingredients best not asked about. Although small in stature and dim-witted, Boglins have a knack for simple devices and can jury-rigged rifles and shotguns from the assorted trash they find, small items they steal, and the occasional horn of black powder they swap bug juice for. This talent, combined with their clannish nature and remote villages, make Boglins a persistent menace in the Snakewater. Those traveling into the backwaters of the swamp should be careful, as Boglins often ambush travelers on remote bayas, rising up from the murky waters to attack unexpectedly.

Boglins average 4’ to 5’ in height and weigh between 100 and 125 lbs, although certain “bosses” grow much bigger (and have their own separate entry). Boglins tend to dress in either homespun clothes or the oversized garments taken from their victims. Duster coats, wide-brimmed hats, and clunky shoes are popular Boglin fashion, as is any item of clothing made from gator skin.

It is said that Boglins have distant relatives in the mountains who eke out a similar life in the hollers and dark forests that punctuate the hills. Known as Hoglins, these repulsive cousins keep semi-tamed hogs as attack animals, beasts of burden, and, some whisper, share a common gene pool with the porcine creatures.

Boglins

STR: 3d6 (10-11)
CON: 2d6+6 (13)
SIZ: 2d6 (7)
INT: 2d6 (7)
POW: 3d6 (10-11)
DEX: 4d6 (14)

Average hit points: 10
Move: 7

Other skills: Baya Lore-55%, Boating-80%, Conceal-86%, Craft (scavenge-tech)-65%, Dodge-55%, Language (Patois)-85%, Move Silently-75%, Notice-70%, Survival-85%, Swimming-90%. Some have Mechanick Arts-65% or Elemental Magic-50%

Damage Modifier: -1d2

Attacks
Shotgun or Rifle: 65%--4d6/2d6/1d6 or 1d6+2
Club: 60%--1d6
Bite: 50%--1d4 damage

Bug Juice: This swamp liquor will either get the drinker drunk as a skunk or kill them, so it’s best sampled by those with a death wish. A 4 oz. drink of bug juice affects the drinker depending on his CON score and the potency of the stuff. To determine the lethal threshold of the drink, the referee rolls 2d6+1 prior to consumption. Any creature with a CON score less than or equal to the result of that roll must immediately make a CONx5 roll or suffer 1d6+1 damage for 1d3 rounds.

Creatures with CON scores above the bug juice’s potency roll are affected less severely and need only make a successful Opposition Roll against the liquor’s potency score each time they consume a drink. Failing even a single check renders them extremely intoxicated. Those drunk on bug juice suffer a -10 penalty on their strike rank and all skills are halved for the duration of the drunkenness, which lasts 2d10 hours.

Astropia

I’m not a big fan of what passes for “nerd comedy” when it comes to film and television. Part of my aversion for it lies undoubtedly in being self-conscious about the fact that all too often the arrow hits a little closer to home than I’d like to admit when geeks are portrayed on the screen. However, this is not the sole reason for my distaste. When it comes to comedy, I prefer my humor to have a certain craftsmanship, to take the more difficult road rather than go for the easy laugh. This is seldom the case when nerds, geeks, and gamers show up in a comedic film or TV show. Lazy writers slap some Spock or elf ears on a cardboard character, make him or her socially paralyzed when it comes to human interaction, and expect hilarity to ensue. This is even the case when the people being mocked are the very same audience being targeted. The Big Bang Theory, I’m looking at you.

On the other hand, geek comedy can go too far with their reliance on obscure subject matter, making them completely inaccessible to someone who’s never rolled a d20 or can't tell the difference between a Dalek, a Klingon, and a Wookiee. Anyone who has ever watched something like The Gamers with their non-nerdy, but entirely tolerant other half knows exactly what I’m talking about.

However, every so often you come across a film or TV comedy that manages to walk the fine line between both of these extremes. Last night, I was pleasantly surprised to find one of these rare creatures in the 2007 Icelandic film, Astropia.

Astropia, released in the US as Dorks & Damsels (because apparently no American-born geek would ever see a movie like this unless it mocked them and the hobby they enjoy), is the tale of the beautiful and privileged Hildur who, when her rich and exceedingly blonde boyfriend is sent to prison for tax evasion and embezzlement, must get a job to make ends meet. Desperation forces her to accept a job at Atropia, the neighborhood comic, sci-fi, and games store, where she is immediately immersed into a world she has no understanding of—she’s put in charge of the role-playing games section. Although originally hired to increase business, it’s not too long before Hildur finds a place in this alien world.

While not completely free of the various stereotypes one might predict with such a premise, it’s kinder than most, and Hildur’s co-workers are portrayed with greater depth than could be expected in a similar, lazier production. Gamers and comic buffs will enjoy the name-dropping that occurs in the store (Mark Millar, Grant Morrison, and Monte Cook all get mentioned), and it takes a familiarity with the hobby to fully comprehend Hildur’s faux pas of trying to sell a copy of The World of Darkness to a customer looking for The Book of Vile Darkness.

Unlike The Gamers and other films marketed solely to the niche audience, Astropia is not all geek humor. Hildur’s relationship with her standoffish nephew gives the film some pathos, while her boyfriend’s attempts to acclimate to prison life (Note to self: Although cigarettes may be prison currency, the Icelandic equivalent of Virginia Slims have limited value in lock-up) and his ultimate Shawshank Redemption-inspired attempt to escape provide laughs that cross audience boundaries. The film’s final climax where the lines between fantasy and reality blur is satisfying enough and mixes a Leroy Jenkins joke with the dangers of second-hand smoke.

While not a comedic masterpiece destined to survive the ages, Astropia is a pleasant enough diversion, one that can be shared by gaming geeks and their straight-laced friends and family with equal enjoyment. Most satisfying of all, from a gamer perspective, is that the role-playing group Hildur joins, while not completely free of cheap shots, is closer to the reality than most other depictions I’ve seen. There’s not a pair of elf-ears in sight…at least until the DM starts the adventure, anyway. 

Pacesetter is Back! No Time-Machine Required

Dan Proctor announced yesterday that Goblinoid Games has acquired the rights to both the Pacesetter logo and brand. This comes in the wake of Goblinoid Games’ acquisition and re-printing of Pacesetter’s TIMEMASTER game. Unfortunately, former Pacesetter titles like CHILL and STAR ACE remain tied-up with other property owners for the foreseeable future. Nevertheless, this marks the next step in Dan’s plan to revive old games and produce new ones based on those titles, much like he did with the recent release of ROTWORLD. Expect more announcements in the vein in the months to come.

For the record, I’ve told Dan that if he ever gets his hands on SANDMAN, I’d be the first in line to volunteer finishing that funky-ass experiment that Pacesetter started, but never saw to fruition. Oh man, what I’d do with that crazy game…

Change is Good

No, this isn’t a post about the just-announced and forthcoming version of Dungeon & Dragons (but we’ll get to that in a moment). This is about looking forward to 2012 and new directions in the year to come—which may be important on the off-chance the Mayans knew something we don’t.

Last year, I announced that this blog would be coming to an end. I felt that I had taken the Society as far as it could go based on my original purpose of chronicling my return to the gaming fold and wishing to contribute something to this nebulous thing we call the Old School Renaissance (or whatever OSR stands for this week). In some ways, I still believe that. I’ve done what I set out to do and succeeded beyond my wildest expectations.

Since its inception, this blog and the material produced for it allowed me to establish a presence hitherto undreamt of—by me anyway— in the gaming community and the industry that supports us. I don’t think anyone can dispute that The Dungeon Alphabet and Stonehell Dungeon remain examples of some of the better works created by this movement. The Dungeon Alphabet was especially well-received and is one of the few works that achieved success outside of the OSR, drawing praise from not only grognards but folks who entered this hobby in more recent years. That continues to blow my mind.

Having done what I set out to do, my choices were to either start anew or shut down. My workload made me more inclined to the latter. But with the start of the New Year, my attitude has changed. I’m hacking away at the “To Be Done” list, and although I expect it will fill up again (at least I’m praying it will), I think I’ll be able to dedicate some more time to this blog o’ mine. The Society has been around for more than three years now and maintains a steady readership. And while it doesn’t have the number of fans some older and more prolific blogs have, SoTPR is still in the upper echelon of old school blogs. It seems as shame to throw away all that hard work now.

So what to do? First off, it’s high time this place got a revamp. In the weeks ahead I will be playing with the design a bit to come up with something new, but still legible. I’ll be editing and updating my links section and playing with ideas for a nifty new banner up top (I remain one of the few elder statesmen of blognards who has never gone beyond a text header). It’ll likely be a hack job since the visual arts is not my forte, but I’ll endeavor to keep it classy and discrete.

Secondly, I’m going to fold my side blog Secret Antiquities into this one. The premise of having a secondary blog for material not directly relating to fantasy gaming was sound, but the end result was two blogs I ignored and not much progress made on either. Seeing as we’re all gamers, I don’t think anyone will mind too much if I post the occasional design ideas for a system other than D&D and its various clones. Unless my readership starts abandoning the joint in droves, expect to see some reposting of things from Secret Antiquities here as I integrate both blogs into one.

Thirdly, and I know I’ve stated it before, 2012 will be the year the Stonehell sequel is finally released. The fact that it is so far behind tears me up more than I’d like to admit and since my name is synonymous with that dungeon, I feel its failure to see the light of day reflects poorly on me. To correct this, I’m committed to producing one new quadrant of Stonehell a week. While that might mean it takes all year to complete the manuscript, slow progress trumps no progress.

Lastly, although connected to the above, 2012 will see me at GaryCon IV. I intend to try and play as much as I can, but I will be bringing Stonehell with me to Lake Geneva, hopefully with brand new material to test drive. There are no official Stonehell sessions on the schedule, but if you corner me, I’ll gladly run it during the open gaming portions of the con. I’ll even allow your FLAILSNAILERS to bring your PCs for a visit if that’s cool with how things work in FLAILSNAIL-land. As always, Stonehell’s Save Your Ass T-shirts will be honored, so grab one now and edge out your competition for loot.

More projects and plans will be announced as they develop, but I think the above is going to keep me busy for awhile.

OK, with that out of the way, let me say my piece on the 5^th edition which isn’t the 5^th edition of D&D. In all honesty, I was completely indifferent about the announcement. That surprised me a little, but it’s the truth. There’s no gnashing of teeth or rending of raiment here. The game will come, I’ll check it out, and if it’s fun and captures my interest, I’ll play it from time to time. I’ve no expectations that it will heal the great edition rift or create the greatest version of the game ever. I might run it or I might not. I signed up to get a look at the beta version once it’s released, but I suspect that will be the extent of my involvement. I’m certainly not going to attempt to steer its direction. It will be whatever Mike and Monte design within the boundaries laid down by management. I wish them the best and hope Wizards comes out with an entertaining diversion that attracts more gamers to the fold. After all, more tabletop gamers are good in the grand scheme of things.

I don’t expect to give much coverage to the game here so this may very well be the last words I say on the game until it is released. Others will certainly be following its development with close scrutiny. I’ll say this though: “5E” looks really, really strange when seen written out to my eyes. I must be getting older.

They were Gods in those Days

Jeff Rients recently wrote two posts regarding the wild and zany antics the boys in Lake Geneva got up to back in the early years of this hobby. Inspired by those anecdotes, I wanted to share one of my favorite old war stories from years gone by. This one was recounted by Roger E. Moore in an editorial on fear that appeared in Dragon #156 (April 1990)

I was in a GAMMA WORLD game that Jim Ward ran a few years ago. It scared me to death. Jim has a habit of rolling huge numbers of dice of damage at the snap of a laser, and his campaign was full of amusing things such as Cthulhu-size lake monsters and deathray satellites that diced up ground targets with impunity. But his most famous creation was the subtly named Death Machine, a nice little military relic of the Social Wars of the game’s background.

What’s a Death Machine, some of you may ask. Here’s a story: A few years ago, when I was in the Army, I told everyone in my gaming group to each pick his or her favorite deity from the AD&D® game, and prepare to role-play that deity in a special scenario I had developed. The next hour was spent in feverish excitement as a large assortment of gods and supermonsters met on a deserted plain and awaited their opponents. Suddenly a huge space-time warp opened up in front of the incredible assembly . . . and out of the alien warp came three brand-new, fully armed, fully powered Death Machines on random programming.

Two gods died in the first 10 seconds of combat, each taking over 700 hp of damage. A third god died before the minute-long fight was over, and two other gods (including Demogorgon) fled the battlefield in utter panic. All the rest of the deities were pounded with atomic missiles, lasers, bombs, rockets, shells, bullets, force fields, and death rays. Thor bent the nose of one Death Machine with Mjolnir but took a nuke in return. If I had not used random attacks, all of the gods would have died in 30 seconds, no sweat. It was wonderful.

I think we need more of this sort of thing. Thank goodness there are still referees who indulge in these sort of antics and keep the wild and wooly days of yore alive.

Why I'll Never Be a Superstar

An email popped into my inbox tonight reminding me that the Paizo RPG Superstar 2012 competition is underway and that the deadline for the first round of entries is January 6th. Normally, this is something that I'd not be moved to participate in, but every since I got my hands on the Pathfinder Beginners Box, I've been examining the game in a somewhat different light. About ten minutes after I received that email, an idea for an entry popped into my head and I figured, "What the hell. Why not submit it?"

Then I read this in the rules: Anyone with a cover credit on a hardcover RPG book is ineligible.

Damn you, The Dungeon Alphabet! If only Goodman Games had been cheap bastards and gone with a softcover rather than a stylish and durable hardcover I might have been the next RPG Superstar! Looks like I'll have to become one the old-fashioned way. Back to work for me.