Anonymous asked: 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.
Jun 22
aftertheend-gamedev asked: Maira! What's your favorite type of ruin to explore, my darling beet-lobber?
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?”
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.
I HAVE HAD A THOUGHT!
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!
