On Kind Sorcerors, or the Crowd Sourced Mage

The modus operandi of the average mage, wizard, or sorcerer is to impose their will upon the cosmos. For reasons inscrutable, a few individuals do this in reverse: they can only impose the will of others upon the cosmos. These poor sods are called kind sorcerers.

Anytime anyone around a kind sorcerer desires something, a spell pops into his head. He doesn't know who desires this, but a clever man can often guess. This includes casual player chat at the table. The DM declares what the desire was and then comes up with a spell that would help accomplish it. She doesn't tell the hapless player what this spell is.

I made this post just so I could use this picture.

Yes, this means the other players can just declare how much they desire healing. And yes, the DM can declare how much the orcs desire you puny humans to die. We have fun here.

A kind sorceress can keep up to her level spells inside his head. If anyone around her desires something, and she's all full up on spells, the new desire replaces the oldest desire. A kind sorceress can cast up to her level spells per day.

HOWEVER: if the kind sorceress first spends an entire round trying to accomplish the desire, she casts it for free: it doesn't count against the total.

It is for this reason that kind sorcerers tend to be highly agreeable people who act like total schizophrenics.

On Weresquids

The common weresquid is a bizarre creature. It may assume the form of either a brightly colored, foot-long squid or a human, with six tentacles in place of hair. 

The weresquid's best imitation of human hair. Curtesy of here.

Weresquid are not humans with a bizarre form of lycanthropy; they are a type of ooze. Their bodies are boneless, with the sole exception of their teeth, which have two canines in the upper set and only one centered canine in the lower. Weresquid can change color at will (though the process takes about fifteen minutes), and prefer vividly vibrant hues.

Seriously, they're walking rainbows.

In human form, the weresquid can squirt ink, which it produces in alarming quantities. This colorful goo is sticky and acidic: wading through means moving at half speed and losing 1 HP per turn. Most weresquid carry some kind of container to store excess ink, and weaponized water guns to shoot it remarkable distances and with great force. Such weapons inflict anywhere from 1d6 to 1d20 damage. Curiously, weresquid are effected as normal by ink of a different color. 

While in squid form, the weresquid is a goopy, flaccid thing, and can pass through bars, grates, and quarter inch holes with ease. On land, it flops around pathetically. The weresquid cannot swim in water: immersion leads to the squid dissolving. It can swim through weresquid ink, if it matches it's current color. In effect, the ooze flattens itself out, rapidly sliding around, even up walls. 

Flop flop!

Curiously, anything a weresquid carries transforms into goo when it turns into a squid. Upon turning into a human, these items reassemble themselves. Even weresquids don't know what's up with that.

A weresquid attempting to disguise itself as a harmless hipster.

If slain, the weresquids explodes violently, strewing ink everywhere. Then it's tiny squid soul will rapidly look for any nearby ink. If it finds it, it will reform itself in three rounds, good as new. This has lead to certain scholars proposing that weresquid are in fact a type of undead, which posses oozes, which in turn can turn into squids and squid people. The counter argument to this theory is that it's bloody stupid. What next: they come from the distant future? They like dance parties and high fashion? Best to ignore the bloody things; they're an abomination to logic as it is.

The weresquid in it's natural environment: the rave.

Currency In Ramhknal

Any ship that enters or leaves Ramhknal is thoroughly searched by the Accounting Corps. After taxes are assessed and paid, contraband is seized. For the last twenty years this category has included silver: any and all silver found is forcefully exchanged for the equivalent sum in gold. Avoiding this process is punished by fines, imprisonment or enslavement, depending upon the severity of the case.

This law only affects incoming silver; silver already inside the city is exempt.

The searches for land traffic is considerably more lax. Since Ramhknal is a port city, only connected to a series of dying, jungle overgrown suburbs, there is very little traffic. The few rural farmers who come into the city proper couldn't smuggle much silver in, even if they had it. So they're questioned, their saddle bags are glanced in, and then they're allowed to pass.

Since the state confiscates all incoming silver, this rare metal is worth ten times more then gold. Which is 100 times what it's worth outside, if you're using standard D&D currency. As you would expect, the players could make an absolute killing smuggling silver into the city.

Oh Ramhknal! Oh backwards city! Only in Ramhknal is silver is worth more then gold. 

As for the silver, everyone knows that the Accounting Corps report to the city's ruler, the illustrious Captan. No one knows what the Captan is hoarding all this silver for. I don't know what the Captan is hoarding all this silver for. If you need an answer, feel free to roll a d10.

1. He is building a scale replica of his kingdom, the islands in gold and the sea done all in silver. 
2. He is forging it into swords. Thousands of swords.
3. He is making the largest mirror the world has ever seen. When completed, it will open a portal to the moon.
4. He eats it. He is trying to become an angel. He is slowly succeeding.
5. He has promised it to an army of star vampires. He is running out of time.
6. He pumps it into a buried god. He harnesses it's waste, without realizing it will soon awaken.
7. He sleeps on it at night. He's half dragon, on his mother's side.
8. He is trying to break his curse. He's hoping the bit about silver wasn't a metaphor.
9. He casts it into the sea, to his dead Captaness. By now she must be the richest demon in all of hell.
10. He is making a liquid silver golem. It's big. We're talking kaiju big.

For Your Next Adventure

The party enters the tavern. In the back sits a man with a sword and a man with a crown. Upon closer examination, he appears to be the king's brother. Suddenly, he rises and yells "Everyone! I'm going to kill my brother! Drinks are on me!"

Then just play this. Or if you're really hardcore, sing it.

Gods I loved Galavant

Do the players follow? Do they start singing along? Do they sneak off and tell the king? Do they graciously accept the booze and look forward to the regime change/ execution tomorrow?

Choose Your Own XP Gain

So Last Gasp write this:

"I’ve also got this idea for gaining levels (because gold for xp has never tasted right to me) where to level up you need to tell AMAZING BUT TRUE STORIES about your exploits in major cities or places where you can make a name for yourself (number of stories equal to the level you’re trying to reach).

Which is a nice built-in incentive to seek out completely bizarre shit apart from just “there might be gold there”, as well as more social interaction/climbing."

Which pretty much perfectly compliments this post by Jeff.  And I get to thinking, damn, that's pretty cool. Myself, I often hand out XP for awesomeness: do something totally badass and I immediately give you anywhere from 50 to 500 XP. This led to one time the entire table agreeing to award ME 100 XP, and afterwards keeping track of the GM's level became something of an in joke.

So XP: it can be reward for just about anything! And it's funny when the players have different and occasionally conflicting goals. So why not codify it?

Why I'm in here in the first place.

At the beginning of a session, you may declare (or change) your character's ULTIMATE GOAL. You can have up to three of these. Every one starts with GET RICH.

• Get Rich: XP for GP.
• Live in Luxury: XP for GP spent.
• Fame: 500 XP for every AMAZING BUT TRUE story you tell at the bar.
• Violence: XP for killing dudes. 50 per HD.
• NOT IN THE FACE: When you defeat a foe, half XP if you got hurt, double if not.
• Magic: Spell level * 100 XP for every spell you learn.
• Knowledge: 100 XP for every book you get. 100 XP for putting it into a library.
• GET SWOLE: 500 XP per STR or CON point.
• Coast Guard: 100 XP per HD for every person rescued.
• Spread The Faith: 50 XP for every convert. 1000 XP for every temple constructed.
• Rat Bastard: Double XP for gold you don't share with the party.
• Meddling Do-Gooder: 1000 XP for every evil scheme foiled. 1000 XP for every villain captured and turned in to the authorities.
• It Belongs In A Museum!: 100 XP for every rescued artifact. 100 XP for getting it to a museum.
• That's CAPTAIN Jack Sparrow: 100 XP for each crew member you recruit. 10 XP a day while you have a ship. 1000 for getting a bigger ship.

Adjust the numbers to taste. I'm sure you can think of many more.

Grease Monkey Distilled

Richard posted the grease monkey here. And THAT'S based off this. I copy pasted the bits I liked and shortened the rest. All I wrote was the amusing flaws table.

Grease Monkey

Grease monkeys have no religion, no special faith in technology and no idea why they can put machines together and they work, where other people try and get garage art. They’re just handy with a spanner.

Treat as Thief. Instead of the usual raft of thief skills, grease monkeys get the following:

Class Abilities

Kinda Smart: You can figure out what a device does with an INT check. If you fail, you get it after a night's study.

Quick Fix: You can fix anything obviously broken with another INT check. Same for deactivating things. Warning: fail by 5 and it either breaks for good or terribly backfires.

Gadgets: It can be assumed that the Engineer is constantly inventing, creating and cannibalizing any number of minor devices. You can use a gadget to turn any stat check into an INT check: just describe how it works. Warning: same fail by 5 thing as above.

Any gadget that WORKS can be named your favorite gadget. You only get one, but you get Advantage while using it. You can take it apart overnight, allowing a new gadget to become your favorite.

Long Fix: Broken machines are basically monsters you fight with a wrench. Hey, Fighters work up to killing dragons, Grease Monkeys work up to fixing F22's. They have AC and HP, and each 'attack' takes 4 hours. So roll to hit, add your level, and hopefully deal 1d4 'damage' with your wrench. Better tools do more, and you'll often need specialized parts.

Inventions: Every level, you can invent one utterly new thing. Describe what you're trying to achieve, and the GM will decide what 'spell level' it would have. If you could cast that shit as a wizard, you can make it as a grease monkey. Give it one amusing flaw, get the parts, and file a patent.

Amusing Flaws

1. Solar Powered. Doesn't work in shade, inside, or at night. Can save up exactly one shot.
2. Breaks often. After every use 1 in 8 chance it needs 4 hours of maintenance.
3. Weird Fuel. Cheap but smelly. Standard supply rules: roll a d12, on a 1 it lowers a die to d10, so on until d4 where it just runs out. Each die takes up an inventory space.
4. Slow. Takes 1d4 turns to turn on.
5. Lags. Takes 1d6 turns to stop.
6. Volatile. If it ever takes 6 points of damage, it explodes. 3d8 to everyone within 10 feet.
7. What? 1 in 4 chance it's set in reverse. You didn't even BUILD a reverse setting!
8. Gets hot. You can only use it once every second round, unless you want to take 1d6 burning hands damage.
9. REALLY LOUD. Roll for wandering monsters.
10. Enormous. Takes up your backpack slot.
11. Needs your blood. 1d8 will be enough for the day.
12. It's also a switchblade! Blade and actual function triggered randomly.

Chariots Of Rubbish Index

1. Introduction
2. Frames
3. Drives
4. Extras
5. Weapons
6. Racers
7. Mooks
8. Rules Of Play
9. Map Making
10. GET REKT
11. Print Outs, Credits, and Music