YesTrolls!

Says Spawn:

It occurs to me that there must be blogs and forums (fora, whatever) for fans and critics of the band Yes, of prog-rock fame.

Judging from my limited exposure to D&D blogs and forums, they must also have trolls, and probably someone long ago picked the handle

Owner of a Lonely Fart

and posts the most dastardly recriminations of post-Bruford or post-Wakeman Yes. Or something. Post-Dean cover art, probably.

Some compatriot of his has picked up another low-hanging-fruit-type handle: Fart of the Sunrise.

Another dead-ender has probably taken Long Distance Reacharound.

I have chosen not to Google these phrases lest I find my basest comedic instincts ratified by a blind machine.

Ken St. Andre arrives at TIFF

Reporteth Spawn:

Ken St. Andre returned to Toronto for the premiere of his new Tunnels and Trolls movie, a joint production of Film Canada, Canal+ and Flying Buffalo, at the Toronto International Film Festival. Sporting a new hat and buoyed by recent appearances at OSRCon and GenCon, St. Andre was heard to say that his film was way better than films about That Other Game, that Gygax couldn't screen-write his way out of a paper bag, and that no one around here seemed to be able to take a joke. The film is scheduled for limited release in time for Christmas 2012.

CityCrawl Paris: Rock Down to Goblin Avenue

There but for the grace of Endra goes Spawn:

I was staying near the Place d'Italie until yesterday, and had until then shunned one road sloping disconcertingly downward from the circle called:

That's right. Goblin Avenue. But I figured, whatever, it's just a bunch of goblins, I have no shiny objects on my person, now's as a good a time as any to check this out. Just after taking that photo a detachment of the Armee Gobelin tore through the P. d'Italie circle lusting after the 14 Julliet fireworks extravanga on the Champs Elysees.

I started down the Goblin Ave., and it wasn't clear who the goblins were. But everyone was really short. I assume there was some sort of tricksy magic spell on the street.

Those 'trees' are actually tall shrubs by human standards. As I progressed down that mad infernum of a road, I saw this spectacle: The Goblin Cave.

Of course they try to trick you into entering their stupid cave by saying it's all about wine. But seriously goblin folks, I read through B2 back when I was 10 years old. I'm not falling for that beeswax. Further on there were more signs of not just wandering goblins or rag tag groups, but a working goblin society. When goblins need a prescription filled they go to the Goblin Pharmacy.

But only a total dumbshit buys any 'healing potion' from a goblin. You goblins may say your store is gated shut because it's a holiday, but I know better. Not even 1st level schmucks are falling for your tired old shenanigans these days, and you're going out of business. As we speak Mike Mearls is getting ready to flatten your shit like a crepe with his 5e steamroller, fools.

But this was weary work, and I became edgier as I descended further down Goblin Street, not knowing who was human and who was goblin. So I stopped off at an ostensibly human brasserie and had a couple of beers. I was suspicious of the waiter, because when I asked what beer they had on tap (a presion, as they say in gobelinois), he told me they had Kronenbourg. Ha ha, Msr. Gobelin, how drole. I quaffed warily, as you can see:

My Flailceratops T-shirt probably protected me from the worst effects. In the middle of the second 50cL I developed a large vagina in my torso and lost my passport inside of it. I'm hoping that if I keep drinking Kronenbourg I'll be able to pull it out before I have to get on a plane again. I'll keep you dear readers posted on developments.

Oh yes, I almost forgot. There is a stop on the metro map labelled "Ourcq" on Ligne 7. I won't explore that without a better AC and a few NPCs. I guarantee hirelings a 10% share of the loot and 1/4 share of XP, but you have to pay your own way. (I'll pay for the metro tickets, but you have to get to Paris on your own.)

F'ing White Apes

Your Parisian correspondent, Le Spawn, doth say:

You've got to keep your eyes on those white apes. I was in the Paris Museum of Comparative Anatomy and Palaeontology this afternoon. As you wait in line to buy a ticket you are greeted with this sculpture called (more or less) "A Borneo Savage being Strangled by an Orangutan":

Dig the detail of the 'quadramanous' orang's right foot grasping the sauvage's left calf and the screaming baby orang on the right. Comparative anatomy was no laughing matter back in the day, to be sure. More to come on my Old School visit to the museum.

New Spell: Enhance Underpants

Le Spawn dit:

Enhance Underpants (Cleric 4)
Duration: Permanent or until dispelled; Range: Touch.

Enhance Underpants allows a cleric to bless a groinal undergarment (e.g., long johns, boxers, loincloths, furry barbarian speedos, chainmail panties, the diaper on the guy from White Plume Mountain) so that it offers magical protection when it is the primary article of clothing. Underpants thusly enhanced give a +3 to AC and act as a +2 ring of protection for the purposes of saving throws. If covered by other clothing, armor, etc., the PC receives no bonuses. Great for the barbarian loathe to part with traditional garb, and a boon to many Erol Otus subjects. Also comes in handy when a PC is captured by hostile forces, stripped to his or her skivvies, and chained up in a dungeon. Favored for romantic espionage operations, and situations where one's 'ass in left hanging in the breeze', as it were.

d101 Table for Random Curses, Quests, etc. from Ceephax Acid Crew

Speaketh thoust Spawn of Endra:

In between bouts of inadvertently spurring people to publicly state that they hate Rients' d30 rule, I was looking through a notebook of mine this week and found that I had written:

Dear xxxx, Imperviate the following with whatever significance you wish, but ....

And I thought, is that a word, imperviate? So I googled it and for once the Internet actually showed me something cool. Up came the following phrase:

Imperviate a Sowester

This turned out to be #13 of 101 New Years Resolutions for 2012 made by Ceephax, aka Ceephax Acid Crew, an old school acid techno DIY dude.

These would make a good random table for curses, ransom demands, quests, riddles, or whatever. Check it out here. Among my favorites:

• 6. Banish Poirot's irritating Pteranodon from your greenhouse.
• 18. Bribe quadrangles left right and centre.
• 26. Grandiose myself into all the various pageants located in the lost forests of Hurrrr.
• 41. Deliver all promises on the agenda without upsetting Terry the two toed terrier of terror.
• 46. Strike a blow at the concept of limitless krikey.
• 62. Release the tension inherent in the letter W.
• 64. Offer generous briskets of conversation to the most estimable Sheila of Scratby.
• 78. Win the U.S open with a Golden Graham and a toothpick.
• 84. Encircle Lord Faber with a jeopardy bojangle.
• 91. Acquiesce on Geoffrey's Trojan Amoeba plan despite the 98% probability of it causing a timeflop.

And so on. I'm not much of a techno fan, but I dig this guy's low-budge DIY vibe. You must also watch this video for "My Way of Life":

The epic saga of Commuter is also recommended.

Moldvay and Mondrian Variations

So speaketh Spawn:

I was messing around with Illustrator on some map-making the other day using the map in the Moldvay Basic book for the East Tower of the Haunted Keep (p. B57) as a base. At one point I had this image in front of me:

I sat there looking at it for a while, feeling pleased, and thought it reminded me of ... who's that guy? Mondrian? Google told me, Yes, you're thinking of Mondrian. So I screwed around with it more and came up with these variations.

After Composition with Gray and Light Brown, 1918

After Composition with Blue and Yellow, 1932

After Tableau #2, 1922

After Composition #2, 1922

 

After Lozenge Composition with Yellow, Black, Blue, Red and Gray, 1921

Update: Following John L's comment about making a Mondrian image into a dungeon map, I'd suggest something like this one to be a good candidate, Composition No. 2, Composition in Line and Color, 1913. Found here (scroll sideways a bit).

O Freunde, nicht diese Töne!

Also Sprach Schpawn:
Well actually, TODAY of all days I REALLY don't give a shit about what kind of sounds everyone wants to make, so go ahead. On most days the fact that the NewYork Times features an article about a mutated humanoid potato and his mom trying to launch a new RPG in their garage so they could earn enough money to buy proper folding chairs would hold little interest for me.

(I assume that's what this is about anyway. I didn't read the article closely. It seems to suggest that Tavis Smiley has his own RPG now as well. I should check it out.)

But TODAY I learned that I could even more NOT give a shit about this AND a vast plenitude of other facts about the world.

BECAUSE I SUBMITTED MY DOCTORAL DISSERTATION TO MY COMMITTEE TODAY AFTER MONTHS AND MONTHS OF SUFFERING AND I AM FLIPPING THE BIRD AT FOOLIOS LARGE AND SMALL LIKE IT WAS GOING OUT OF STYLE.

And now my beloved readers, as our old friends Beethoven and Schiller would put it:

I'm gonna get all feuertrunken! If yer Tochter ain't the aus Elysium kind, send 'er back cuz I don't wann'er! Alle Guten, Alle Bösen, whatever, I don't give a shit!
 

It's Vornheim, Charlie Brown!

Says Spawn:

Click to embiggen, naturally.

I took Saturday off from dissertation writing and in addition to starting a batch of sauerruben (fermented turnips) and listening to Wagner and Beethoven, I managed to throw the above image together. It had been percolating in my brain since being reminded of the Vornheim font by this post and learning it can be downloaded here. As was mentioned in the comments, it's so evocative of a specific work that it's not a super-useful font, but it can come in handy for, e.g., Vornheim greeting cards, or similar nonsense like the above.

Had I thought of this a few months ago, this would have been "It's the Great Peryton, Charlie Brown!" I'm sure you can use your imagination for that.

The image comprises elements of original works by Zak S., James E. Raggi IV, Charles M. Schulz, and Andreas Johansson (the electronic font), none of whose claims to copyright or whatever I challenge.

What Character Am I?

Always a sucker for whatever bandwagon is passing through the blogosphere, I have joined Peter and David in taking the What Kind of D&D Character Would You Be? test. Here are the results, which reveal me as the conformist I truly am:

I Am A: Lawful Good Human Fighter/Wizard (3rd/3rd Level)

Ability Scores:
Strength-13
Dexterity-12
Constitution-11
Intelligence-13
Wisdom-12
Charisma-16

Alignment:
Lawful Good A lawful good character acts as a good person is expected or required to act. He combines a commitment to oppose evil with the discipline to fight relentlessly. He tells the truth, keeps his word, helps those in need, and speaks out against injustice. A lawful good character hates to see the guilty go unpunished. Lawful good is the best alignment you can be because it combines honor and compassion. However, lawful good can be a dangerous alignment when it restricts freedom and criminalizes self-interest.

Race:
Humans are the most adaptable of the common races. Short generations and a penchant for migration and conquest have made them physically diverse as well. Humans are often unorthodox in their dress, sporting unusual hairstyles, fanciful clothes, tattoos, and the like.

Primary Class:
Fighters can be many things, from soldiers to criminal enforcers. Some see adventure as a way to get rich, while others use their skills to protect the innocent. Fighters have the best all-around fighting capabilities of the PC classes, and they are trained to use all standard weapons and armor. A fighter's rigorous martial training grants him many bonus feats as he progresses, and high-level fighters have access to special melee maneuvers and exotic weapons not available to any other character.

Secondary Class:
Wizards are arcane spellcasters who depend on intensive study to create their magic. To wizards, magic is not a talent but a difficult, rewarding art. When they are prepared for battle, wizards can use their spells to devastating effect. When caught by surprise, they are vulnerable. The wizard's strength is her spells, everything else is secondary. She learns new spells as she experiments and grows in experience, and she can also learn them from other wizards. In addition, over time a wizard learns to manipulate her spells so they go farther, work better, or are improved in some other way. A wizard can call a familiar- a small, magical, animal companion that serves her. With a high Intelligence, wizards are capable of casting very high levels of spells.

Find out What Kind of Dungeons and Dragons Character Would You Be?, courtesy of Easydamus (e-mail)

Gunger Beykr's Chime of Infallible Wayfaring [New Magic Item]

[From the midst of a haze, The Spawn submits for your consideration:]

Egads. Carter has been back in town for just over a week, which means that 1) we had a gaming session where he was in the same room as most of us instead of Skyping, and 2) his band Telepathic Dumpster reformed for a house concert Friday night and fun and madness prevailed!  

 

 Telepathic Dumpster! L-R: Josh Marks (Master of Rock),

Carter Soles, Carl Nash, Emily Afanador

At the end of the night, with a few (too many) adult beverages under my belt and pretty stoked from the music and friends, I found that I was in no condition to pilot a bike home. And Eugene is the kind of place where you can get a DUI on a bike, so it doesn't pay to be swerving all over the place even if you can more or less keep it together. So I walked all the way across town on an hours-long trek with a few wrong turns (Great, I'm at 24th and Charnelton, not too far now ... oh, wait, that's 24th and Chambers. Fuck.), a couple of disorientations (the avenue numbers get bigger going SOUTH, not north), and of course a light but steady rain. Luckily I made all my random encounter rolls and nothing untoward happened, and arrived home with the day dawning. (It's apparently less than 3 miles, but it seemed to take forever.)

I awoke much later with the classic Blind Faith tune Can't Find My Way Home in my head, of course. (Don't ask me why this clip has applause tacked on at the beginning and end, skip up to 0:15. And ignore some most of the pictures.)

The distinctive junk splash cymbal (at 0:41 for those unfortunate souls who don't know what I'm talking about) is the inspiration for:

Gunger Beykr's Chime of Infallible Wayfaring
The chime was created by the mad wizard Gunger Beykr during his aeons-long campaign to destroy his eternal enemy, the foul and corrupt Lich Litchell. At one point, the lich managed to cast a spell that disoriented Beykr so badly that he wandered the countryside for 6 years trying to find his way back to his castle, while never being more than 2 miles from it. On numerous occasions he walked right up to his castle, but didn't recognize it, and stumbled back out into the woods to wander more. Eventually his familiar, a sarcastic tabby that had been watching his master's vagrancy with some mirth, got bored with it and managed to bring him back to the castle and dispelled the curse. Beykr created the Chime of Infallible Wayfaring shortly afterward.

The chime looks like a fairly crappy 6" brass cymbal with several cracks in it. When struck it produces a flat rapidly decaying crash, and shows a lost PC the route back to a specific place known to the PC that is considered non-threatening. This might not be a "safe" place per se, like the area outside of a dungeon entrance that is guarded by hidden goblin snipers, but it's out of the mess they are in. PCs under spells that cause confusion, blindness, hallucinations, insanity, aimless quests, etc. can use the chime to get them back home or elsewhere, though the effects of spells generally remain in force. The PC must be able to recognize the need to use the chime -- if they don't know they are lost or impaired, they wouldn't use it. The chime may be used only once per month.

Petty God: St. Ainless of Inocks, Patron Saint of Metal Accoutrements

[Thine Spawn submits another Petty God for your pleasure. But first an Editorial:]

I'm not a fan of St. Patrick as a historical figure, and I'm not much of a fan of St. Patrick's Day in the US as it's practiced. To me it's like Columbus Day for Native Americans. I think the peoples of Ireland could have done just as well without the Christianity, thank you very much (or better said, they could hardly have done worse). But aside from my ideological issues, I ask: Why does anyone need a calendrical excuse to get totally shit-faced drunk? Why do you wait for the sanctioned day to lose your shit completely? How free are you if you get drunk when local Eyewitness News tells you to? And do you think that's what happens in Ireland on St. Patrick's Day?

To account for this smallish rant I provide the following as Joesky-recompense to my dear readers:

 St. Ainless of Inocks, Patron Saint of Metal Accoutrements 

From his first day at the Jadist seminary in Brothback, the acolyte cleric Ainless was recognized as a savant of scriptures and an exemplary holy warrior. Everyone from hierophants to neophytes praised his precocious divine abilities. It was often joked that he could turn the undead faster than a Hedarish prostitute could turn a trick, but unlike her clients, Ainless’s would never be repeat customers! Rollicking laughter inevitably followed every telling of that hoary old chestnut, to be sure.

Having excelled in weapon- and book-learning, upon ordination Ainless was entrusted with the mighty Mace of Jado’s Convincing Wrath, a +3 mace of disruption that when used with subdual damage would convert any sentient vanquished opponent to the Way of Jado regardless of race or alignment. No candidate had proven worthy of bearing it for several centuries, and Ainless’s ascendance seemed to harbinge a renaissance for the Jadist sect. Righteously armed with Jado’s mace and a full suit of plate mail, he set forth for a dungeon whose name is now lost in the annals of infamy.

After a few encounters with zombies and giant rats that were a scanty match for Ainless, he happened upon a nest of 3 rust monsters, a creature unknown to the Jadists who had been relative home-bodies for quite some time. Viewing the trio as simply another opportunity to demonstrate the divine power of Jado to an unbelieving world, Ainless barreled into melee, beating away mercilessly. Within moments, Ainless was mortified to discover that with each strike, the mace seemed to weaken, and before he knew it he was standing in his underwear swinging a bereft mace-handle in vain at the rust monsters. Jado’s exalted mace was no more, and the half-naked Ainless fled the dungeon in disgrace. Some say he was so thoroughly beaten that even his iron rations rusted.

Upon his return to the Jadist seminary he was defrocked and thoroughly rebuked for having lost Jado’s mace, and for debasing the entire order by running across the countryside in his skivvies like a run-of-the-mill village idiot. At that time he came to be called “Brainless”, “Aimless”, or “Anus”. Thusly castigated he fled to the forests of Inocks, where despairing of a clerical career, he rejected all metal accoutrements and devoted himself to Druidic practice. Vengeful lust still drove him though, and he spent his days crafting the most lethal blackthorn shillelaghs ever known. With these in hand, he journeyed far and wide offering to exterminate rust monsters in any dungeon, anywhere, controlled by anyone, taking only donations for his services (along a suggested sliding scale). What he managed to do to rust monsters without the aid of metal weapons has run the descriptive gamut from “primitively inventive” to “coarsely perverse”.

He started on the road to sainthood when a sad little band of adventurers sought him out and begged for their array of +1 weapons to be restored after unfortunate rust monster encounters. Ainless became so vexed at rust monsters that he grabbed the weapons and struck back at the oxidizers in spirit, and drew back the usurped magical properties from their carcasses. This miracle built Ainless’s renown and attracted enough followers that he built a stronghold in Inocks, where even after his death he is revered as the saint of metal accoutrements, the restorer of all metal things that have been degraded in the pursuit of a divine (or mundane) quest.

For every two rust monster carcasses PCs bring the Shrine of St. Ainless, the priests of Inocks will restore +1 to magic weapons or armor ruined by rust monster attacks.

Petty Goddess: Dozentit, Goddess of Perfunctory Inquiry

[Spawns says: I had a couple of Petty Gods candidates I couldn't get together for the Dec. 31 deadline, but I figured there's no point in letting them languish. Here's one. If anyone is inspired to illustrate it for kicks, be my guest!]

In former times, Dozentit was a goddess of fecundity and abundance revered by the hill pastoralists of Oblendis, before they were overrun and brutally disenfranchised by the Horkandian poppy lords during the Great Upset. In fragmentary sculptures that survive, Dozentit is depicted as a nubile, healthy young adult female with a slightly stern aspect, bearing a milk pail in each outstretched arm, and 6 pairs of burgeoning breasts distributed in all directions around her torso. The Oblendian herdsmen offered regular sacrifices and wailing prayers to secure the blessings of Dozentit, who would assure the prodigious flow of milk in all manner of dairy cattle, as well as in new Oblendian mothers and nursemaids.

Dozentit languished unworshipped for centuries during the Horkandian period, but was inadvertently recalled from her gradual dissipation beneath the Oblendis hills when the area was annexed by the Kiryen Empire. The urbane new colonists, noted for their highly refined social graces and fear of impolite interactions, unknowingly invoked the holy name of Dozentit hundreds of times a day in the course of incidental banter:

“Philadora’s hat looks delightful, dozentit?”

“This Nydirian wine tastes a bit off, dozentit?”

“Making an issue of Ylliria’s flatulence seems a tad indelicate, dozentit?”

Harkening to these myriad calls, Dozentit occasionally materializes at dinner parties, coffee dates, and nail salons where her unknowing beckoners uncomfortably attempt to act as if she isn’t there, and continue their conversation as if nothing were out of the ordinary. This causes the goddess a consternation she has yet to resolve, but she prefers it to endless slumber.

When invoked, she can answer questions as for Commune at will, but only for questions the PC already knows the answer to.