Ouranomachy

Ouranomachy

Operatic Tactical Warfare in the Spinward Rift

I've always liked tactical wargaming, although I never have time for it these days. Either way, I usually enjoy the list-building aspect just as much as the actual game (especially as I'm never the best tactician). Probably the wargame equivalent of OSR-style rules is Fast and Dirty, which has been a basically open-source, extremely flexible skirmish ruleset for years. (More resources available here. However, there hasn't really been a complete "generic" setting for the game, so here's a bit of a go at it. I use the term "operatic tactical warfare" because I'm integrating more "heroic" aspects than the speculative fiction mould FAD defaults to.

The Spinward Rift

Centuries ago, Earth was drowned by rising tides of water and blood. The survivors clambered aboard scores of generation ships, forging thousands of new identities and creeds during the decades spent en route to their new home.

The ships’ designers had sent them to the Spinward Rift, a stretch of the galaxy with an exponentially higher density of habitable planets than any other ever detected. Even if their flight paths diverged, it was reasoned, crews would be able to redirect to a convenient second, third, or fourth choice, rather than being carried by their momentum infinitely through the void.

Each ship expected that, due to the realities of interstellar travel, they would barely ever have contact with one another once they arrived in the Rift. They were wrong.

Dreamgates

Cyclopean gateways, fashioned out of an unknown, iridescent black metal, were spread across most of the Rift’s worlds. There was no rhyme nor reason to their placement – most had twelve or fifteen, some thirty or fifty, and they were scattered across verdant forest worlds, fertile archipelagoes, blasted acid deserts, hellish primordial worlds, and airless rogue planets alike. Nor did they provide instantaneous travel, as their first explorers expected – though certainly superluminal, travel between worlds still took weeks, sometimes even months. Furthermore, they only connected a few of the closest planets, and their energy weakened when transmitting large amounts of matter. And no other sign of their builders was ever found.

Nevertheless, they were exponentially more efficient than the generation ships that brought humanity to the Rift, and soon only rudimentary, system-bound craft roamed through space. The Dreamgates became the exclusive means of interplanetary transportation, and colonists raced between them to discover new resources for plunder, the crashed remains of failed ships, and to make links with the burgeoning cities of the successful ones. But this travel was not without cost. Dreamgate users, in their liminal days within, experienced strange, waking dreams, of fantastical landscapes, strange beasts, non-Euclidean flora, and of the spaces between stars. The initial studies revealed no behavioral or psychological effects, and the dreams did demonstrate continuity of consciousness, which put to rest early fears that the dreamgates killed those who entered them, and simply reconstituted a copy on the other side. So the colonists continued their use, not knowing the seed a select few of them were left with…

The Empire

One in one million Dreamgate travelers, it soon became clear, manifested odd powers. Repeated use made this more likely, and one family of eager explorers – the Porphyrii – began to benefit more than most. The Porphyrii, guided in part by the uncanny intuitions and parapsychological abilities they were developing, devised a genetic test that did what no previous researchers had done, and isolated a stretch of DNA associated with the Dreamgates’ effects. They immediately began locating other psionics and bringing them into the family, or killing them. While other groups soon followed their lead, the Porphyrii had an insurmountable first-mover advantage, and within a generation had unified nearly every colonized world under their banner. They declared an Empire, with no qualifier – there was, after all, no other.

The Collapse

But heredity, even coupled with psionic power, is no guarantor of good rule. The Porphyrii were no exception. For centuries, their abilities and the rifles of their Phalanx kept order in the Rift, even as successive Emperors lost themselves to hedonistic dissolution, grandiose bouts of self-deification, or quixotic attempts to map the ends of the dreamgate network. Worlds chafed under misrule, rose in revolt, or had to be granted forms of autonomy.

Then, Emperor Ouranov, the Empire’s twenty-fourth of their line, found a new object of worship. Wracked by weeks of visions, akin to those felt within the passage of the dreamgates, they felt something calling. Something akin to angels, or aliens, both entities that humanity thought had passed long ago. There was another step, they felt, beyond the rift, beyond even the fabric of spacetime, even beyond the strange beings that built the dreamgates. It was humanity’s time to take that step, even if the masses could never see.

Ouranov first converted the remnants of their family to this insight, and bade them scatter among the worlds, to prepare for their unveiling. Second, they contacted the Phalanx, asking the Empire’s famed army to lock down public plazas and buildings to stave off the possibility of unrest. Unfortunately, they did not react as had been foreseen.

It took time for the coup to emerge, so byzantine were the Phalanx’s ranks. Most were long dissatisfied with the errands given them, by their lack of success pacifying the peripheral worlds and the constant harrying strikes of the few independent holdouts. In the end, though, a cabal of Phalanx commanders sent emergency orders countermanding the lockdown and assassinated Ouranov as they were in the middle of giving a public speech explaining their insights.

Civil War

It has been decades since that day. The Remnant Empire, now ruled by some of the original cabal in conjunction with whichever local despots they bribed into remaining, controls a bit more than half its original territory. Most of the rest is led by the Secessionists, a fractious confederation of rebellious, victimized, and previously autonomous planets seeking to place itself at the head of a new order. The Companions, bereft of an emperor to protect but still dependent on the arcane techno-spiritual fusion that undergirds their engineered psychology, roam the Rift in search of their own inscrutable mission. The Phalanx fights itself seemingly as much as the Remnant Empire’s real threats, as local despots use its exhausted soldiers in their own petty turf wars.

Meanwhile, stranger threats circle the Remnant Empire like flies with a corpse. The Ascended, disciples of the Ouranov’s vision, gather turncoat Companions and distant Porphyrii cousins to nests hidden within its most peaceful core words. Abandoned rimworld factories pump out legions of Processors, deadly battle drones from a secret project whose creators were killed in the war. Dozens of independent worlds have banded together under the banner of the Dualists, a psionicist movement which claims to have corrected the last Emperor’s errors, and which has found a novel means of navigating the dreamgates. Other independent worlds have sent out teams of Scavengers to pick the choicest bones from between the feet of these squabbling giants.

And finally, much to humanity’s regret, it has made its first contact with living aliens. The Locusts are an all-consuming genus of hive beasts which descends directly from space, circumventing the dreamgates. And the Arrivals claim to be refugees, fleeing some terrible threat which has destroyed their home planets, but which they are adamant are unrelated to either the Locusts, or the Ascended.

The Caatinga, a One Page Dungeon

This is a one-page setting/adventure I wrote up for Brendan's Halloween contest. It's based on Backlands, the contemporary account of a bloody revolt in the Brazilian badlands at the close of the 19th century.

I wanted to capture the book's (fundamentally racist, of course) Lamarckian sense of moral & evolution, with the evils of the environment considered to directly cause the evils of the backlander revolutionaries. I also wanted to capture the Caatinga region's incredible ecological adaptations, since it's characterized by quite dramatic seasonal variations. The environment consistently defeated the Brazilian army, and here it's intended to do the same to the hapless adventuring party.

Finally, I've found it interesting that a lot of research into the motivations & risk factors for people joining weird cults has actually found that, ironically, more intelligent people are likelier to fall prey to some weird fringe society. So, the Caatinga reflects that.

Click the picture download it. Have fun!

Lineup 2014

It's a new year, and I've resolved to get some regularly scheduled programming up on here. There are a few small side projects I've been working on, and my Qelong campaign is starting to pick up steam, but 2014 is really going to be held up by a few tentpole projects. In order:

The province of Acacia has been the only safe domain on the New Continent for over a decade, enriching its citizens and its rulers through a steady trade in wondrous furs, exotic herbs, and tough lumber. Now, however, the mercenaries of the Union Charter have set up competing forts, and inciting the natives to make war on the Acacians and on each other. As the balance of power whirls out of control, once-human things stir in the darkness, and the prehistoric forests begin to reveal exactly how they can stand the test of time...

Archive here.

For centuries, the Dark Continent has lain in state. Exoticized, exploited, or ignored by oceangoing imperiums, the Dark Continent is known as exactly that - a broad curlicue of unknown land, a rudimentary coast, a mockery of both cartographic authority and royal power. But there will soon be bands of human adventurers spilling across the Dark Continent's baking hills and steaming jungles, erecting coastal forts and way stations, penetrating deep into the ancient Elven homelands and the tropical cradle of Dwarven civilization. Will your band be swallowed up by its trackless hinterlands, or will they stumble to the coast, heavy with looted gold?

Archive here. 

It's 1931 in the Tennessee Valley. Herbert Hoover is President, lending his name to shantytowns all across America, and Henry Hollis Horton is Governor, embroiled in scandals following the bankruptcy of his political allies, and the loss of $6,000,000 in corrupt endeavors. The law is largely in its own hands, and nobody important is interested in investigating those "haunted" woods up the river, or the "cursed" treasure hidden deep within a local cave...

Forgottenland is what happened in my head when the Old School Renaissance got run over by the Drive-By Truckers. Outside the Valley, society grinds on much as we know it. Inside the Valley, crooked cops hunt backwoods moonshiners, lynch mobs ensure white rule with institutionalized terrorism, and mythical beasts guard buried treasure in shadowed forests.

Archive here.

Veil

The Faith rules the world, and God rules the Faith. But who can ever know how God wishes to be served?

Veil is both my main campaign setting and what I'll call the gaming system I'm currently using. This is a grittier adventure fantasy, where rewards are swift, but death is swifter, clinging to your heels like an ancient cobweb.

Influences

I get vibes from a lot of different things, and I like to write about them. I'll review anything that has something I'd like imprinted into my projects, and put it here.

Veil, a Cubic Dystopia

Once upon a time, there were many deities.

All were equal, though some, of course, were more equal than others. As with any power structure, the weak soon aligned with the strong, or with each other, creating alliances and pantheons in competition for the souls and riches of the world below. They warred.

Constantly.

Eventually, when the sky was filled with fire and smoke, the land smashed and broken, and the seas choked with holy power, the war met its end. Few mortal creatures survived, and those that did were irrevocably scarred with the terror and pain of generations of divine battle. It was plain to see that the world was in its death throes, and such constant hostilities might soon cause even gods to perish. Without an end to the war, there would be nothing but blood, and dust, and Void.

So the gods convened. A truce was formed, and the task of rebuilding the world begun. The gods called into existence a great Veil, one that no sight nor sense could pierce. The Veil concealed all knowledge of each god's ultimate whereabouts in the new world, hiding from them nothing except their own ultimate place in the world's foundation. With the Veil in place, there could be no hierarchy, no intrigue, no sabotage - every god, save the insane ones, would naturally desire a world where none among them would risk annihilation, or deprivation, or injustice.

So, in the final phases of the world's construction, they decided to merge. There would be but one God, they said, intrinsic to the structure of this new existence, and there would be no rivalries, no contention, nothing but an eternal Peace. And as the dissenters felt their powers drawn inexorably into this thing, this singularity of energy, they broke the agreement.

There was a pop, and a tear, and the Veil tore, and the new earth wrapped itself around the old, and all the old idols crumbled with the shock of rebirth. Dissenters, malformed and shrunken, fled to deep and hidden places. A new Humanity rose up and began slaughtering all the creatures from Before. And there God stood, and saw it was good, and said, "Ashes to ashes, dust to dust."

The new Deity could be called the Primarch, they decided. He - she - it - had dominion over all the beasts of the land and air, the strange creatures of river and sea, and the weather, and the rocks, and everything between and beyond. It could be prayed to, but would not respond except in whispers, or subtle signs. And it wished nothing more than the killing of those "traitors," hidden everywhere in Veil. These demons, it said, were weak and atrophied, wanting nothing more than the plunging of the world into brutal Chaos, or to enslave it a grip of iron, or imprison it in soulless Order.

It was nothing if not vague.

As the Faith spread, adopting nonhumans and barbarians under its wing, it changed, then flexed, then split entirely. Now there are three Faiths, each with their own great city, and client kingdoms, and millions of worshippers.

The Western Faith believes that the forces of evil will bide their time, gathering strength and plotting a single, crippling blow against all holy order in a coming Armageddon. In the fires of the Last War and among the tsunamis of gore will be born an Anti-God, an avatar of nihilism, and the cosmos will return to the hell that was Before. So followers of this Faith hone their blades, building tall fortresses of stone and faith, stockpiling food and gold, all to serve as bulwarks against the Reckoning.

The Eastern Faith instead wishes to fight fire with fire, and use the tools of the Enemy against it. Their great Prophet, Aloysius the Tall, was even an accomplished diabolist, who habitually summed great Terrors only to bind and destroy them, so as to always be practiced at the art. Eastern priests are well-known evangelists, everywhere using the power of negotiation and commerce to bring new lands into the fold. Many Eastern holy sites are built atop known ruins of the old order.

The Southern Faith is composed of the Primarch's Chosen, every one of them, in the flesh. People of other faiths are, of course, welcome to their doubts, and welcome also to live and work in southern lands. Of course, they are obviously unqualified to hold office, or lead armies, or cross any borders or travel long distances.  Southerners believe that their souls, Chosen as they are, can never leave the world - usually, they are recycled as newborns in families of loyal Chosen, but sometimes they appear far afield, in foreign lands known not to the men of Faith.

There are, of course, a few things all three Faiths agree upon:
That there is but one true God.
That It has a Plan.
That It hates the traitor Demons.
That those Demons have many tricks and many disguises.
And They could well appear to be Prophets of the Faith.

The Sajavedran Calendar

Click to embiggen. 

I'm preparing to run a Qelong campaign - if you don't know, it's a horrific Southeast Asia setting being poisoned by a misfired magic bomb - and so I'm putting the ol' tools to work.

Here is my Qelong calendar. I based the months off of the Khmer lunar calendar, with Qelong-style syllable replacements. There are ten months for the reasons explained in this post - but in short, it's easier to not have to remember different numbers of days for different months. The yellow is, of course, the dry season, and the green is wet - changing around what would be November and April. Meqasay is the "new year."

Basically, use it to keep track of major events, past and future. At least three of the four factions in Qelong are actively attempting to increase their power, and while you can certainly have that be a foggy, unresolved background, having them dynamically clash and maneuver is, I think, much more interesting. With the calendar, you can simply jot down future clashes and some notes on them, for the party to interfere with (or ignore.)

As for the year itself, the Khmer calendar marks years with zodiac signs in the way the Chinese calendar does, but also respects a multi-year cycle, where each animal also advances in number - resetting every 60 years.

For Qelong, I decided to modify the cycle so that each decade is marked by a single zodiac sign, creating a 120-year cycle. However, changing to the next sign is usually accompanied by some sort of portent, determining the mood of the next few years, and the lack of portents can sometimes extend the "decade" well past its normal expiration date. Therefore, the dying land of Sajavedra is still in the Years of the Dog - with no end in sight.

To reflect this, add two rumors to the rumor table - they can be included normally, or you can use them in lieu of the first two duplicate rolls.

The Mage War began in the Years of the Rooster, and it will end in the Years of the Pig. After that, we'll face the long Years of the Rat...
The sign of the zodiac usually changes every ten years. But we've seen twelve Years of the Dog, and I hear there will be many more...

Putting NPC Polities into the Toolbox

I think the most important thing is to remember the Magic Number 7, and not have more than 7 things in front of you at once. Since political groups operate in the same way as World NPCs will, they compete with those for the 7 slots of global movers and shakers you can comfortably juggle at a time.

Luckily, for the most part, a World NPC will be aligned or associated with a given political entity, and can be part of the polity's entry. Only extremely charismatic, powerful, or manipulative individuals can be expect to be a global force entirely their own - others, even those having significant disagreements with the polity they participate in, will still be significantly constrained by the preferences of the polity, and should be considered within it, rather than apart from it.

The other type of World NPC that can get away with one of the 7 spots on the front page of your campaign journal is an individual with an absolutely loyal following, or crazy enough to not even go around with much of a following. Generally, these will be necromancers with armies of undead, iron-fisted cult leaders with fewer, but crazier followers, (larger cults with more than one power base will actually behave as normal polities), and lone wacko heroes like Hercules, Arjuna, or the PCs.

Honestly, for the most part, most World NPCs can be replaced by NPC polities. Instead of "King Hendrik of Lyceum," just use "Lyceum." The 7 great powers in your region will be the 7 polities you generate, unless there are 1 or 2 crazy individuals out there who can either compete on their own or are sufficiently unhinged that they can generate their own gravity on the world equal to that of a kingdom.

So, it's time for a few definitions. We want this system to be easy to port into different power levels, and easy to remember - therefore, use fractal design. Up to 7 kingdoms in your continent, each with up to 7 major internal players, each of which has up to 7 of its own major entities.

From here on out, a domain is the "setting level" at which there are up to 7 actors, which are entities both able and willing to meaningfully change the state of a given domain. A domain can be a multiverse, a continent, a kingdom, a city, a region, or even a single hamlet. An actor can be a race, a religion, a kingdom, a political party, a guild, a mercenary band, a cult, a posse, or a family.

(An actor can also be a single individual, but for the most part they will simply be subunits of other actors. Historically, even a king could never rule on his own - he needed the support of a complex network of noble, merchant, and military backers. And this network, of course, would never be completely unified - if necessary, it could be considered a domain all its own. Anyway, if you want, put in individuals as actors rather than subunits of traditional actors whenever you want to, and ignore these rules completely whenever you do so. Unless the individual in question has seven personalities.)

Therefore, each domain has up to 7 actors, each of which is their own domain, with up to 7 smaller actors, which are also domains, and so forth. Each actor uses the the stats described in my previous post:

• Strength: Isolation versus interventionism. 
• Constitution: Pacifism versus militarism. 
• Dexterity: Stasis vs. change.
• Intelligence: Social memory.
• Wisdom: Elitism versus populism.
• Charisma: Xenophobia vs cosmopolitanism.

I suggest beginning with the domain that is one higher than what the PC's will begin acting on. Perhaps more - it is easier to improvise downwards than upwards, since a strange new town they've never heard of before is accepted more easily than the appearance of a strange new empire just a few miles away. Generating this "top-level domain" is the simplest - choose the number of actors you want, roll their stats in order, then write the name, a 1-2 sentence description, and any other notes - important NPCs, controlled subunits and regions, etc. I made a summary sheet with all this inputted. Write down both the stats and the stat bonuses - the latter are important when moving downwards to a lower domain.

For example, the Kingdom of Lyceum is, from the PC's position, the most important entity in my Veil setting. The domain is functionally the World - the "Old Continent" of Estia, and the "New Continent" of Adrastia. There are two other actors on this domain - the Polikan Empire and the Safarran League - but I'll just do Lyceum for now:

STR: 9 (0)

CON: 10 (0)

DEX: 14 (+1)

INT: 8 (-1)

WIS: 8 (-1)

CHA: 12 (0)

As you can see, not particularly extreme in any area, but it is favorably disposed to social change, isn't rooted much in the past, and favors elite rule. I re-rolled the lowest die for STR and CHA, because I already have Lyceum funding exploration and colonization of a New Continent, and that wouldn't jive with scores of 7 and 5 on each of those. However, I do like that neither of those stats is particularly high - perhaps the kingdom is only exploring out of necessity? Or excitement has waned?

Of course, each actor is its own domain, so do this again for each actor. The exact manner in which you execute the next step depends on what the original actor is - most importantly on its centralization. A loosely organized religion might have its internal actors represent different schools of thought, while a rigid cult would have its internal actors representing different direct units. Political actors - such as states or empires - would have a mix of independent internal actors, such as different political parties or social groups, and subordinate ones, like militaries, tax agencies, et cetera.

Importantly, you apply the main actor's stat modifiers to the stats of every smaller actor under its direct control. Sometimes this is done crosswise - if a major actor within a kingdom is an independence movement controlled by a rival kingdom, apply the rival kingdom's stat modifiers. 

Continuing within Lyceum, one of the most important organizations in the Kingdom is the Black Chamber. It began as a cryptographic office and expanded to become a hybrid of magical and philosophical research unit, witch hunter, and spy ring. As its purview has grown, so has its power, and its secrets - both mundane and mystical - shape the entire kingdom's future.

STR: 13 (+1)

CON: 11 (0)

DEX: 9+1= 10 (+0)

INT: 10-1= 9 (-0)

WIS: 8-1=7 (-1)

CHA: 14 (+1)

So, the Black Chamber is fairly interventionist, still fairly elitist, but pretty cosmopolitan. That last might sound strange for a spy group, but remember it's equal parts mage, alchemist, and assassin. Lyceum's stats modified DEX, INT, and WIS to a small degree. Again, record the stat modifiers so they can be applied to any smaller actors the Black Chamber controls. 

Continuing on, Lyceum is a trading state, and thus Lycian merchants are socially and economically powerful, even if their political power is curtailed by the proliferation of trading guilds and shipping companies. 

STR: 11 (0)

CON: 9 (0)

DEX: 8 (-1)

INT: 10 (0)

WIS: 8 (-1)

CHA: 16 (+2)

The merchants are, of course, not under the crown's direct control. They're mildly interventionist, with a mild aversion to fighting, and are actually fairly inflexible and elitist. They're extremely cosmopolitan - I actually fudged this roll, since the first would have given me xenophobic traders - not a contradiction I'm willing to work with at this point. Inflexibility and elitism might seem counterintuitive to some, but this can easily happen if trading is conducted by smaller, entrenched family monopolies, rather than independent explorers.

From here, you can continue on down the line as far as you like. I wouldn't fully generate every actor at every domain level - keeping in mind that its easier to generate downwards rather than upwards, I'd fully generate every actor at the domain the players are starting in and the one immediately above it, and then partially generate one or two lower domains the players will likely come into contact with.

Partial generation involves rolling only the stats that players are likely to hear about from other actors - Charisma and one other stat (probably Strength, Constitution, or Wisdom). Partially generating like this greatly reduces the generation time, and provides enough information to allow incomplete actors to interact with the players from afar, buying you time to roll the other four stats.

The next post, I'll write up how to account for influences - religions, regions, social strata, and changes in command.

Polities as NPCs

The next awesome tool in LS's Campaign Toolbox is the list of World NPCs, basically the few really important people whose actions and goals cause great changes in the nature of the campaign world. Of course, these can't all be individuals, since that would be hoary old Great Man History and poorly reflects the way societies drove and determined their fates. But it's been hard to quickly model sublimated social currents.

I thought, why not use ability scores, like we use for individuals? 3d6 in order, straight up. I got the idea from Europa Universalis III's policy sliders. The major difference from normal ability scores is that "polity ability score" is a continuum - no score is strictly "better" or "worse" - instead it shows what position the polity has on an axis.

• Strength: Isolation versus interventionism. Low scores indicate an unwillingness to become involved in the political affairs of other polities, and high scores indicate eagerness to intervene.
• Constitution: Pacifism versus militarism. The low end doesn't necessarily indicate complete pacifism, just an anemic army and thinking that doesn't lend itself to violent solutions. More militarized polities have conflict as their first choice.
• Dexterity: Conservatism vs progressivism. This measures the polity's rhetoric and goals. Ignore the real-world connotations - Traditionalism means the polity wants what it wants because it believes that society is currently in a better state, progressive polities want to drive forward into that future state. Any desire for change - even "regressive" change - is modeled as "progressivism" here.
• Intelligence: Social memory. Social memory indicates how much the polity retains a sense of its past. This doesn't imply any other positions - a group can have detailed knowledge and many connections to its past, and be determined to move past it, just as much as it can wish a return to a past it knows nothing about. I can think of many real-life examples.
• Wisdom: Elitism versus populism. Fairly self-explanatory - high scores mean the polity fancies itself a champion of the people, and low scores mean they think the people are an ignorant rabble.
• Charisma: Xenophobia vs cosmopolitanism. Again, fairly self-explanatory - and remember that a polity can be cosmopolitan and still isolationist. Differs from Strength in that Strength indicates a willingness to affect other societies, and Charisma indicates the society's willingness to be affected.

I think the biggest advantage with these ability scores is that they - realistically - depict all of the internal contradictions and complexities displayed by real-life polities. You might think that the Xenophobic Interventionist Conservatives with low Social Memory are just four contradictions piled right on top of each other, except for the fact that this group exists.

10-Month Seasons

I just came across LS's post at Papers & Pencils about long-term campaign management, and am immediately going to implement it when I start a new game, after I move to the other side of the country. He writes about how he keeps track of most things - player goals, major NPC's, and regions - all in a way that cuts down on prep time and allows the various powers in the world to really flow together.

Of course, what inspired me most was his calendar. Each month, in his system, has 5 weeks, and each year has 10 months - coming out to 350 days, but much easier to keep track of. Especially when compared to the real-world system of months changing mid-week and all having different lengths. I like this much better than the alternative, suggested in the comments, of 12 4-week months. The 12-month reckoning only comes out to 336 days, which becomes increasingly significant when reckoning lifespans, aging effects, and historical timelines.

Now, the really interesting bit for me is seasons. LS suggests handling them by having 3-month summers and winters, with autumn and spring as 2-month transitional periods. This is a great simplification, but is based on the Western solar calendar, which has four seasons, rather than the ecological calendar, which has 6 seasons. I prefer reckoning by the ecological calendar because the most common challengers adventurers will face are ecological, rather than astrological. Ecological seasons determine weather, the activity of animals and plants, and thus the ability to forage, survive in the wild, etc.

In temperate areas, the "extra" seasons result from two divisions. Spring divides into pre-vernal and vernal phases, distinguishing between the budding of trees and return of migratory birds, and plants entering full bloom, with animals establishing territories and beginning to mate. Summer, on the other hand, is made up of an estival, or high summer, and serotinal phase, when leaves begin to change and young birds mature and prepare to migrate. Luckily for the 10-month model, the transition seasons of pre-spring and late summer are about half as long as the full seasons, of high summer, spring, autumn, and winter, allowing there to be two one-month seasons and four two-month seasons.

Seasons can tell you a whole lot about a new region, such as the optimum times to adventure, or to "steal a march" on an enemy, and generally dictate the pace of travel in an area. The ten-month year can easily accommodate seasonal differentiation in other biomes as well - I made seasonal wheels for, starting from the left, monsoon/savanna, subtropical (based on Thai seasons), temperate, polar, and magical polar climates.

Monsoon/savanna covers any two-season regions, either most tropics with a monsoon and dry season, or savannas experiencing rainy and dry seasons. Subtropical is based on Thai seasons (though Thailand is not "sub"tropical!), with a cool, a hot, and  alonger monsoon/rainy season. The temperate wheel has the most variation, and can accommodate both northern and southern temperate climates. In the north, run a colder, snowy pre-spring and a harsher late summer, with autumn snows, and in warm temperate regions, run a livelier pre-spring (perhaps with more diverse birds, as some species pass through to get to higher latitudes) and a much hotter late summer.

The polar wheel basically has two subtly differentiated "summer" and "winter," with a month marked off at each midpoint designating the Midnight Sun and Polar Night. And, the far right wheel represents Bloodland, a frigid, ghoul-infested continent. Here, the ghouls awaken from their slumber and walk freely upon the land during the Season of Blood, when the sun is too weak to burn their blasphemous flesh.

Finally, I whipped up a Year Page for temperate climates, with blank spaces for you to write in the names of your months, as well as keep track of major events. I faded the dates, and the lines between days, so they could be written over but still provide useful context - this tool is really designed for notes at the week-level, rather than the day level. I have the polar and tropical variants as vector files, and will try to upload them later.

The Dragon, A New Character Class

I'm in the process of pondering my own ideas of classes, races, and race-as-classes, and I came upon Grognardling's old posts about unconventional classes. One of those mentioned was, "Dragon."

Firstly, I have no attachment to (or even much knowledge about) extant D&D dragon rules and lore, so I'm ignoring basically all of it. The class, I believe, works better in settings without tons and tons of dragons running around, as D&D and Pathfinder imply by having, like, four different types of dragons with seven colors for each, all running around.

The central idea for this class is that you get extreme power at the cost of extreme specialization and little flexibility. They age with level, which is pretty quick for any animal - but it helps explain why there aren't tons of "dragon litters" running around all over the place and allows the dragon to advance within the same ballpark as the rest of the party. Obviously, this hasn't been playtested yet.

As far as the "Alien Mind" problem goes, I'm not really interested in adjudicating player behavior, beyond mechanics and NPC reactions. Even if I did put in non-mechanical behavior guidelines, that would still be a human guessing at alien psychology, and I don't think I'm any more capable of it than my players are.

THE DRAGON

Saving throws as Halfling. Experience Point progression as the S&W Monk.

Dragon level advancement is accompanied by growth in size, toughness, and abilities. When a dragon reaches the end of a size category, it cannot level up further until it builds a nest out of precious gems and metals worth its current experience point total in silver pieces. The dragon must sleep within for one week to become a whelp, one month to grow to juvenile size, and one year to become an adult.
Dragons are also, generally, supremely wise and strong creatures, and add 1d6 to each of their ability scores, though 18 remains the maximum.

Dragon Sizes

• Nestling: Levels 1-5. Hit Dice: 1d6. Two claw attacks, each dealing 1d4 damage. AC: as leather. 
• The nestling dragon is green, brown, or white, depending on its birth environment, and about the size of a large cat. It cannot yet fly, nor can it speak any language other than draconic. 
• Whelp: Levels 6-10. Hit Dice: 1d12. Two claw attacks, each dealing 1d8 damage. AC: as chain.
• The dragon whelp gains language abilities, and can hover or glide, but remains incapable of true flight. Whelps are about the size of a man.
• Juvenile: Levels 11-15. Hit Dice: 1d20. Two claw attacks, dealing 1d10 damage, and one bite attack dealing 2d6 damage. AC: as plate.
• Juvenile dragons are ten feet long and about six feet tall. They gain full combat flight capability, but treat every hour of extended flying as a forced march Juveniles, no longer small enough to hide effectively, generally develop bright colors, like red, blue, or bright bronze.
• Mature: Levels 16+. Hit Dice: 1d20. Two claws dealing 1d12 damage and one bite dealing 3d6 damage, plus an extra 1d6 per five levels. AC: as plate, plus 2 per five levels. Adult dragons may fly freely. Older dragons begin to fade in color, with the oldest becoming dark indigo or jet-black.

Dragon Spellcasting

Dragons are innately magical creatures, though it takes time for their abilities to truly develop. They still require spellbooks to record and learn spells (though draconic runes usually suffice) but need not spend time memorizing spells. 

Nestlings can prepare 1 first-level spell per day, though they can never use Read Magic.

Whelps can cast Read Magic at will, an unlimited number of times each day. From 6th level on, they use the Elf's spell slot progression.

Dragon Breath

Dragons aren't born with the ability to breathe fire or lightning, instead developing more powerful breath weapons as they mature. A dragon's choice of breath weapon is final and cannot be changed. Most breath attacks are assumed to automatically hit since they affect huge areas, though they are technically projectile weapons and can be treated as such if necessary - such as during an epic dragon vs. dragon sky duel.

Nestlings and whelps have the choice of either acid spit, or paralyzation gas. 

Acid spit has a range of 10 feet per level, and deals 1d4 damage for a number of turns equal to the dragon's level, unless cleaned off. Acid spit hits only one thing, and must roll to hit like any other ranged weapon.

Paralyzation gas can be projected 2 feet per level, and forms a spherical cloud with a radius of 1 foot per level. 

A juvenile dragon develops a true, extraordinarily powerful breath weapon. The dragon has the choice of spitting lightning, breathing fire, or breathing frost.

Lightning affects a straight line with a range of 200 feet, plus 20 feet per level, inflicting 2d6 damage to everything hit. The lightning gains 1d6 damage every fifth level.

Flame and frost breath hit a 30 degree cone to a distance of 30 feet, plus 10 feet per level. They inflict 2d6 damage to everything they hit, gain 1d6 every fifth level, and will do flamey and frosty things to whatever they hit, contingent on your system's rules for flamey and frosty things.

After each breath weapon use, the dragon must make a CON check. If failed, the dragon's breath glands are exhausted - it must make a new CON check each week, and cannot use the breath weapon again until the check is successful.

Dragon Abilities

Dragons can climb and swim freely, with no penalties. Dragon combat movement is effectively twice that of a human, though they are less capable of disposing of waste heat, and march at similar rates. Mature dragons are capable of extended, high-altitude flight and have an overland movement rate triple that of an unencumbered human.

Dragons lack opposable thumbs, and thus cannot effectively hold or use weapons, items, locks, etc. Dragons also cannot effectively use any sort of armor or clothing, due to their musculature. Suits of fitted dragon armor are possible, but they will be either extraordinarily restrictive, or wear out quickly. Smaller items may work, if they are custom-made. Since dragons are universally viewed as the capricious and terrifying destroyers of cities and eaters of maidens, there are very few smiths willing to work on equipment for them, or even a town guard that won't attack on sight. 

Dragons require 1 ration of food per level, per day, and 1 ration of water per two levels, per day.

Cantrip Cantons

Thinking about the previous post, I realized that such a conception of "potential magic" fits pretty well with a lot of setting assumptions we tend to have in common. Chris Kutalik demarcates between civilization, where boring things like the manufacture of 10' poles occur, and the Weird, the realm of adventure and possibility, where basically anything can happen.

So, imagine the previous post, but on a civilizational scale. In the beginning, everything is the weird, but civilization entails the organization and use of human abilities. Historically, these were only technical and social abilities, but in a setting where everyone has the potential to use magic, magic is included. Civilization is a network of Cantrip Towns, where a very large segment of the population works together to use their abilities to expel and control the unnatural creatures that pose such a great danger. This is an interpretation LotFP's implied setting - the conflict between Law and Chaos, where Chaos is a natural principle, and Law is an artificial principle, imposed by magical force. Religious rituals aren't just motions, they are spells, and every participant is a caster. Faith forms another means of restricting the offensive, individual use of magic - individuals aren't prevented from learning and casting spells by a powerful establishment, their abilities are instead used up in the perpetuation of order. A literate farmer, finding a scroll fallen out of the pack of a local lord, cannot use the potential within himself to secretly decipher and use the spell, because that potential is already being used.

Obviously, the idea of axiomatic conflict isn't new - it is, after all, the foundational assumption of the cleric class - but I think it's one solution to the potential magic problem.

Cantrip Town

At The 9 and 30 Kingdoms, there's an ongoing discussion of classless magic use, prompted by Talysman's proposal of a system where any character has the potential to cast a spell, provided they have access to spellbooks, scrolls and instruction.

Charles Angus pointed out that this might fundamentally change the nature of the setting, now that every barmaid can cast clean and any huntsman can throw down a goodberry.

Talysman's response was that the opportunity to learn magic doesn't necessarily have to be widely available, even if the potential is - magic can be hoarded, spellbook creation is expensive, and those who hold power are not likely to share it.

But, what if the fact that most people have access to cantrips and 1st-level spells didn't necessarily lead to them using them all the time?

Almost every setting posits the existence of powerful magical beasts, which could (and do) destroy towns and hamlets basically at will. Small villages are too far-flung for the local lord to provide the martial force necessary to defend them, and any ramshackle militia is going to get annihilated by the dragon or the necromantic cult.

Perhaps the villagers use their minor magical abilities to protect themselves, by building up wards and circles to protect themselves. Maintaining these is a daily ritual, and far more important than simply keeping a clean bar, or repairing a sprained ankle. Allowing villagers this sort of magical power has historical precedent, as well - in this conception of potential magic, throwing salt over your shoulder isn't just a superstition, it's an actual minor hex, which actually makes the house slightly safer against daemonic assault.

Perhaps much host of commonly described vampiric weaknesses - garlic, inability to enter a house uninvited - are not natural conditions of vampirism, but universally applied orisons that anybody knows to cast. This could also account for cultural differentiation in monster weaknesses - the Chinese vampire actually is the same vampire, but faces a culturally distinct set of hexes and charms.