Doctor, in your opinion, how much does the profession of Veterinarian interlace with the profession of Physician? In other words, assuming one's party lacks a Doctor, how effective can a veterinarian help with medical matters? (Or, from a more fantastical standpoint, beings who are not human but are also sapient would probably find a veterinarian more useful right?)
It all depends on exactly what sorts of things people studied! Even someone who is a human doctor (say, a surgeon) may not be of particular use when it comes to diagnosing rare diseases outside of her specialty. One can assume that most human doctors would be able to provide basic care or procedures regardless of their specialty, since the bulk of their education is going to be consistent from one to the next, but there are limits on what can be applied from one to the other.
That said, there are various specializations for veterinarians as well. Someone who specializes in primates would obviously be more suited to handling humans than an equestrian vet, after all! I would say that as a baseline most veterinarians with any sort of mammal experience would have the base education to provide critical care and vitals stabilization. However, for things like immunology and diseases they would start to falter.
And for beings that are not human but sapient, it simply depends on who closely their anatomy corresponds to human or some other animal. Just because something is non-human doesn’t inherently make a veterinarian a better choice, especially in a fantasy setting.
Maira! What's your favorite type of ruin to explore, my darling beet-lobber?
“Darling.”
The word leaves an odd taste on your tongue. You give it a few tentative nibbles, silently mimicking the labial movements necessary to enunciate it… you’re not impressed. You’ve chewed on copper wires that had a far more trustworthy consistency than that. Less sugary, too. It’s a wonder you aren’t spitting it back right into the Crow’s famelic grin - or maybe you’re a tad too sure that he’d appreciate that, more than anything else. He’s deplorably predictable like that. You have to appreciate that in a person: helps hell of a lot with your drawing arm’s reactive time.
So no, you leave your spittle right where it’s meant to be, especially since you need copious amounts of it, if you’re going to have a solid chance at turning that bluish beetroot in you’re holding into a clump of swallowable, hazardous nutrients. You bite into it with the same kind of eagerness the Crow would kill to be on the receiving end of, staining your lips with the slightly glowing humor that seethes from the several layers of mutated innards… and smile. Oh, of course it’s nothing like the Crow’s - you’d think a poon squid’s spiky tentacles went to town on his cheeks, with how widely the white of his teeth spreads across them. Which is probably the only sort of circumstance you’ll ever end with the corners of your mouth reaching that far on your face! Ain’t it so, Maira? Yeah, you’re more of the demure type, right? It’s the kind of smile people have to intentionally look out for. Make grabby hands out of their eyes, sifting through the sand and the dust in search of that rare piece of OldTech… it’s the hint of a smile, barely distinguishable from a forcefully straightened curve. It’s your smile, and definitely not for the Crow. Although the thoughts that the latest in his endless series of inquiries have occasioned might lead one to wonder - like the mutated vegetable/piece of artillery you’re casually feasting upon, the mental image concocted by the insides of your head possess a special kind of pleasant attribute that you’re probably among the few able to find any sort of appreciation for.
“Rooms… there are these rooms, sometimes. They’re far and few between - you won’t find a single one in the entirety of some Remnant Sites - but if you’re lucky, you’ll end up stumbling on them evey now and then. Places that were once homes, or part of one. Sometimes, it’s little less than a cubicle in the corner of a larger structure, or a section in the ruins of some kind of establishment. Garages are the easiest ones to find, since they used to build them sturdy. But other than those, it’s those others… Small, almost suffocatingly so… and so full of things. The clutter - it’s nothing like what you find in the Bunkers, or the Abandoned Bases. Rooms no bigger than a tent, littered with objects that serve no purpose by now other than to be there. Useless trinkets. Pointless bits of trash. All preserved to nigh-perfection, left untouched by your average scavenger.”
The loud crunch of your beetroot’s last moments serves as an interval, a brief interlude before you resume retracing the solemnity of your personal reminiscences.
“I like to camp in those places, and muse about what purpose each item served. Flickering switches, turning handles, opening and closing drawers or lids. When I fill the silence with the echo of a life that has been lived hundreds of years before mine, I feel at ease. The purposelessness of those functional actions and those objects… the other scavengers don’t understand its beauty. They don’t value that which doesn’t directly serve their survival. It doesn’t help them live… but me, I live for that.”
The last radioactive chunk disappears, the last sign of its existence a bump traveling down your throat. Dragging along with it what little trace of that smile you were wearing a moment ago.
“Not that you’re any different from them. Isn’t that right, Crow?”
Where does the Noram continent get it's name from?
It is, perhaps, not the most creative name I’ve ever come up with, but Noram is a holdover term from when the United States formed a coalition bloc with Mexico and Canada to contend with Unified Oceania and the reborn European Union in the early 2100′s. The simply named North American Bloc was abbreviated to NorAm in common speech. Long after the apocalypse, the term stuck around and everyone just assumed that’s what the land was called. Precious few people even know that there’s anywhere else to go.
The default campaign setting is dropped into North America, but nothing stops any aspiring GM from setting the game in Europe, Asia, Africa, or anywhere other than Australia. Do not go to Australia in the characters’ modern day.
Okay, there’s an old bind that GMs can run into when players are interacting with NPCs: the GM wants the NPC to mislead or outright lie to the players, but the very mechanics of such an action automatically tip your hand.
If you tell the players to roll an Insight/Intuition/Detect Lie check, they know they’re being bluffed. Very talented players will be able to keep that meta-knowledge separate from their character’s action, but most players can’t help but take up a defensive posture during the conversation with the lying NPC.
If you don’t tell the players and rely on them to call for their own lie detector checks, they’re either going to get paranoid and roll checks all but constantly or you’ll have to drop huge hints that an NPC is lying.
I come to you, dear friends and readers, with a solution! As an added bonus, it works for persuasion or other social skill checks as well! If you plan to have the NPC lie or attempt to persuade the characters, roll the check and base how good the lie is on how well they roll. Don’t call for any corresponding checks from your players; just add more faulty details or tells if the NPC rolls poorly or make it airtight if they score high. If the players pick up on the suspicious bits, they will then know to call for a lie detection check.
Obviously, this places an extra burden on the GM: you will have to know how to make a lie more or less convincing. This will be one part practice and one part research! Learning to make a lie more effective is substantially easier, so here are a few links to help in that regard: 123.
Now, making a lie bad is easy. As a bonus, it’s fun and will entertain your group. Remember the last time someone tried to pull a fast one on you but you knew they were lying? They put quite a performance, didn’t they? Here are a few tells to sprinkle in when an NPC botches their bluff check:
Nervous fidgets - Tap your foot, get up and pace, gesture unnecessarily, scratch the back of your neck, and/or lean back and away from your players. Lack of eye contact - For the duration of the lie, make sure you avoid looking any players in the eye. Look away at some detail in the ceiling or catch someone’s eye and then immediately look down at your papers for a few seconds. Hesitation - Add lots of umms and uhhs into the NPC’s speech, have them pause before answering questions. Unnecessary Details - the more complex a lie is, the more likely it will lose consistency: go into laborious detail. The bruises on the warden’s prisoners weren’t from a beating, no! They must have tripped over their chamberpots and banged their heads against the bars a few times on the way to the floor! Defensive Posturing - People that lie often become agitated when cornered. NPCs could lash out at being questioned, with arms crossed and a scowl on their face. How dare the player characters ask why the warden’s breath smells of whisky! He’d never drink on the job! Facial Touching - When under stress, people tend to touch their face by reflex. Scratch at your nose, wipe your forehead, or push your hair behind your ears.
Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go test this as soon as possible. If anyone gives it a try or has feedback, let me know!
The Advantage/Disadvantage system in DnD 5e translates to about a +5 bonus to checks/attacks . This means that flanking, using abilities like Reckless Attack, or simply cajoling your DM into giving you Advantage for Reasons ™ is more advantageous than the training and experience granted to a twelfth level character, as represented by their Proficiency bonus.
Some might argue, and rightly so, that the virtual +5 bonus can’t help you exceed 20, but a quick glance at skill DCs and armor classes in 5e shows precious few above a 20. Adult Red Dragons (CR 17) clock in an AC of 19. Solars (CR 21), one of the most badass Celestial species out there, just squeak out of the Advantage range with an AC of 21.
Skill/Save DCs hold up a bit better, with trials and challenges that go above and beyond being outside the Advantage range.
I do want to draw your attention to the fact that a character with a +3 bonus to Strength, proficiency with Athletics, and a good enough reason to call for Advantage has 50/50 odds, each round, of swimming through a hurricane at first level.
For the overwhelming number of checks, saves, and attack rolls before you reach 13th level, Advantage confers more benefit than your experience and training. Even without Advantage, the average DCs and ACs you encounter are considerably lower.
Why is this bad, you might ask. Doesn’t it just mean that players are going to succeed more often? Yes, and I’d argue that makes things less fun. Lower ranges lead to less tension, risk, and uncertainty… doubly so if you can get Advantage.
Don’t get me wrong; DnD 5e is still a blast. I’m looking forward to a game myself in the next few weeks! I just think that, mechanically, they have ground the edges of of a critical aspect of the fun of the game: uncertainty. The uncertainty inherent to difficult DC/ACs is a very useful tool to let characters stand out and be heroic. Isn’t that what we’re ultimately here for? To be awesome and do impossible stuff?
One of the problems I have with Science-Fantasy, as opposed to Magic-Fantasy, is the lack of magical items. Even high tech devices like lasers kind of fall flat (#TeamBallistic) from the ideal; even if practical, they lose some of the charm. How is your item handbook looking to address the void created by a lack of magic, quartermaster? The context sensitive button is an in-game item, correct?
That, good sir, is an excellent question! And quietly, when no one is listening, I fully agree with you. Items tend to be either the Do-All devices, such as the Star Trek tricorder, or quite frankly boring.
My solution is two-fold:
1. I crammed the GM’s book full of OldTech items that each have a few functions. Most of the devices have a specific purpose and then a number of secondary capabilities. 2. I added a table of flaws. These range from the item not working on a percentile chance, shocking their user every third use, drawing extra power from its battery, or dissolving into a mass of nanomachine goo. Most of the flaws don’t result in the item’s destruction, but that is definitely a thing that can happen.
Caught
somewhere between a spider and a human being, the Lifeweaver combines the worst
elements of both. Eight spindly limbs extend from a smooth, pale torso with a
toothed maw at its core. A thin membrane of translucent tissue connects the
eight limbs together like the webbing between a human’s fingers, four to each side of the main body. Its long neck holds
up a human-like head, as hairless as the rest of the body and with no
discernable features beyond a trio of blood-red eyes. Unless the creature is
caught traveling, it will be seated on a thick bed of large tendrils of flesh
that can easily overtake a whole room.
Nature Check DC 20: The
creatures are exceptionally rare. Indeed, there may only be one Lifeweaver
alive, and any area where it settles will be changed in unpredictable ways.
They seem to prefer building lairs in dry caves deep in the mountains, often
completely covering a cavern in its flesh nest. If encountered in the wild or
if one becomes injured in combat, they flee with exceptional speed. They are
often accompanied by devoted worshipers. DC 25:
Lifeweavers are incredibly intelligent and alien. They are able to speak and
sometimes do so to make demands of those they encounter, often offering medical
services in exchange for chemicals or meat. Whole bodies, meat, or other bodily
fluids are consumed by the creature’s central maw and stored in the tendril
nest. DC 30:
While many may view a Lifeweaver setting up a nest nearby as an opportunity for
trade, there are some that whisper of villages that suddenly vanish after a
Lifeweaver begins trading with them. This rumor is made all the more unsettling
by the occasional demand from a Lifeweaver that the next batch of meat be live. DC 35: Lifeweavers
lack the ability to reproduce sexually. Instead, they construct a new
Lifeweaver from the biological slurry stored within their tendril nest. The
process apparently puts a tremendous amount of strain on the creature, leaving
it stationary and vulnerable. The offspring are grown within a rapidly growing
cyst that forms at the center of the nest and hatch into a fully grown and
identical Lifeweaver within two weeks. The parent then dies and the offspring
leaves the lair to find its own place to repeat the process. It is unknown why
they do this.
Medical Check DC 20: Their
knowledge of biology is nearly unrivaled. If sufficient volumes of requested
materials can be gathered, a Lifeweaver is able to cure diseases, mend any
injury, or even reattach severed limbs. Some claim that they are able to
improve, alter, or remove Mutations as well, but few have been able to present
any evidence. DC 25: The
nesting tendrils that a Lifeweaver extrudes into its lair dig into stone and
soil to extract useful minerals. Somehow, the nest processes these minerals
into all manner of useful medical chemicals. If one can locate and extract the reservoir
bladders near the spot the Lifeweaver usually sits, the value of such a cache
of chemicals may be beyond calculation.
Psionics Check DC 20: Lifeweavers
can’t actually speak. They utilize a form of subtle form of telepathy to
convince those around it that it is speaking to them in whatever language they
commonly use. DC 25: The
‘devotees’ that the Lifeweaver always seems to have around itself aren’t
voluntary worshipers; they’re thralls that have been psionically enslaved by
the creature. It is speculated that prolonged exposure to their telepathy has a
way of slowly dominating an individual’s will. No cure has been discovered. A
Lifeweaver can draw power from their thralls to power their own psionic
attacks. DC 30: Any mental attack
against a thrall harms the Lifeweaver as well. The damage to the creature is
less than the harm dealt to the thrall, but it does present an avenue of attack
against the otherwise immensely psychically resilient creature.
I’m running a game where a group controls a covert operative. Using a pirate vessel, they close on the target world.
I set up several good landing sites, then, to add character, added a fuelling station on the moon and a starport. Both had good reason to be ignored… but…
Nerius’s physical eyes watched the immortal Badger burn in the lava, but that horrible spectacle paled in comparison to the creature’s incandescent soul he saw through the haze of the sand drug. The Badger, Ragnus to Undying, was definitely an enemy and had sworn to destroy all that Nerius and his ally had built… But this was no longer a fight. Ragnus was beaten; his army destroyed, his body trapped in an eternal loop of regeneration and destruction, and his plan to cause an eruption thwarted… But he wouldn’t give up.
The Bush stepped out of his body and met Ragnus on the ethereal plane. “Please,” he entreated, “just give up. Let me seal you within the Doors. You don’t want to be destroyed.” The Badger lashed out, spending his tortured essence to attack Nerius, but the attack was far too weak. It sparked off the Bush’s perception. He frowned. “I could destroy you here.” The Badger howled in anger and struck again and was again rebuffed. “Just surrender. Make the hurting stop.”
Nerius opened the Doors and began to pull the Badger’s soul towards the glowing interior… But before the Doors could seal, Ragnus spent the last of his strength to feebly scratch at Nerius and was then gone. The Bush sighed. He didn’t share Ragnus’s bizarre belief in a glorious life after death, but still found the idea of the mighty Badger’s soul being completely extinguished depressing. He’d hated Nerius more than he’d wanted eternal life. That was sobering.
He slipped back into his body and turned to Raven. “He’s gone.”
Raven sheathed her sword and shrugged in reply. She’d never demonstrated a merciful streak before, so the lack here was no surprise to Nerius. “One less warlord. Come, let’s go back to the city. Boy is already organizing the celebration.”
“Will there be cocaine?”
She nodded. “Mountains.”
“Good,” Nerius replied and began to trundle his way back to his waiting allosaurus mount. “It has been a long day.”
Whether he’s going by Reginald Bronzebottom, Inabrim, or
Skinny Ben, Elim Stone isn’t exactly a typical Dwarf. He’s tall and lanky, with
sandy hair and a cleanshaven face that almost always has a smile plastered
across it. You might even mistake him for a short Human if you squinted hard
enough. You’d probably also not guess he was a sorcerer, what with the breast
plate, tabard covered in holy symbols, and war hammer, but the tools are more
than a convenient disguise; Elim is quite capable with the heavy gear and can
preach with the best(ish?) of the faithful. It is still a disguise, mind you, and one that the Dwarf calls upon
often.
Those that get to know the man often find his complete
inability to tell the truth vexing, but few question the value of his magical
ability. His spells are almost exclusively defensive or utilitarian in nature,
and Elim will seldom miss the opportunity to solve a problem – any problem –
with a literal wave of his hand. Allies soon learn to be cautious however; just
because the Dwarf says he can fix
something doesn’t mean he can… And
Even if he can fix the problem with magic, the wild nature of his spellcasting
can just as easily make a mess of an otherwise very simple problem. To make
matters worse, he delights in these chaotic bursts of magic and actively flirts
with chance at every opportunity. The little quirks would be bonuses in his book, if he could sit
still long enough to write a book.
Speaking of books, the lad attended the Graystone school
of wizardry in his home thaig for all of three semesters. Structured
book-learning didn’t agree with Elim. Neither did the strict rules, necessary
respect for tradition, nor the general and pervasive state of not-fun. It
always amazed him that his teachers would make even evocation boring! He quit
before they could kick him out and the whole experience left him with a strong distaste
for all things traditional.
Request: A perk for robots that does nothing but ensure that your paint will always be perfect, never scratch nor peel, nor discolor. No stat bonuses listed.
Request denied.
All aesthetic or cosmetic matters are entirely up to the character! A robot with an auto-repairing paint of nanomachines is well within the realm of Cool Definitely Do That. Especially, oh please do this, if the paint scheme is something horrible, like a McDonalds server bot or something like that.
[Oh, what a cute looking plant on the sign post. Did they hang a potted plant on the back?]
[Wait what?]
[Oh.]
@aftertheend-gamedev [I don’t have a personal blog, so you’re getting this courtesy of the fairies. Can’t submit more than one photo from my pc at a time though, so you’ll be getting it in this post. Remember, nature always finds a way. Even if the world hasn’t ended. Even if the place isn’t abandoned. Even if it’s at the end of an RCMP parking lot that sees more traffic than the local 7-eleven. Nature finds a way to keep going and assert its dominance.]
[That’s one thing I dislike about many post-apocalyptic settings, is that nature often hasn’t made much of an attempt to regrow, even though plants can and will grow in radioactive regions.(I’m looking at you Bethesda.) Maybe not quickly at first, maybe it takes generations for the plants to adapt, but nature always finds a way.]
[”We’re killing the earth oh nooo!” Bitch, Mother nature will outlast our species whether you like it or not. Don’t believe me? Ask the plankton on the outside of the ISS what they think about ‘unlivable’ conditions’.]
100% agree! Plants are extremely hardy, biologically diverse, and simple enough to have survived every extinction event our planet has thrown at it so far… Including us. Climate change won’t kill the planet; it’ll kill us.
Looks like your buddy there decided to get defensive early on and speced into heavy armor! Its offspring will carry the tradition into the new age.
Rose loved these special nights on the hill outside her village as Autumn settled in. For about a week or so, everything was just perfect: the air carried the promise of the chilly winter to come, the sky was clear enough to see all the stars easily, and the voice of the Moon could be clearly heard over the background static. Everyone said it was just her imagination, but the young lass knew that the softly glowing disc was speaking to her just as readily as the far-speaker boxes the elders used to speak with other villages did! How deaf everyone must be to not hear the sweet song the Moon sang… It disheartened her whenever she thought about it too long.
She leaned back against the grass and quietly sang along with the faint notes. Tonight she was lucky; the symphony had just started with its first long note. “Daaa,” Rose knew each note and pause in the whole song! “Da da da da, da da, da da da, da da, da da da!” Then came her favorite bit! “Da daaa daaa da, da daaa da da!” She reveled in the familiar tune and it wasn’t long before she was up and dancing to the Moon’s song, dipping and swaying to each short and long tone.
At the song’s conclusion, Rose bowed to her imaginary dance partner… And then shot back up as an idea struck her. She darted over to her satchel and pulled out a sheet of paper and some writing coal. Even if no one else could hear it, she could write down the Moon’s music and share it with everyone that way! She didn’t know all her letters yet, but that was alright. The Moon’s song only used two notes anyway, so B could be the short notes and A could be the long ones! She worked furiously to transcribe the song as it began to repeat as it always did.
A few minutes later, after double checking twice, she looked over her work with pride. She’d done it! She’d written down the Moon’s song and now everyone could enjoy it!
A BBBB
BB BBB BB BBB BA AB BA
BBA A AAA AA BA A B ABB AA B BBB BBB BA AAB
B A AAA
BA BABB BABB AB AAA BAB BA AA BBAB AAA BAB ABAB B BBB BABB BB BBB A B AB BB AB AAB BBB AAA BBB
BAAB BABB B BA BBB B BAB B BBB BAAB
AAA AB ABB AAA AB BBAB BAB B AABA BBA B AB ABAB ABAA BAAAA BAAAA BAAAA BABABA BBAAA BBBBA AA B BBB BBB BA AAB B BAB B BAAB B BA A BBB.
Sprinting back to the village, sheet of music in hand, she hooted and shouted for all who could hear to wake up and hear her song…
Exciting possible news! A podcast crew I’ve been following for a couple of years said they were interested in doing a playtest one-shot game. Not only are the fellows entertaining, but it’d be good exposure as well. Definitely good news…
Now if only work would give me some breathing space to bloody well get stuff prepared, I’d be thrilled! Curse you, real life, curse you!
You know very well that my tendency to deliver throwaway bits is not the fault of my crit system, but rather the lack of my abilities as a storyteller and lack of a thesaurus. Quite honestly, any "system" regarding natural 20s can work so long as the DM knows how to present both the successes and failures with enough grace to befit a natural 20, which (to me) represents the players exerting more than 100%. I just find that following the gut helps me present more than a +5 to a DC check.
A perfectly reasonable stance to hold and I fully endorse your decision!
I would still ask about the weak mage attempting a feat of heroic strength and getting a 20 though. If you establish that a 20 signifies a great narrative moment, you have to be ready for when players attempt checks their character is woefully under-equipped for, but proceed roll a 20 anyway because the dice Gods are just like that.
I will fight you on this, because inscribing a hard and fast system makes people stop trying to do the impossible. Also it’s boring.
I say, when someone tries to make a roll that even on a nat 20 would be considered impossible, perform the black box function f([d20 + gm’s whims] * chance event won’t impede plot or game / number of times player has been in the spotlight this game or session).
The only issue then is how to reward players for rolling a natural 20. But that shouldn’t be too hard, all you have to do is not be worse than a 20 on a perception check.
Welcome to D20 Hill. Bring your own gravestone!
First off, tell me immediately who told you about the Sacred Function. No player must know of the function!
Point 1: “inscribing a hard and fast system makes people stop trying to do the impossible. Also it’s boring.” You have literally watched the opposite happen at my table! There have been no small number of massively improbable and amazing moments that have resulted from people trying for the insane and nailing a stupidly high DC with a 20.
Point 2: “
chance event won’t impede plot or game” Is there any scenario where a barbarian lifting a house over his head isn’t going to start a legend? “Holy shit! That guy over there? That’s Johnny House-Flipper! Crazy dude lifted a house!” Further, are you going to limit the impossible tasks to being within a character’s general sphere? If a weedy sorcerer tried to lift a house and rolled a 20, what do you do then?
Point 3: “how to reward players for rolling a natural 20“ I stand by my +5. With that bonus, the likely minimum result for the check is 26. A DC 25 task represents a level of difficulty that might be found in a professional sport. A 30 might be found in the Olympic games, with a 35 almost definitely being a world record. So, back to our character, if they roll a 20 using a Skill they’ve put time and effort into, they’re likely hitting the 30 to 35 range with higher level characters reaching into the 40′s. That’s almost certainly going to be ten above the DC, triggering a Spectacular Success that surely be cinematic and amazing as hell.
So, let’s go back to Johnny House-Flipper. Dead lifting a house over his head is definitely impossible for a medium sized creature, so let’s call it a 50. If Johnny has a +11 Force check and wants to try anyway, then throws a 20, his total becomes 36. Not high enough to succeed, but certainly high enough to say that the timbers of the home creak and groan in protest as Johnny heaves with all his might. He roars with exertion. The jaws of those watching hit the ground as the entire cabin tilts and begins to rise a few centimeters. Glass cracks and shingles pop off the ceiling, but Johnny’s shout ends in a pained groan as his grip fails him and the cabin crashes back onto its foundation. No one speaks for a long moment. The hulking brute of a Human failed… But how close! That man nearly lifted a house! Whispers begin to circulate among the stunned onlookers. That man nearly lifted a house!
A few retellings later and Johnny House-Flipper’s legend has begun.
Now, isn’t that better than a throwaway bit of, “yeah, you rolled a twenty, so Johnny lifted a house over his head. What do you do next?”
A nat 20 does not guarantee success when the impossible is attempted.
Discuss.
For my own little system, rolling a 20 grants you a further +5 bonus to the check. Natural 1? -5 penalty. That way, crits aren’t automatic success or failure while still allowing for Awesome Results ™.
Hey, question: if an elf walks into a bar, does that mean a dwarf walks under it?
You’d think so, right? But no.
The bar is warded with a circle of protection against Chaos. Th’rina Silverhair may walk into the bar, sure, because she’s not an outsider, but she’ll feel awful the whole time she’s there. Those -2 penalties are annoying. Sooner or later, she’ll just come up with some grand self-justification, probably voiced outloud when the owner is just within ear-shot, and then leave in a huff. The subtle shaking of her hands won’t fade for several hours though.
Ol’ Stonehand is having a blast meanwhile! He feels great and drinks heavily all night.
Allie Cohol is a beautiful concept, and I'm glad the towns dragon protector wasn't killed
Ha, I’m equal parts glad and surprised that Miss Cohol amused so many people. Every few months or so, that post resurfaces and starts making the rounds again. I’m far from tumblr famous (thank the gods for that), so it’s a weird experience to see my notifications spike every so often.
Anyway, thanks for the compliment! I haven’t run much DnD these days, but she’s definitely one of those NPCs I keep in my back pocket. She’ll surely pop up to cheerfully overcharge adventurers again some day.
Once upon a time, I was running a DnD game for some friends. The player characters were checking out reports that a local town had been having trouble with monsters. They’re informed that it was true, a few years ago, but a copper dragon set up a lair in the mountains and chased all the awful creatures out. A dragon slayer showed up shortly thereafter and neither dragon nor slayer were heard from again. Players are disappointed at first, but then quickly perk up when some other plot threads become apparent.
A few sessions later, the place they were staying burned down (their fault), forcing them to check out the more expensive tavern in town. There, they meet Allie Cohol, a half-elf woman with red hair that owned and ran the tavern. She was cheerfully greedy, but still helpful and always ready with a cheesey joke… And after only the third joke, one of the players, Bill, froze and locked eyes with me. “You fucker. She’s the copper dragon,” Bill says.
That reveal was supposed to be a big thing later, so I’m kinda on the spot. Fortunately, another player, Fran, pipes up and says, “nah, that’s stupid. The dragon in the mountain is a red herring. We’re here for the cultists.” The cultists were in the sewer and the PCs were actually working for the cleric Big Bad without them knowing.
“No, listen,” Bill continued. “Red hair. Greedy. Bad jokes… Her name is Allie Cohol.”
Everyone around the table gives him a fairly blank look, but I’m sweating bullets. Threads that I had spun oh so carefully were half a heartbeat away from unraveling. Bill is getting this real wild look in his eyes and pounds a fist against the table. “Allie Cohol. HER NAME IS ALCOHOL.”
Fran then slowly pans over and looks me dead in the eyes. “The deadly joke ability. She’s a goddamn dragon.”
Was the joke ability something that had been ascribed to the dragon previously?
Nope! So far as anyone knew about the dragon in the mountains, it was copper colored and scared off the local critters. The killing joke is pretty esoteric knowledge that only a really well educated dragon expert would even know about.
I’d designed Allie to feature small clues, but not enough to reveal what she is. Red hair = scale color, greed = dragon, bad jokes = deadly joke ability. Unfortunately, I had underestimated Bill’s encyclopedic knowledge of monsters in DnD.
Never underestimate your players’ knowledge, even when they’re being otherwise thicker than a concrete milkshake!
