On Pale Worms

20 HD, +5 To-Hit, Ignores Any Damage Under 4 

They crawl. Massive. Quick. They have three eyes; one vast and facing straight on, the other two lower down on either side, never both open at the same time. They blink constantly to remain aware of their surroundings.

This cousin to the purple worm lives almost wholly above ground. It is slow to start and impossible to stop; every turn it can accelerate or decelerate 30 feet a round, up to a maximum of 720 (about 80 miles an hour). If it doubles back after rushing by you at top speed (and it always goes top speed), you won't see it for another 50 rounds: it's armored plates leave it nearly incapable of turning.

So it plows through country and city alike in huge lazy circles, blasting through buildings to add their detritus to it's hide. All the riches of the world end up within their stomachs, each a larder of treasures.

Worm tracks are long, wavy, and gently curving: they make for perfect roads for weary travelers. Luckily, there's no chance of being surprised by a worm, as the things have only one volume: perpetual agony. Maybe something inside them is broken.

Surprisingly hard to find good pictures of worms.

You've heard that in other lands they've saddled these beasts, and learned to control them. You've also heard it the other way around; these things were built, and now have escaped, estranged from their original purpose. You're not sure which theory sounds stupider.

While still, the beast is massive but not dangerous: even being attacked only makes it move 1 time in 6. While moving, anyone looking at it realizes the obvious: that thing is filled with enough gold to turn this life into paradise. Make a DC 20 WIS check, unless you specifically look away.

If you pass the check, you feel a deep sense of shame. All the treasures of the world! A life free from pain and suffering! And yet you didn't even move, and now it's gone. Each passed check gives you -1 to all rolls for the rest of the day as you mentally beat yourself up.

Fail and you inch yourself closer to worm's oncoming path. Fail three times and next turn it will be upon you. Everyone talks about the treasure, but nobody talks about the teeth: those swallowed take 10 1d6 damage attacks in it's toothed esophagus on their way to the stomach.

Think less fire and more on the ground. From Girl Genius.

Inside the stomach will be 20d4 porcellaneous pellets, each containing 20d100 gp in gold and art (for the worm is like a sieve: it uses the ugliness of life as a shield, while keeping the beautiful inside). You may grab one and be summarily shit out, or attempt to cut your way out. Any damage inflicted upon the worm causes 1d4 stomach contractions, each crushing you for 1 damage.

After 15 damage you've cut a gash into the outside world. The worm will thunder on, bellowing in pain and leaking stomach acid, losing 1 HP every turn. It will only stop once it has left it's attackers far behind. It will burrow down, down, deep into the earth, where it will rest and heal. And then it will return. The worms always return.

I think all the best monsters are metaphors for the things we fear. So here's a monster about my relationship with trains. Thankfully, things have been going a lot better lately.

New Class: One Punch Man

Through enormous training and discipline, a One Punch Man can defeat any opponent with one blow. This doesn't help him one iota in shopping for groceries.

Level Progression as Fighter, but with the following class abilities.

ONE PUNCH

Your One Punch deals four* times your level damage, plus your strength mod (you should definitely write this number down somewhere). You can deliver One Punch every combat. If your One Punch misses, you did not actually punch anyone; instead, you spent the turn worrying about coupons.

*Assuming your monsters use d6's for their hit dice. If they use d8's, you deal five times your level.

CONSECUTIVE NORMAL PUNCHES

At level 3, you can split up the damage of your One Punch between multiple targets.

NOTHING BUT PUNCHES

Except for your One Punch, you cannot punch, kick, or deal damage with any hand held weapon.

HUMANS CAN'T FLY

At level 2, a One Punch Man can jump their level times 100 feet.

FUCK YOU BUILDING

At level 4, your One Punch deals quintuple damage against buildings, rocks, and other environmental structures. You only get One Punch against them.

EXTREME TRAINING

The secret to your One Punch is a (not that intense) training regime.

• One hundred push-ups! 
• One hundred sit-ups! 
• One hundred squats! 
• A ten kilometer run! 
• Three meals a day! Just a banana in the morning is fine. 
• And never use the AC or Heat. It strengthens the mind. 

If you follow this regime every single day for one month, you gain 1 point of Strength, Dexterity, or Constitution. For every point, there is a 1 in 20 chance you go bald. There is no limit to how many points you can gain like this.*

* FIIINE YOU WIMP OF A GM. There's no further benefit after three years.

Most episodes of one punch man boil down to this: Saitama can defeat anything in one punch. Therefore, most of the plot is all the stuff that happens before he shows up. I made this class to capture that feeling. You're the ultimate glory hog: your friends beat up the monster, and then you effortlessly finish it. Feel free to replace the punch with a sword: chopping through entire buildings is pretty anime too.

Is this class even remotely fair? No, not really. And that goes both directions: after you kill one guy, you have nothing to do. If all of this makes your character seem too useless, you can add this ability. It would probably take more than this to fix the class though.

SWEET THROWS

At level 2, you can throw an opponent. Regardless of size. This deals 1d4, and they need to make a CON check. Failure means your friends get advantage to hit them next round.

The 3 Rules of a Great D&D Game

Well, there's more than one way to skin a cat, but all of my best games have followed this model.

You may feel free to skip

Some unnecessary philosophy

One thing I used to do a lot is describe the lay of the land, give the PCs some context, and than ask them what they do. This is a very videogame approach to roleplaying: dropped in a virtual landscape, the player starts to interact with stuff just because it's there, and perhaps more or less at random. It's like playing Skyrim.

When playing with a strong willed and adventurous bunch, the players will quickly go off and get themselves in trouble. But I've often seen players blank-faced and at a loss for what to do, especially if I have newbies.

Which is on me, because D&D is not just a video game. The story telling techniques that work in that medium do not inherently translate into roleplaying. Same as railroading: you don't run a game the same way you write a book.

The actual bloody rules.

So here's my magic formula. Secret bonus: run games like this and they're usually one shots. God I love one shots.

Rule 1: Present the players with a time sensitive mission.

Examples: Orcs are going to invade the village in three days. There's some dudes over there and it looks like they're setting up some kind of race with gambling. A rival adventuring party is going to raid the dungeon.

This accomplishes two things. First, it forces the players to be proactive. The problem is imminent: you must either engage now or ignore it. Second, it provides a clear and obvious goal. All the best stories have strong beginning.

Rule 2: Multiple ways can help solve the problem.

Good example: Combat. Smack a bad guy. Trip somewhere. Retreat to the room with the traps. Cast a spell. Talk your way out of it. Heal a friend. Set everything on fire.

Bad example: Vast Hitpoint Boss Monsters. They're immune to a lot of interesting spells. They're geographically limited. All you can do is deal enough damage to kill it. 

This keeps things interesting. If you're planning a heist, someone can distract the guards, someone else is making a beeline for the the diamonds, and the third group is digging the escape tunnel. Which means EVERYONE can contribute: if a character can't climb a cliff or deal a lot of damage, that's fine: they can help in other ways. It keeps everyone engaged.

It also avoids pixel bitching. The standard mandatory secret door is infuriating because there's only one way to spot the damn thing. Giving the players options means they're less likely to get stuck and sink into frustration and despair.

Rule 3: Provide resources, some with no obvious use. 

The player's character sheets can do a lot of the work for you. Inventories are full of weird items, the wizard has some funky spells, and the ranger has a pet bear. Sometimes this is more than enough: the players can stand on their own two feet. But adding environmental features only expands the range of cool shit. Maybe the dungeon has a 200 foot shaft. Maybe it has thirty feet of steel chain, and three locks to go with it. Maybe it has incredibly narrow corridors that the minotaur can't fit into. Give the players a chance to get creative and surprise you.

Anecdote time: I once ran the 'Your village will be invaded by orcs in three days' game. While drawing the map, I added a river, some standing stones, and a door in the middle of a hil. I just wanted to make the map a little more interesting: I didn't have anything special in mind. In the course of the game, the players voraciously explored EVERYTHING.

They allied with the dwarves who lived in the hill and got them to build a series of tunnels and foxholes, so they would have better mobility on the battlefield. At the standing stones they made a deal with Satan. And best of all, at the river they built a bridge, so the the orcs wouldn't have to ford it. Then they lined the bridge with dynamite.

I played the 1812 Overture when they blew it up, taking half the orcish horde with it. It was a beautiful finale to an evening of orc killing.

Wizard Wednesday: The Wizard Wednesday

Or: yes, I do think I'm very clever.

Albert Arbiea ("just call me Al") was a mage experimenting with time. He was meeting with some success: he had mastered a powerful spell, which could send things up to a day into the future, and sometimes into the past.

And then everything went to shit. Hey, sometimes you mess with the timestream, and sometimes the timestream messes with you.

Now he's stuck in Wednesday. 11:59 PM he'll spend in February 3rd, but at 12:01 AM he's jumped to February 10th. It's very annoying, and he can't stop it. Since the locals only see him around on Wednesdays, they've taken him to calling him the Wizard Wednesday. He's grown to accept it.

It's tough only being around for 52 days a year. His clothes and accent grow ever older, and he has a hard time keeping up with current events. Too much happens in his friend's lives. Sometimes his birthday lands on a Wednesday and that makes him very happy.

In addition to his other magic, Al Aribea can literally punch you into next week. Indeed, he can send anything into next week. He's fairly certain he's somehow casting the spell onto himself every midnight: maybe it's burrowed into his head. To test his theory he's looking for an exorcist or an anti-magic circle, no order of preference.

Adventure Hooks

1. Al Aribea knows who did this to him: Vrydag, a colleague of his now known as Mr. Friday. It's *very* difficult to catch a man who is never around when you are. So he's hired you: he has very good intel that the two faced incompetent is sleeping in the Rat & Barrel, two days ride from here. Al won't make it there in time, but you can. He wants you to take Mr. Friday alive. And on his very careful instruction, he wants you to interrogate him. Fun fact: Mr. Friday has, on his person, a spell that can send you back in time one full year. You can fix a lot of mistakes in a year, make a lot of smart moves. If you do manage to trap him, it's his first bargaining chip.

2. Or maybe the Wizard Wednesday and Mr. Friday have always been good friends, working together to solve their plight. They're working in the woods right now, mostly through very well written notes. The entire area is getting slowly saturated with time magic: some animals are permanently hasted, others permanently slowed. Some start and stop in strange fits. The ogre has fallen apart: his body is in one place, the howls come from somewhere else, and the club and claws strikes in a third place. Everything but the wizards seems to be caught in a loop: everyone does the same thing everyday, as if a giant clock keeps resetting itself.

And all the cats are dead. Fun fact: a cat is the temporal equivalent of a canary. Near a bit of time magic they start yowling, and near a lot they just drop dead.

3. The Wednesday Wizard lives in town. He has a nice house, and it's filled with all kinds of experiments. He's hiring you to house sit: he's gone six days a week, after all. Water the plants, keep the potions from bubbling over, feed the thing in the basement once every three days. Buy this list of groceries. And please deal with all the weirdoes who inevitably show up between Wednesdays.

4. Al Aribea's old castle is time-fucked. Sections of it only appear on particular days; dungeon is only here on a Friday, the moat shows up on Mondays. Most pertinently, the top of the east tower only appears on Wednesdays, floating in mid air: it's connecting bottom half only appears on Tuesdays. Getting from one to the other is... tricky. And Al Aribea left his wand, the one he thinks can stop all of this foolishness, up in the east tower. It's not his fault: he fell out when the floor disappeared.

Like this, but with more missing.

Beware: time moves six times faster in the castle. Al didn't tell you this because he doesn't know. But the other adventuring party he sent in? They know. And they know that when the castle pieces disappear, they go somewhere outside of time. Somewhere filled with horrible things that are currently killing them.

5. FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT FUCK IT. He's done with trying to stop this thing. Hey you! Here's a magic wand. Whatever you zap with it only appears on a Wednesday. I WANT YOU TO ZAP EVERYTHING HERE YOU GO TELL YOUR FRIENDS.

5.5. You know it's the oddest thing, there's an entire town that only appears on Wednesdays now. What's up with that?

6. His birthday is next Wednesday! He wants you to get him a party. Get some tables out here, a cake, and invite all of these people. He'll gladly teach the wizard a little time magic in return. Things like haste, slow, time stop: the trivial, easy to learn stuff.

Wizard Wednesday: Abrax the Terrible

Like this, but with the spikes facing out, and the face is a scarier.

A metal sarcophagus floats towards you. Whatever is inside screams and gibbers in it's madness, and all around magic erupts, incinerating anything that stands in it's way. THIS is Abraxas the Terrible.

But his real name is Carl.

Carl Ingsbell was an adventuring wizard, up until an ogre threw him across the room. When he woke up two days later, he was paralyzed from the neck down. For one sad, bitter hour he cried, cursing his friends for pulling him out of the dungeon at all.

It is surprisingly hard to find pictures of levitating doom coffins. I can't understand why.

And then he got over it. Carl is an optimist, you see, and that means quite a bit when you're a wizard. He would 't let something as trivial as being unable to move his limbs stop him from adventuring. He spent most of his adventurer's loot on an enormous metal coffin, tougher then any armor, and locked himself inside. Tenser's Floating disk moves him around. Prestidigitation keeps the coffin clean. A tight metal grate in front if his mouth lets him cast spells, and unlocks come meal time. He's got a few apprentices now who feed and buy shit for him. He delights in dressing them as deranged cultists.

Because Carl knows he's freaky, and he figures he might as well use it. He screams, he howls, he speaks in a strange and terrible voice. He's bolted on an entire mess of spikes to his sarcophagus, casted the head to look like a demon, and liberally decorated everything with skulls. He loves how stupid the name 'Abrax' sounds.



When he's not striking fear in the hearts of his enemies, Carl likes to talk politics and play chess. He loves intelligent conversation and adventurers; they remind him of the good old days. His current plan is to find someway to fix his back. He hasn't met with a lot of luck, but remains hopeful. If he does, he'll give away the sarcophagus to the first asker: he's sick of the bloody thing.

Abrax's motto is "I WILL EAT YOUR SOULS." 

Carl's motto is "THIS WON'T STOP ME I'M A WIZARD."

A note on his armor: Normal weapons can't pierce Abrax's metal coffin. They can pound his mouth grate in, which has 10 HP, but you need to roll 15+ to hit. While Abrax can float, he moves a measly 10ft per round, and turns pretty damn slow: it takes him a whole turn to spin 90 degrees.

Adventure Hooks

1. The Party encounters Abrax in the dungeon. He's fighting a bunch of orcs. The orcs see the party and cry for help. 
2. The Party encounters Abrax in the dungeon. He's currently sleeping and his apprentices are out. His sarcophagus is creepy but still. 
3. The Party encounters Abrax on the road. He interrogates your cleric, asking if they have a spell that can fix his back and let him leave his coffin. 
4. The Party encounters Abrax in his Sarcophagus, lying on the floor. He's yelling for help: he's in an antimagic field and every monster in the dungeon has been banging on his coffin. The thing will take at least ten men to move, but Abrax can tell you a lot about the dungeon. 
5. In someone else's evil lair, you find Abrax. The guy who owns this place is a douche: he cured Abrax of his broken back but locked him in his coffin. Abrax begs you to find the key and let him out. Or at least get that fucker in front of him: Abrax still has a fireball ready for that son of a bitch. 
6. Some dudes in bloodstained robes approach you. They ask if you'd be willing to talk their boss about current events. It's not weird I swear.

What Would My God Do?

Or: How to Randomly Generate my Shiny New Cleric's Religion

Sometimes you just need to know how your god feels about something. In those cases, roll a D6. Or grab a blank D6 and write these words on it. That's even more convenient.

1. Sacred! This is an object of reverence! Make sure it is respected and protected.
2. Acquire! Such a thing is good fortune! Try to obtain it, or things made from it.
3. Praise! Your god saw what they had made and it was good. You should probably compliment it.
4. Pity! Your heart goes out, it really does. Truly is this object low, and worthy of your sympathy and/or spite. Play it by ear.
5. Unclean! Avoid this! To touch it is to degrade yourself before your lord.
6. Destroy! Your god does not tolerate such evil. Cut this cancer from the world!

The more you roll this dice, the more convoluted your cleric's faith becomes!

Why stop at just ten? I'd go for at least twenty; it's a much better D&D number.

On Pulling a Delphi

Next time the party stumbles across a witch, prophet, or soothsayer, offer one, and only one, character this proposition:

"I can tell you how you die."

Maybe you'll let the player decide: that's ripe for tragic reversal. Maybe you'll roll on a random table; I've thoughtfully prepared one for you.  But if anyone's brave enough to take you up on the offer, you've hit the motherlode. The player will think, 'I'm bloody immortal as long as I avoid my doom'. And you, as the DM, are in the perfect position to be an actively malicious universe. It's a wonderful game of cat and mouse, with the player trying their damndest to dodge their fate and the DM gleefully trying to shoehorn it in.

The best thing about this is that by being unable to kill a character 99% of the time, you are thus excused to pile on them a heap of suffering and sorrows. Sure, your character can't die to these orcs, but you can pass-out, lose your arm, be dangled on a rope and used as monster bait, end up in a stew pot, etc*.

For the truly industrious GM, such trials and tribulations can be used to break a character, who will then plead for their fate to finish them. Or maybe, in the process of trying to avoid their doom, they will enable it. Or find a clever loophole. There's a lot of classic options here.

YOU WILL DIE BY

1. Turtle
2. Flail
3. Siege Weapon
4. Whore
5. Gold Coin
6. Splinter
7. Fire
8. The Sea
9. Villain in your game.
10. PC in your game.
11. The weapon you are currently using.
12. Crane
13. Dog
14. Your Father's Hand
15. Giants (Plural!)**
16. Grass
17. Goblin
18. Greed
19. Steve
20. Macho Man Randy Savage
21. A nine-fingered man.
22. Under moonlight
23. Child
24. Falling
25. Poison
26. Wood
27. Rats
28. Royalty
29. Witch
30. Angel

Feel free to come up with more. Hound the player. Allude to their doom frequently, get them freaked out. Always give them either fair warning or time to respond. Make attempts at them, and embrace failure: the story of the PC constantly dodging their inevitable death is FANTASTIC.

* I believe that's called the "It Gets Worse" rule, and I'm cribbing it from Wampus Country.

** The plural thing is great for anything really.