#melf’s acid writing

[howdyboyhowdy]

Sometimes you have to hug your old stinky dog even though she would much rather you pet her

[dndhistory]

179. Various Authors - Dragon #67 (November 1982)

With a Thanksgiving humorous cover by Jack Crane, this is another issue packed to the gills with AD&D content, particularly with articles written by Gygax who was firing on all cylinders for this one, contributing 5 whole articles as well as co-writing a 6th article. All about AD&D, of course.

Let's get through all the Gygax stuff here first, as usual at the time anything that Gygax was pretty much gospel gamewise, meaning that it was now official content. He starts off the issue by contributing a bunch of new Magic User spells, these include a bunch of iconic spells, such as those which include names of "mythical" magicians, like Melf's Acid Arrow, Tasha's Hideous Laughter, Evard's Black Tentacles or Otiluke's Resilient Sphere. Gygax also brings us new creatures in Featured Creatures, but more interesting we finally get some fleshing out of Greyhawk's religion with an article on Deities and Demigods of Greyhawk, with entries on such gods as St. Cuthbert or Iuz. Gygax also writes some feedback on the feedback he got from an article on a previous issue on new character classes. Lastly he gives us an article on what is and is not official, this should be quite eye opening for those who think that first edition was "the good old days" and that the recent OGL debacle was something completely against its spirit. Gygax makes it pretty clear that if you are using rules or material that is not TSR official or approved by TSR you are not playing AD&D at all, and seems to be pretty angry at third party innovations... 

Finally he contributes comments and an introduction to Roger Moore's article on the Astral Plane. An issue completely dominated by Gygax's writing which is pretty interesting and revealing in a number of different ways, from fleshing out Greyhawk to glimpses into the backstage of the D&D business, it's a pretty essential issue. 

[melfs-acid-determination]

You: OH I FORGOT, do you have preferred pronouns?

Papyrus: I AM A MAN, BUT MORE IN THE WAY WHERE IM STILL A SKELETON.

You: so he him?

Papyrus: YES!! BUT NOT IN A WAY THAT IS TOO… GENDERED.

You: Ah,so in the way where you look at a dog and you think “look at him go!!!” without actually knowing the dog’s gender?

Papyrus: AN UNUSUAL BUT APT SUGGESTION!

Papyrus: WHAT ABOUT YOUR PRONOUNS???

You: they/them. I do not care for the gENdeR

Papyrus: I WILL MAKE SURE EACH AND EVERY GENDER STAYS AWAY FROM YOU!!! I WILL BE YOUR KNIGHT IN A DASHING RED SCARF!!!

You: My hero <3

———

An excerpt from a very self indulgent fic where I work out some trauma lmao. I think it’s cute

[ibethalantyr]

The Visitor

The old conjurer is shut in his stately house, fingers shaking with fear.  The ink is blotting as he writes, but he must write quickly.  While the details are fresh.  While the protection lasts.  Before he comes back.  Oh gods, before he comes back.

“Good evening.”

The greeting was the first indication that a visitor had arrived: no knock or footstep, no alarm from the wards, not even the telltale lights, sounds, and smells of magical teleportation.  Just that voice.

The voice is not one that the old conjurer recognized, but he will never forget it.  Indeed, he suspects it will haunt his dreams.  It probably would have done so even had the encounter gone differently.  There was something about that voice - the resonance, the articulation - that bespoke power.

The old conjurer had managed not to jump (despite his surprise), and turned to find a figure, hooded and cloaked in gray, sitting in a chair near the fire, just across from his own accustomed seat.  Between the seated position and the cloak, it was difficult to judge his height and build.  He was probably a human, though half-elf was possible.  The firelight cast his face into shadow.

The old conjurer decided to be polite, at least at first.  A person who could breach the house’s defenses so easily was not someone to be trifled with, and might have a good reason for taking the trouble.  And the fact that he had announced his presence with a salutation rather than a malediction suggested that his intent was not hostile.

The old conjurer indicated that he does not generally conduct business so late in the day, but that if his visitor was in urgent need of magical items or consultation, he supposed he could make an exception.  Or something to that effect.

“Neither your artifacts nor your lore hold any interest for me, conjurer.  Some information is all that I require.”

The old conjurer, although stung by the dismissal, smiled in what he hoped was a self-deprecating manner.  He said that most passersby came in search of magic, and that he doubted he possessed information of any other sort that would be valuable to anyone.

“It is of passersby that I wish to speak, in fact.  You are acquainted with most of the adventurers active in this region, are you not?”

He demurred.  Some, perhaps even many, but not most.  A few, like the present visitor, had no interest in his services, while a great many others could not afford the old conjurer’s rates.

“It is possible that the one I am seeking might fall into the latter group, I am not certain.  Tell me: is there anyone to whom you refer those unable to afford your rates?  An apprentice, perhaps?”

The old conjurer stiffened, and his tone changed.  He has no apprentice, as anyone in town will have told his visitor when he enquired.  That he was asking about one indicated that he was much better informed than he was letting on.  The old conjurer told him as much, and added that while he was willing to attribute an uninvited entrance to mere eccentricity, prying into someone else’s private papers was just plain rude.

Something triggered the old conjurer’s contingency.  It definitely happened before the trespasser started to cast, of that he was certain even in the moment.  He must have activated a contingency of his own, or perhaps some kind of magical item.  He then began a transmutation spell, one his host had never heard before.

Since the encounter with the gnome, the old conjurer had started taking additional precautions against unexpected magical attacks.  In addition to the contingency, which cloaked him in a spell shield, he had also prepared a spell trigger with a fuller array of protections: stoneskin, spell deflection, and greater invisibility. He activated this, and then began to cast himself.

Glitterdust first, to check if some sort of illusion was in operation.  Sure enough, the seated figure was a fake, or was now.  It vanished, while the dust revealed the genuine article: a tall, cloaked shape, now standing about ten feet away, roughly in the center of the room.  He was still casting, uttering an incantation of tremendous complexity.  Hoping that it would go on for some time longer, and trusting in own magical defenses to hold against whatever was coming, the old conjurer went on the attack.  He started up Khelben’s Warding Whip, to begin stripping away any magical defenses his enemy might have in place.

He was still two and a half lines from finishing when the enemy cast.  He felt the spell shield break, but knew that the deflection was still in place.  The whip struck home, the light pattern dazzling and unfamiliar.  As he reached for his first acid arrow, the old conjurer realized with a jolt that he was visible.  He had not heard any divination or dispelling, which the spell shield should have blocked in any case.  What kind of transmutation could remove invisibility and a spell shield simultaneously?

Something hit the spell deflection.  Hard.  The trespasser had uttered a Word of Power.  Quick to cast, impossible to resist, it was only the spell deflection that kept the old conjurer from being rendered insensible.  He finished the acid arrow, which struck his enemy squarely in the chest...and vanished in another flash of light.  He, too, was still shielded somehow.

They considered each other briefly.  The old conjurer began to feel a creeping sense of dread.  His visitor merely looked amused. 

In the blink of any eye, they were back at it.

His enemy began an evocation, and the old conjurer recognized it immediately as an ice storm.  An area of effect spell made sense.  It would affect cause damage even with the spell deflection in place.  But why so long an incantation, and in so small a room?  Perhaps he had some sort of cold protection in effect?  The old conjurer decided to counter with a spread of flame arrows.  He was certain to finish first, and protection from cold often brought with it extra vulnerability to fire, assuming the warding whip hadn’t finally finished its work.

These arrows, too, struck, setting the cloak on fire, but his enemy took no notice.  His shields were still in place.  The old conjurer braced himself for the ice fall to begin.  It didn’t.  The ice storm, too, impacted the spell deflection directly, breaking it. The old conjurer was vulnerable.

The trepasser began an enchantment.  The old conjurer countered with melf again, which would be faster than all but the simplest of charms, and these he felt confident he could resist.  The arrow was off just before his enemy finished the hold spell.  No effect.  And now the old conjurer was locked in place, unable to move.

Wasting no time, his visitor opened the writing desk and extracted this very book. He rifled rapidly through its pages, stopping occasionally at passages that glowed, under the influence of some spell or another (cast when?!).

The old conjurer had no choice but to watch him.  His cloak continued to burn, but he he paid it no mind, fully absorbed in what he was doing.  He wasted no time, but did not seem to be in any hurry either, confident, apparently, that no attack or interference was possible.  But his frustration was growing.  He turned pages faster and faster, now barely stopping to read.  When he ran out of written pages, he closed the book smartly.  Then he slammed it down on the desk with enough force to set the ink bottles rattling.

“I do not know what you and that young fool have done, or rather will do, but you should consider yourself fortunate.  It has saved your life.”  He crossed the room to wear the old conjurer was standing, covering the distance with astonishing speed despite still seeming not to hurry.  And now they were face-to-face.

Under the cloak, which had now burned away entirely, he was wearing nothing apart from a sort of leather harness.  It fitted tightly to his head, leaving only the face exposed: pale skin, scarred and stretched, as though to counteract the sagging of age.  Around the eyes no such concealment was possible. They were deeply lined.  And the eyes themselves: pale again and strangely bright, as though skinned.  The old conjurer looked down, the only movement of which he was capable.  The chest showed clearly through the harness, all beautifully-chiseled muscle, yet wrong, at odds both with the grotesque head and somehow with itself as well.

“This will complicate my work, and for that alone you would die.  But I do not need a major disruption to the timeline on top of my other difficulties.  And the nature of the anomaly suggests that you cannot reveal me to my quarry.  So you live.  For now.”

And then he is gone, employing yet another unknown spell.

The old conjurer is uncertain how long he remained held.  Almost an hour, he thinks.  The fear makes it difficult to judge.  As soon as he can move, he set up as much protection as he could as quickly as he could, and then set about creating this record.  The visitor has not returned in the two hours that he has been writing, whether because the protection is working or for reasons of his own.  In case the former, the remaining hour of protection needs to be used with care, to reflect, and to plan the next steps...

It is now the afternoon of the following day, and the old conjurer is still intact.  He spent the night and the morning in town.  He communicated as much he could of the encounter to the smith and the governor, and both have offered what help they can.  The smith ventured out to the house and found it empty.  The governor will arrive at dawn to add his own blessings to the existing protections of the house, which the old conjurer is already planning to reinforce and rearrange.  Between the gnome and this most recent encounter, he is considering the deployment of some sort of non-magical anti-wizard defense.  Perhaps some sort of highly magic resistant creature?  Not an easy undertaking, but a very necessary one.  Best not to record any more details here.  It is plain that the trespasser had gained magical access to this book before his visit, and indeed that the visit itself was motivated by a desire for clarity about what he had found. This must, then, have something to do with the anomalous entries the old conjurer recently uncovered.  Yet another reason to untangle that particular mystery.

One mystery after another, for the visitor himself is riddle of the most terrible kind.  He is clearly a mage of immense power.  Obvious enough, but the scale of his power seems greater and not less upon further examination. The old conjurer has spent much of the last day reconstructing the duel as best he can. His conclusions are most disquieting.

The unfamiliar transmutation with which he opened would seem to have been a time stop, a ninth-tier working. That is the simplest explanation for the multiple effects of the casting. What had seemed to the old conjurer to be a single instant had been, for his opponent, something more like 5 minutes, time during which he cast (at least) two additional spells: a divination, by means of which the invisibility was dispelled, and the magical attack which breached the spell shield.

The latter was probably a spellstrike, another ninth-tier working. A spellstrike would have removed all of the old conjurer’s defenses, leaving him vulnerable to the Word.  A mage of immense power, to be sure.

And what of the defense?  It must have been a spell trap: ninth-tier again, and the only sort of magical defense which the warding whip does not remove.  It might have been deployed, along with the illusion, as part of a spell trigger or chain contingency, though as far as the old conjurer has ever heard it is impossible to store ninth-tier spells in such a fashion.  Could this wizard be strong enough to bend the generally accepted rules of magic? Disquieting conclusions indeed.

So, why is it the hold spell that has disquieted him the most? He thought at first that it was just the panic of being trapped, vulnerable in the face of such an overwhelmingly superior opponent.  But even hours later, something about the casting has left the old conjurer...disconcerted.

Wait.

I know.

There is work to be done...

[creativerogues]

Creating The “F*ck the Wizard” Dungeon...

The Many Ways to Kill a Wizard...

Stop them from Talking: Silence is a great spell if you want to stop a Spellcaster from talking.

Stop Somatic Components: Restrain them with Spells, put their hands in chains or shackles. There are even spells and magic items out there that are specifically designed to restrain creatures.

Steal their Material Components: An Unseen Servant or Invisible Monster could easily steal away the Caster's Component Pouch or Arcane Focus, maybe even stealing their Gold Pouch and Magic Items. Remember: If they don't have the Components, they can't cast it.

Reduce their Chances to Hit/Succeed with Spells: Find ways to grant them Disadvantage on Spell Attack Rolls for their Spells, or Spells that grant Monsters Advantage on Rolls.

Make them waste Spells/Reactions/Counterspells: If the Caster has already used their Reaction, they can't counter whatever big Spell your Monster has up their sleeve.

Cursed Items: Make them bad at stuff, if they're bad at stuff, they can't instantly win!

Force them into Melee: Give them no other options in combat but to go into Melee Range. Maybe use Hard-Hitting Melee Monsters that throw themselves at the Spellcaster...

Antimagic: One Spell: Antimagic Field.

Ruin their Spellbook: Have pits of acid, underwater sections, traps that spray acid or fire, all this can destroy a Wizards Spellbook.

I remember one particular DM (not naming names) that managed to steal away the Wizard’s Spellbook while they slept, and glued it shut with Sovereign Glue, and placed it back into the Wizards Pack.

So yeah... That was particularly effective...

Don't let them Rest: Wandering Monsters and Random Encounters while the Party rests in the Dungeon can be fun. I'd also suggest looking up the spell Dream...

Obscure Sight: Have dark rooms that force the Players to cast Spells just to see, or cast one of the many spells that can blind someone: Fog Cloud, Darkness, Blindness and More!

Special Senses: Blindsight, Truesight & Tremorsense: Ruin Invisibility and any other Illusion Spells with a Creature that has Truesight Tremorsense and Blindsight.

Golems, Undead & Shapechangers: Most Spells say they won't effect Constructs, Undead or Shapechangers, so stuff your Dungeon with Undead and Golems and a bunch of Dopplegangers and Werewolves.

Preventing Resurrections: Counterspell can work on Resurrection Spells like Raise Dead and Revivify, just letting ya know...

Damage Resistances & Immunities: There's a LOT of Spells that deal common Damage Types: Fire, Cold, Lightning, Necrotic... And there are Monsters that are resistant or even immune to those damage types...

But if you want some extra irritating Monsters, I would like to suggest the Nilbog and the Iron Golem, since Iron Golems actually regain Hit Points from Fire Damage and the Nilbog has it's ‘Reversal of Fortune’ Feature that let's it reduce the Damage to 0 and instead gain 1d6 Hit Points.

Condition Immunities: Give 'em Monsters that can't be Charmed or Frightened, see how they react when they can't make friends or force the Monster to run away...

Breaking Concentration: There are 3 Ways to break a Spellcaster's Concentration: Making them cast another Spell that requires Concentration, Taking Damage, or Being Incapacitated or Killed. If you can find a way to do that, then that Concentration Spell is lost...

Mordenkainen's Private Sanctum: Mordenkainen's Private Sanctum is a great Spell that stops all Divination and Teleportation. It can stop all sound in the area, obscure all vision and darkvision, and when cast at 9th Level, it effects a square area up to 600ft by 600ft.

Force them into Armor: This is a strange one, but if you can, charm the Spellcaster and make them wear Armor they're not proficient in, meaning they can't cast any spells whatsoever.

I once had a Devil in disguise cast Geas on a Wizard and force the Wizard to wear a set of Demon Armor that the Wizard couldn't remove... They then promptly dropped the Geas Spell and attempted to slaughter them...

Use them against the Party: Charm them with spells and let them assault the Party, using up all their precious high level spell slots...

Feeblemind: Destroy a Spellcaster for 30 Days.

Stinking Cloud: Instead of casting any Spells, they'll just spend their turn retching.

Bestow Curse: Bestow Curse can do a LOT of effects that can shut down a Spellcaster. It can grant them Disadvantage on Intelligence Checks and Intelligence Saving Throws, it can grant them Disadvantage on all Attack Rolls, and it can even force them to succeed on a Wisdom Save or waste their entire turn doing nothing, and at a high enough level, the spell is permanent...

Wall of Force: A little bubble that can shut down a Spellcaster, and it can only be dispelled through a Disintegrate Spell.

Tasha's Hideous Laughter: The target must succeed on a Wisdom saving throw of fall prone, becoming Incapacitated (and instantly breaking Concentration on any current Spells) and unable to stand up for the whole 1 Minute Duration.

Melf's Acid Arrow: This Spell does damage over time, increasing the chances of a Wizard or Spellcaster losing Concentration on their Spells.

Otiluke's Resilient Sphere: Here's just an excerpt: "Nothing, not physical objects, energy, or other spell effects, can pass through the barrier, in or out, though a creature in the sphere can breathe there. The sphere is immune to all damage, and a creature or object inside can't be damaged by attacks or effects originating from outside, nor can a creature inside the sphere damage anything outside it." And the best part, if you cast this on a Wizard or Spellcaster, you could just have a big ol' strong monster pick up the ball (with the wizard inside) and throw them down a pit, into acid or lava or just whatever nastiness you can think of, and wait for the spell to end...

Dare them to Draw from the Deck of Many Things: Make someone a literal Idiot with the Idiot Card from the Deck of Many Things, or just instantly stop them with cards like the Donjon, or give them a light tap on the wrist with a -2 to all Saving Throws...

Nets: Net Traps! Have them fall from the ceiling and restrain the spellcaster while a bunch of monsters pop out and bash the Wizard to death...

Shoot 'em with Arrows!: Shoot the Wizard from a few hundred feet away! Remember, a Longbow can shoot foes from up to 600 feet away!

Sample Dungeon Rooms...

The Room of Silence

An arcane sigil lies on the floor, should a Creature step upon it, look upon it, or otherwise interact with it, a Sphere of Silence (as the Silence Spell) goes off.

The Counterspell Room

Each wall in this room, even the ceiling, feature the exact same extravagant arcane symbol. Each Symbol is such that if a Spell is cast within the room, a single symbol ignites and casts Counterspell (3rd-Level Version) on the Spellcaster.

The Shackling Room

A Room with chains on the walls. If a Creature attempts to interact with these chains, the chains attempt to wrap around the Creature and shackle them to the room’s walls.

The Chains require a Dexterity Saving Throw, or the Creature is Restrained and pulled 10 Feet towards the closest wall every round on the end of the Creature’s Turn, eventually chaining the Creature to the wall...

The Creature can attempt to break the Chains with a Strength (Athletics) Check, or the magic of the Chains can be dispelled with a Dispel Magic.

The Thief

An Invisible Creature of the DM’s Choice attempts to steal away the Spellcaster’s Arcane Focus and Component Pouch, possibly stealing a sack of gold or two with them...

The Net & The Rug

A Net falls from the ceiling, temporarily Restraining the Creature, while a Rug of Smothering attempts wraps itself around the Creature during the confusion...

Arrows!

A series of slits in the wall fire arrows at any Creature that steps upon one of the many multi-coloured mosaic tiles on the chamber’s floor.

The Bubble, The Golem and The Pit

A large ravine parts the chamber in two, with one inactive stone golem on either side of the ravine and a large arcane sigil on the ceiling.

Should a Creature cast a Spell in this Room, the sigil on the ceiling ignites, and casts Otiluke’s Resilient Sphere on the Creature. Should the Creature fail and be placed within the sphere, the two Stone Golems activate, and are more than happy to pick up the Sphere and the helpless Creature within, and throw them down the ravine...

The Laughing Room

A Room with Mirrored Walls and a Mirrored Ceiling, with strange arcane sigils etched onto these mirrors.

Should a Creature spend their time staring at themselves in one of these mirrored walls, the Creature sees a gaunt version of themselves with bright red irises and waving a raven’s feather, and the sigils activate, casting Tasha’s Hideous Laughter on the target, causing the Creature to begin laughing at it’s own horrid reflection...

The Devil’s Demon

The Party sees a Human Scholar sat cross-legged in front of a set of Armor hanging on the wall, the Human muttering to themselves while writing on one of the many pieces of Parchment that surrounds them.

Seeing the Party, the Human stands and asks the Party if any of them are a Spellcaster, and requests that the strongest Spellcaster in the group removes the Armor from the wall.

The Human is in fact a Cambion, and will attempt to use its Fiendish Charm (or the Command Spell) to command the Spellcaster to don the Armor, which is in fact Demon Armor...

This Post was inspired by a Mega-Dungeon created by a Friend of mine who likes to challenge the Players, rather than letting them abuse the Wizard to Magic their way out of danger...

Some of these Rooms were a part of his Dungeon, but some parts are especially unique, such as the Stinking Cloud filled “Fart Room” or the Room that was protected with Magical Fog, the same room that assaulted us with arrows every few rounds until we got to the other side of the chamber...

And when I say “F*ck the Wizard”, trust me that these kind of strategies do indeed screw over the Wizard in almost every scenario...

[welcometoels]

Session Fifteen - Betrayal!

Ditched by their supposed friend Zanthia in the middle of what turned out to be a bank heist, the party finds themselves in a smoke-filled corridor, with a large, angry gentleman in armour demanding their surrender.  At his back stand two guards; a mage; Wandbutt; and, outside the door, a peaky Herrington.

With limited options available, the group decides to stand and fight.

Kadis is the first to move, sneaking into the middle of the thick smoke to contemplate his next action.  While he cannot see the enemy from this position, they also cannot see him - giving him the advantage.

The knight - Sir Beeswax Halffeather, according to his own pompous declaration - becomes frustrated by the poor visibility, and makes a grab at the only person he can see - Julius.  Fortunately, now back in his Otter form - Zanthia’s magic having expired upon her departure - Julius manages to slip the knight’s grasp.

Now even more annoyed, Beeswax calls out to Herrington, telling the nauseated wretch to blow on his horn for reinforcements.  He follows the orders, and miraculously manages to not vomit.

Cailynn follows Kadis’ lead and sneaks into the smoke, followed by the tiny wyvern Moo.  Julius also has his eyes on the smoke and dips in too.  However, he takes a hefty blow from Beeswax straight across the back.

Reeling from the injury, Julius spins around and summons up a wave of druidic power, targeted at the spot he just left.  Water rises up from nowhere, and slams hard into the knight, one of the unnamed guards, and Wandbutt.

Beeswax and the guard brace against the water, and though the damage is enough to knock the guard out, the knight barely flinches.  Wandbutt, however, is knocked backwards.  He lands heavily on his posterior, winces, and expires with a complex look on his face.

Talion steps forth now.  After passing a Healing Word to Julius, he shifts to the edge of the smoke and trains his shortbow on the mage in the corner.  The arrow finds its mark, leaving a deep gash along the mage’s face.  As the spellcaster turns his head slowly back towards the Half-Elf, he mutters an incantation, and a ball of flame appears at his fingertips, which he then launches Talion’s way.

Fortunately for most of the team, the blast’s range is too short to reach them.  Sadly, Talion and Julius are not as lucky.  They dodge the worst of the damage, but still take a very unpleasant singeing.

As the last surviving unnamed guard stands slack-jawed at the carnage [DM’s note: I totally forgot to give him a turn], Oddsock rushes forth into the smoke, raring to get involved in the action.  Before he can do so, however, Kadis hones in on the location of the knight, and shows him who’s boss.

It turns out that Beeswax is boss.  All of Kadis’ deft monk attacks glance off the suit of armour - unlike Beeswax’s greatsword, which leaves deep gashes across fragile Human flesh.  Good job he recently changed into a red outfit, really.

Cailynn dips out of the smoke now, and throws out one of Melf’s famous Acid Arrows right into the knight’s smug face.  Acid gets right into he helmet, causing a surprising amount of damage - bolstered by the Mote of Creation.  Moo attempts a follow-up, but misses.  Silly Moo.

Attracted by the commotion, Julius rushes through the smoke, colliding with Kadis.  He puts his healing paws on the monk, and channels his druidic magic at the highest power he can muster, knitting the wounds almost entirely.

Talion nocks another arrow to his bow and fires it at the knight, but Beeswax’s armour is too thick for him to notice.

Someone who does notice, however, is the mage.  Since he can now see more of the group, he triangulates a second Fireball to catch all of the visible miscreants.  The blast hits hard and true - even Oddsock does not escape - and the damage is extensive.  Whilst most of the group stays upright, Talion, sadly, does not.  He falls to the ground, unconcious.

The forgotten guard, deciding that he is extraneous to requirements, slips outside to find out what is keeping Herrington and the reinforcements.  Herrington blows the horn again, and feels an unpleasant sensation in the back of his breeches.

Things are looking bleak for our heroes, but fate had not accounted for an angry Golden Retriever with crispy fur.  Calling upon the unholy powers of his patron, Oddsock fights fire with fire, in the most literal sense.

The effect is horrifying.  The guard in the doorway is immediately reduced to ash, and Herrington follows shortly after, with just enough time to regret lying about killing a dragon.

Beeswax is partially cooked inside his armour, and collapses into a heap, while the mage barely stays standing.  This is only a temporary matter, though, as a sharp whack from Kadis’ quarterstaff rattles his head off the back wall, and the floor makes another new friend.

A moment of peace follows, allowing the team to take stock and assist their injured members.  Cailynn uses Spare The Dying on Talion to stabilise him, and Julius follows up with some healing magic to get him back on his feet.  Talion pays it forward by decanting a healing potion into his special cup and passing it to Kadis.

Unfortunately, the downtime is brief, as the reinforcements arrive.  Oddsock peeks out the door to see seven more guards, and two lumbering clay golems with guard uniforms painted on.

The group weighs up their options.  A suggestion to return to the vaults and pretend to be hostages is mooted, but eventually disregarded as the approaching aggressors make it clear that they somehow are aware of who the group are, and what they are doing.

Next suggestion is to stand and fight.  A good idea, perhaps, for a time when spell slots are less depleted, and the threat of further reinforcements is less pressing.

Julius presents one more option - running away.  The group of bold adventurers baulk at this initially, but then accept that retreat may be best.  Off under a tree outside, Storm Hellflayer loudly concurs, though only Oddsock and Julius are aware.

Though they are fleeing, the team are damned if they are going to go out without a bang.  The offensive is lead by Cailynn, who flips up a rock from the pathway and flings it magically into Beeswax’s face, just as he was beginning to regain consciousness.  The charred High Elf slumps back to the ground with a whimper.

Oddsock has more dramatic ideas.  As his companions dash to the horses, he unleashes another fireball at the approaching guards.  Three of them are immediately vapourised, and another three are knocked unconscious, along with two guard horses.

Spoiler - The horses eventually recover entirely from their injuries, and later enjoy telling the story to their three friends, Horse, Horse and Horse.

As the ground sizzles, the gang mounts the five horses they parked up earlier, with Julius drawing the Storm straw.  With one last Eldritch Blast from Oddsock laying waste to the final guard, the group makes good their escape.

As they gallop further north, horns sound behind them, but begin to fade.  The forest gets thicker, and the path patchier, and after a short while they decide to slow down.  They are safe, for now.

As the horses walk along, their riders look about.  Mostly they just see forest.  Even Julius’ expert eye for this kind of terrain sees nothing of note. Cailynn, though, sees a crow.

And the crow sees her.

Alighting from its branch, the crow lands atop Cailynn’s horse’s head, and begins tapping its beak against its own leg.  Around this leg is tied a small piece of paper.

With care, Cailynn removes the paper, and the crow taps her hand and flies away.  Unfurling it, she reads the note to herself:

Looks like you’ve got yourself in some trouble, kitten.  Keep going north east and ask for Ebeneezer.  He’ll take care of you.

At the bottom of the paper is a symbol - a circle with two triangles above it, side by side and pointing upward.  Cailynn knows exactly what this means, and who the note is from.

Making a decision to share the more pertinent information with the party, she tells them that the note is from a friend, who can be trusted.  Since they have no better leads, they head north east.

Before long, daylight all but disappears, and the party makes camp.  Julius gathers up some nutritious leaves and berries, and Rupert the fey weasel clambers up a tree to keep lookout for pursuers.

As they settle down, Cailynn starts the work of recreating Moo, and Julius asks Talion what Zanthia might have meant by ‘Dragonboy’.  He takes a deep breath, and tells the group more about his history.

While his father was indeed a High Elf, his mother was a dragon - a Song Dragon more specifically, and perhaps the last one left in the world.  Throughout his life, his family was pursued, which left his father dead and his mother missing, but not before she could magically transport him away in a bolt of lightning.

Talion holds up the jagged piece of obsidian that hangs from his neck, beside his silver dragon scale.  This is his memento of that day - fused sand from the black Elsian beach where he found himself.

The mood grows a little sombre, broken only by a squeaking from Oddsock’s pack.  He pulls out Tim the chewy dragon toy and has a gnaw, and is immediately dragged from this reality to a little hipster pocket dimension.

Oddsock’s patron stands ready sum up the situation.  Yes, being betrayed was bad, but pretty much everything else was brilliant - especially making all those guards explode.

Best of all, though, is the book.  Across its cover, the word Sre’Yalp glows faintly with magical potential.  Inside, however, the writing is indecipherable, shifting constantly into different languages, then somehow all languages at once.  Trying to read just a single sentence induces terrible eye strain, even for a powerful genie.

One thing that is easily legible is a bookplate, pasted on to the first page.  It reads, in Common and all capitals:

PROPERTY OF REMINI BENSK SOTS

Warlock and patron look blankly at each other.  Clearly more information is required.

Before sending Oddsock on his way, his patron bestows a little more power on him, with a gentle nose boop.  Oddsock’s lustrous golden fur crackles with potential, becoming more resistant to fire damage.  Furthermore, his paws tingle and he unexpectedly finds himself floating.

Oddsock bobs around the pub for a few minutes while his patron tried to give him steering advice.  After watching his charge paddling furiously while his tail helicopters ineffectively, the genie shrugs and sends his floating four legged friend back out into the world.

Oddsock thankfully reacquaints himself with the ground - still upside down - just in time for bed, under the watchful eyes of Rupert and the new and improved Moo.  The adventurers settle down to an uneventful night, though Talion does have several thrashy rage dreams about a certain Halfling.  Thankfully, he is sleeping alone on this night.

Come the morn, the team breaks up camp and strikes back out.  After a few hours, they find themselves at a clearing, and staring down the shaft of a drawn arrow.  At the feather-end stands a Wood Elf, dressed all in black, demanding to know why they are there.

Cailynn steps forth and presents the note.  The black-clad figure peruses the note, then Cailynn, then the note.  After a few back-and-forths, the arrow is lowered, and the Wood Elf leads them further into the clearing.

Beside a fire sits an old, skinny Human with two left teeth.  His clothes are flithy, and barely more than rags, but he carries a clear air of authority.

“My name is Ebeneezer Chaotic-Neutral,” he says, in a voice thick with tobacco and bad lifestyle choices.  “Welcome to my camp.”

[thesoundofplunder-blog]

Savage Worlds as a D&D Surrogate

It occurs to me that many people who have tried Savage Worlds probably started their RPG experiences elsewhere.  Most likely playing some form of Dungeons and Dragons, since that game is synonymous with the whole tabletop roleplaying genre.

And for anyone who came to Savage Worlds expecting a derivative of D&D, it probably came as a shock to learn that in spite of its flexibility, Savage Worlds does not really have an equivalent campaign setting to the likes of Eberron, Faerun, Golarion etc.  That isn’t to say that you couldn’t utilise one of those campaign settings in your game - Savage Worlds is, after all, designed to be highly adaptable.  But even the Fantasy Companion falls woefully short of recreating the same feel that players get when they play Dungeons and Dragons.

To be clear - I’m not saying that it has to.  And I’m not trying to argue the merits of trying to turn Savage Worlds into D&D.  I can almost hear the cry of “if you want to play D&D then go play D&D!” from the Savage Worlds faithful.  What I’m pointing out is that for players who have known nothing else, this can be a jarring change.  One of the things I loved most as a player (not as a GM, mind you) was the wealth of choice when it came to magic items and spells.  Even though Savage Worlds presents a versatile system to create your own flavour for any existing powers, the cynic in me says that this is akin to handing someone a pencil and paper and saying “now you can make your own spells!”  What I hoped the fantasy companion would provide was a host of configurations of the base rules suited to a fantasy setting.  So rather than saying “here’s bolt, now add on whatever trapping you want”, I want something like “Melf’s Acid Arrow” or “Magic Missile”.  These things just sound cooler.

Maybe I’m just being lazy.  After all, trappings ARE the solution.  One of my players decided she wanted to cast lightning bolts, despite the fact that this lowered the damage by one die type.  It later allowed her to fry four enemies at once when they were stood in a pool of water.  It was easy to make that happen, but a lot of players don’t bother with trappings.

Thankfully someone on Reddit recently pointed me towards Zadmar’s Savage Spellbook.  I’ve come across Zadmar’s work before, but for some reason the Savage Spellbook had slipped under my radar.  But it does exactly what I was looking for, in that it bundles up a bunch of different spells and trappings, giving them cooler sounding names than “Acid Bolt”.  There are a bunch of useful resources in that respect at the bottom of Zadmar’s Savage Worlds page.

The other issue is equipment, although I think the Fantasy Companion does a better job in this respect by adding more armour and weapon options.  In fairness, these are just numbers, but I like the idea that reinforced leather is +3 toughness, unless you are hit with a raise, in which case it’s only +2 (as if the extra D6 damage wasn’t enough).  In terms of magical items, there are a good few to choose from, but what I tend to do as a GM is write a bunch of cool magical items down on flash cards and then hand them out randomly whenever the party loot something big.  This usually avoids the boring “+1 damage” kind of items and forces me to think of interesting mechanics that inventive players will use to break my game at a later date.

Anyway, that’s the end of this train of thought for now.  It’s really just an excuse to link to Zadmar’s Savage Worlds page, since it’s been a valuable tool to me in the past.

[melfs-acid-determination]

Reader tries to get Sans into Dark Souls

*It’s one of your favorite games! You know it has a steep learning curve, but! Sans is unexplainably good at videogames, so you think it COULD work

*Bloodbourne is technically supposed to be a good introduction, so you pick up your boney boyfriend, set him on the couch, and plop a controller into his hands.

*”uh not to be a bleeding heart about it, but don’t you think this is a bit... fleshy.” he says after the opening.

*you notice sweat beading on his skull as the messenger babies crawl on the main character.

*he names his character Tooty McButtsALot

*when the first werewolf kills him, he says “welp” and tries to leave the couch

*you have to hold him down and promise him fries later to get him to stay.

*you keep a careful eye on him to make sure he’s actually putting in an effort

*he does die a lot less than you would expect for a beginner!

*though he does seem upset by squelching gore sounds (something that, as a True Gamer, doesn’t bother you)

*at one point, you decide he’s in deep enough to safely get a drink from the kitchen

*by the time you come back he is on the “You Died” screen, while he scrolls through memes on his phone

*”Do you not wanna play, babe?”

*”eh it’s just too much effort.”

*”Wanna play Minecraft instead?”

*”sure, i know i was a real square about one of your favorite games, but I really appreciate you giving me another life.”

...

*”DID YOU FILL MY ENTIRE HOUSE WITH CHICKENS?!”

———

I was hanging out with my bro and he offered me this idea, so I wrote it while flopping on top of him. Anyway! @lordeth-cthulhu

[melfs-acid-determination]

What are your favorite headcanons for Undyne and Alphys??

I will finally answer this

*Undyne regularly commissions fanart/fanfic as gifts for Alphys

*they are both into VERY different genres, but enjoy watching shows together regardless!

*Undyne will convince Alphys to sit on her back while Undyne is doing push-ups

*both Undyne and Alphys fidget a lot. Alphys needs something to do with her hands, while Undyne struggles not to be moving in some way. This often leads to Alphys taking apart the remote and Undyne pacing whenever they try to marathon something.

*Undyne used to loudly proclaim her love for Alphys in public, but after Alphys expressed how anxious it made her, Undyne stuck to just loudly proclaiming her love in private <3

*Undyne gets VERY into cosplay after getting onto the surface. Alphys often helps with the props.

*they often go to concerts where Alphys gets too excited to feel too anxious <3

*Undyne absolutely makes playlists based on her favorite characters.

*They TRIED to work out together, but Undyne ended up being a bit too intense, so Alphys just works out with Papyrus instead.

*Alphys goes through a punk phase which actually really helped her confidence quite a bit!

*Undyne gets into a Wacky Wig Phase(tm)

*Alphys regularly checks in on the Almagams and their families.

*Undyne bullies Mettaton into hanging out with Alphys (he got distracted by his career and forgot to hang out with her for a couple months which made her Real Sad)

*Alphys ends up making robot bodies for all of the ghost monsters that want one (Blooky didn’t want to bother her with it originally, but Mettaton insisted they get one)

*Alphys ends up getting quite a large following online! Partially for her status as the Royal Scientist and partially for her Hot Takes.

*they become each other’s Gamer Girlfriend <3

*neither of them can cook. They live off of packaged meals and take out.

*Asgore lives down the street and regularly comes over for tea when he gets lonely

[melfs-acid-determination]

Welcome!

SFW

Mostly self-insert or general fan content of Undertale/Deltarune

Personal tags: melf’s acid ramblings, melf’s acid art, melf’s acid writing

Please do not involve my work in things involving frans, fontcest, or selfcest.

Please be careful when browsing my AO3- not all of it will be SFW and some of it may be triggering/upsetting

Let me know if you would like me to tag anything in particular!

Requests/ask box are open :3 I’m willing to write any adult character X reader, though I may not be familiar with all of the AUs yet. I consider Frisk, Chara, Flowey, Asriel, and MK to be children and will not write romantically-themed content for them.

[ibethalantyr]

The old conjurer sits in his study in his stately house, trying to learn a new trick.

As with any other skill, magical mastery is a very slow process.  Years are spent on the basics of spell vocabulary, cheiretic and dactylic positions, component quantitization, and the other foundational practices of the craft, and often with little to show for it but the occasional flicker of light or gust of wind.  And even when the foundation is (finally) laid, the building up of each succeeding tier of magical power, and the various spells supported by that tier, is itself the work of weeks, or months, or longer: reading, writing, calculating, translating, memorizing, improvising, and endlessly, endlessly, practicing.  The process is terribly slow.

Except when it is terribly fast.

Sudden breakthroughs happen in other skills as well, of course.  But the nature of magic makes magical breakthroughs somewhat more dramatic.  A wizard may spend days poring over the spells of a new tier every morning and evening, only for nothing to happen when they reach for the magic that day.  And then, catastrophe: sudden danger, sudden reward, or both, and the spell, for which they had not spared a thought in a week or more, is suddenly at the tip of the tongue, on the tips of the fingers, like lightning arcing between (which, sometimes, it actually is).  And the spell that comes is unlike any they have ever cast before.

Such breakthroughs are wonderfully exciting, setting off as they do weeks of (now successful) growth and experimentation.  Spells of a tier often have practical or conceptual linkages, such that the successful casting of one makes bringing off others, if not an absolutely certainty, at least much more likely, provided one puts in the work.

But such breakthroughs come far more easily to the young, or at least to those whose way of life leads them in the way of happy catastrophes.  For old conjurers who have spent decades studiously avoiding such dangers, employing the mastery he already possesses to safeguard what peace and comfort he has secured, the experience is quite different.

It is infuriating!

He glances around the study, both grateful for its comforts - padded chairs, the drinks at the sideboard, a quite respectable collection of scrolls and codices, the leafy sunlight filtering in through the window - and painfully conscious of the fact that he has studied to far better effect in far worse places.  Hungry, thirsty, wounded, afraid, barely able to read his spellbook by the light of a poor campfire whose ashes would make piss poor ink in the morning, he had found the magic he so desperately needed.  And that magic had saved him, again and again, and was the foundation on which his quiet retirement - his stately house - was built.

Was it the house itself that was the problem?  The house and all its comfort and its quiet?  The thought had occurred to the old conjurer more than once, but he is wise enough to know that it is a foolish one.  Trading his pillow for a log is not going to loose the flow of magic that he seeks.  Nor is danger the answer.  The trouble with the mad priest (and the still more vicious encounter with the Gnome) had been dangerous, and yet neither had provided a breakthrough.  The problem is not that he is too safe or too comfortable.  The old conjurer knows what the problem is.

The problem is that he is old.

Not that age is without benefits.  The old foundation laid by his teachers is stronger than ever.  While it had taken him almost three years to consistently manage sixth position (sinister minimus), it had been ten times that long since had failed to make it perfectly.  And his tongue could form the rhythms of the major chants by feel alone, a trick that mightily impressed young journeyman when they first passed through.

But mastery of the basics is not what he seeks now.  Now, as he has off and on for decades, the old conjurer is reaching for the most basic grasp of mastery itself, casting a spell of the highest tier.  The highest tier today; as he knows well, wizardry once reached still higher.  How strange to think he had once aspired to ascend to such dizzy heights himself, he who looked likely to end his days without even reaching the top of the mountain, never mind taking to the air.  Perhaps this is what drives a person to lichdom.  Not a temptation he has ever felt, not even now, with death (even if still decades off) likely to come sooner than the knowledge he seeks.

He had gotten up from his workbench and paced the study restlessly, hoping that flowing blood and a change of scene might be of use.  He has settled at his writing desk, gazing out at the tops of the trees, just blushing green as Spring advances.  Before opening this book, he had glanced through one of its predecessors - one of the old work notebooks, dating back to the end of his college days.  Flipping through idly, he had found a short notation, dated just after one of the earliest breakthroughs of his youth: his first casting of what was long a standard, and still a favorite - the Acid Arrow, his first real spell of the School he had chosen.  As so often, mastering Melf had been the first step in unlocking a whole new universe of spellwork he had been struggling to reach for months.  (Oh, to be an age where months laboring over a spell seemed so long!).

The notation runs thus: “’Magic is always small;’ PR right (as usual”

Why hadn’t the young fool explained what he meant (or bothered to close his parenthesis)?!  He remembered now the feeling of that first breakthrough, remembered it all too clearly, and how it had had something to do with a new understanding of one of his last mentor’s old aphorisms.  Looking back across fifty years, though, he can no longer reconnect with what that understanding WAS.  The feeling, though.  The feeling is so clear.  How he longs for it.

Still, it is unlikely to be of much use here.  What he is attempting is anything but small.  And he really should get back to it (though not before finishing his punctuation; the wisdom of age again).  The workbench and the components await.  He can almost feel the gaze of the ivory statue on his back as he writes: stern, aloof, commanding, an image of himself, or of how he had once imagined himself in revered old age.  Reality, however, is (at this moment) frustrated, withdrawn, surly in complying with the commands of self-discipline, and, far from hard and gleaming white, soft and gray with age, with fingers ink spattered, and a solution no closer.

No, he will take a walk instead.  The judgemental statue can go back in its box for the morning.  The old conjurer has other things to do.