The Yellow Banner

The Yellow Banner flies above Fallcrest!

The Company of the Yellow Banner is my original 4th Edition adventuring party. We've been playing fairly regularly since 2009, and are now midway through the official HPE series of adventures. The characters are all 15th level, but we've hardly stuck to the books: I couldn't say how many sessions we've whiled away on side-quests, personal character arcs, and other random adventures. I gave up tracking XP ages ago, and now just level the party when it seems appropriate to the story.

The name stems from an early picture that Sandy drew of his character, the warlord
Brixton. He carried a magnificent yellow pennant, which in-game he proudly brandished at every opportunity. Brixton was beaten down in almost every one of those early fights, but he always gritted his teeth, spat out blood with a grin, and stood up to bring the pain to his enemies. His unstoppable resolve rallied his allies, and at the climax of "Keep on the Shadowfell" each member of the party tore a strip from the pennant and tied it around their arms as a sign of unity.

As they headed into the paragon tier I turned the Yellow Banner into an artifact for the group. I was inspired by a short campaign we'd played with another DM, who'd entrusted our characters with a dangerous supernatural artifact called the Ark. The Ark had a bank of power that could be tapped to heal allies, detect spirits, and lash out at enemies: basically padding out any of the character roles that the party was missing. It was a clever idea, and one that stuck with me for a long while. With the Yellow Banner I initially gave each player their own unique banner power, with each power tapping a shared pool of "Glory" that was built up over time through winning battles. In addition, the banner absorbed the soul energy of any companion characters who died in sight of it, allowing the PCs to call upon them for aid after their deaths. As I don't allow companions to be raised, this added a feeling of ongoing legacy to the artifact, with each dead NPC adding a unique power to its repertoire.

Unfortunately, in play all those powers became a little fiddly: we kept forgetting to add Glory, and the players rarely used their character's banner powers. The banner's main power - adding to the damage of all allies in range - remained pretty solid, but the powers themselves were either too conditional to use or too easy to forget. One of my players recently suggested that I rework the Yellow Banner into something new. I've been inspired recently by 13th Age, so I thought I'd integrate the "Escalation Die" from that system into the artifact. For those who don't know, the Escalation Die is a mechanic for speeding up combat that adds +1 to the players' attack rolls for every round that passes, up to maximum of +6. I like the rule, but I find it a little artificial, as it's a purely mechanical abstraction. I think integrating it to our artifact explains that bonus a little better. I ended up dropping the banner's old character powers, but kept its companion powers, which I reworked to improve alongside the Escalation Die.

Anyway, take a look. We'll see how it plays in our next game!  

Draw Vecna Day

My computer kindly informs me that today is "Draw Vecna" day. At least, it is according to Twitter. Some talented bloggers have joined in, including James Stowe, whose work I greatly admire. In the spirit of this holiday, now seems an appropriate time to share Stacey's interpretation of the "Father of Lies". Unfortunately we're not on Twitter, so we can't really join the party. Looks like it's just you and me.

Funnily enough, Vecna plays a pivotal role in our campaign right now. After months of hiding his eponymous hand under a glove, the last session saw our ranger tragically cut down, just as he'd found a way to rid himself of the curse. I called things to a halt just as the glove was torn from Vecna's still twitching hand, exposing the treachery to the whole party. Amongst them was our cleric of Ioun, who isn't likely to appreciate the news. It was, as we like to say in England, "a real Eastenders ending".

I've also been having fun with Vecna's backstory. Since the start of the adventure, the ranger has been carrying a magical lantern haunted by a beautiful ghost girl. Over time, the two have fallen in love (he himself is a Revenant; the "Ghostmaster" of the haunted town of Hammerfast). The girl has little memory of life, knowing only that her father killed her. So far, we've had two more Eastenders moments based on this: the first being the revelation that her father is actually Vecna, and the second being the discovery that he used her body as his own phylactery. Kind of twisted, but hey, it's Vecna.

I also made the lantern useful in its own right. These last few months I've been bringing lots of homebrew items into the campaign, some of which I may share here one day. For now, here's the lantern. Thanks to Tjaart for the picture - and I promise we'll find some cool way of bringing your character back!

The Hinge's Handle

The mysterious, and yet ultimately annoying, "Hinge's Handle".

There's clearly been some sort of mistake. I recently entered RPG Superstar 2012 - the industry's equivalent of the X Factor - yet somehow my magic item didn't make the final cut. Surely a clerical error? Either that, or the sheer originality of my submission simply blew their minds.

Sadly not. Now the lights have come up and I stand nervously before the judges. "This is a really annoying item", says one, whom I naturally assume to be Simon Cowell. "You're making too much work for the GM", snaps Paula Abdul. The crowd snickers. All that's left now is for me to make some hissy, retributive comment and flounce off-stage.

They're right, of course. It's great that Paizo runs this every year, and in all seriousness, it's a massive undertaking for the judges to reply individually to every item they receive. I just hope that GMs look beyond their own submissions, and view the competition for what it truly is: a creative gold mine. Just reading through the final 32 - and the rejects pile - has given me a stack of solid items to introduce into my campaigns (won't my players be pleased!). But beyond that, its given me ideas for villains, organisations, even whole adventures. There's a lot of talent out there.

So what did I submit? Well, I'll be the first to admit my item is a bit "gonzo" - and does put a lot of work onto the GM's shoulders - but hopefully it facilitates some creative thinking at the table. That's the hallmark of a good wondrous item. Unfortunately for me, it's also fairly abundant in those suggestions that beat me to the cut!

Still, I suppose there's always next year.

The Rhônic Saddle

Brixton stares into the face of death yet again...

I killed somebody the other week.

Hush. Though it would be particularly wonderful to confess to murder through the medium of a poorly-subscribed RPG blog, this particular slaying occurred in-game. I killed Sandy's character. Killed him good, in fact. With a dragon.

Now. A lot of people will tell you DMs shouldn't ever use Coup de Grace. It's unfair, and it looks like you're picking on your players. Ignore them. 4th Edition characters are tough, and sometimes the only way to kill them is to get your licks in when they're down. Especially if they deserve it.

But this sudden turn of events left Sandy with a bit of a dilemma. Should he bring his character back, or roll up a new one? Death is often an opportunity for reinvention, but in a way Brixton was beginning to scrape the barrel. In the past, he'd come back as a vampire (which the rest of the party promptly slew), as a stoic paladin who lasted for about ten minutes, even as a cursed assassin wreathed in shadow. Where could he possibly go next?

I think I came up with something fairly unique (well, I did until Sandy pointed out I'd basically lifted it from Raymond E. Feist's Magician). I'd been meaning to give Brixton his first magical artifact for a while, and the dragon's lair was the perfect place to find it. When he died, he fell within inches of the most powerful item he'd ever seen. Perhaps a splinter of that artifact's power could pull him back? Maybe even bring him back with a rekindled purpose?

The Rhônic Saddle is imbued with the spirit of a long-dead king: last ruler of a kingdom of boasters, thrill-seekers, and horse-masters. Those who ride it gain great power, but also suffer a terrible curse. The king's spirit whispers to them in dreams, long-forgotten by morning, but subconsciously compelling them throughout the day to perform deeds of glory and daring.

Give in to these urges, and they risk death at every turn. Deny them and the curse takes control, forcing them to act against their will.

Being a mount slot item, this artifact may have limited usefulness in your games, but who knows? It could be just what you're looking for. We've not played it yet, so there may be some kinks to iron out, but I'm fairly confident it will work well at the table. See what you think.

Thanks to Sandy for the image of Brixton at the top of this post - definitely my favourite he's done so far. And thanks to Stacey for spending this afternoon drawing the saddle. It's exactly as I imagined it.

(If you're playing in my game, you may not want to read this. Spoilers, spoilers)

Illusion Cards: Gloaming and Day of the Dead

Ah, it's you. How have you been? Marvellous.

Here are two more cards for my Deck of Illusions. I guess we're about halfway there now, and I'm loving the symbolism that Sandy's cooked into this pairing. A pool of spilt blood, a candle about to be snuffed, and an army of marching moon-heads. What can it all mean?

Maybe something, maybe nothing. A while back, I congratulated him for including exactly 13 spears on one of his cards - and it honestly came as a surprise that he had.

In a way, I do a similar thing in my D&D games: include random symbolism on the spur of the moment, and build in meaning later on. In our present campaign, Splug returned from the dead with a mysterious map scratched into his back, Swaard heard a strangely-worded prophecy when he died, and Dia discovered she was the legendary "Starfallen". In each case, I dropped these in with no idea where they'd lead, and thought up meanings later (in some cases, years later). Occasionally, hooks like these lead to wonderful things that make me look clever in retrospect. In other cases, they're simply forgotten.

A handful of things that have worked well in previous campaigns:

• The strange feeling you're being watched. Later on, this can be attributed to near enough anybody.
• A mysterious gift left on the doorstep. Who it's been left by - and why it's been left so mysteriously - can be slotted in later.
• Strange tattoos found on the bodies of slain enemies. These are ultimately uncovered as marks of a cult/secret lottery/whatever.
• A device with no obvious meaning. Later on, its purpose is revealed when it suddenly starts glowing/ticking/summoning devils.

Simple stuff really, but some of my best stories have grown from these. Even better, many of them have grown from my players talking about the possibilities around the table. I may be smiling and winking mysteriously, but really I'm thinking "bloody hell, that's a great idea!"

Illusion Cards: Thieves and the Archer

Behold! Two more cards for my Deck of Illusions.

Neither of these turned out quite as I expected, but I'm pleased with them both. I love how the thieves give the impression of being slightly clumsy - but who's betting those magic daggers still cut deep?

Actually, I'm surprised Sandy picked these cards to draw up next, as neither played a particularly prominent role in our game. The Archer wasn't even drawn: it was one of just two cards left after Devlin met the Master. Thieves appeared near the end of H3: Pyramid of Shadows, drawn as the Company battled through a tight maze of haunted passageways. It should have been perfect timing - allowing them to sneak past the banshees that roamed the maze - but sadly Sephirius was having one of those games, and just couldn't shake off the immobilising effects of their screams. So they couldn't leave him.

Splitting the party is famously bad tactics for most D&D players (not least, abandoning party members). Just the suggestion of it gets certain members of my group aghast - probably due to a famous incident back in 3rd Edition. Whilst exploring a besieged citadel tower, two 10th level characters decided to leave the others and quickly scout a stairway alone. "Should we be splitting up?", asked one. "Meh. We can take it", said the other (and that's an actual quote). Three rounds later both PCs were dead: one lying mangled with a broken neck, the other being absorbed by a Lovecraftian Moonbeast. That's eighteen seconds.

The Deck of Illusions

The Deck of Illusions is kind of the ugly, unloved twin to the Deck of Many Things. Whilst it shares the same design - pull a card from a deck to produce a random, magical effect - there's none of the risk that makes Deck of Many Things so thrilling to use. Essentially, all the cards are the same. You just summon an illusion.

I suppose the fun bit is coming up with how to usefully apply these illusions to your situation. This lich could be used to scare off your enemies, but it could also engage them in conversation, right? Perhaps even trick them into following it?

Sadly, no: the second edition rules seem to imply that the illusions aren't even under your control ("The illusions perform normal routines and respond to attacks - they should be played as if they were real creatures"). Back then, the vast majority of cards basically had a single use: scare the pants off your enemies from afar. Kind of sucks if you pull the Pixies card.

3rd Edition clarified the rules so that the illusions reproduced the effects of a Major Image spell, but locked into a predefined form. I guess we can actually control them now, but as they were relatively easily disbelieved with a save - at least, they were in my experience - I still view the deck as nothing much to write home about.

For my 4th Edition game, I thought this artifact deserved a reinvention. When creating the deck, I had a couple of design goals in mind:

• I wanted to give each card an effect that had a clear use in combat. A few of these could be bad for the user, just like the Deck of Many Things. One of them - the Master - could even be deadly.
• I wanted to preserve the ability for players to think up clever ways of controlling their illusions. In the end, this worked best as an at-will artifact power, separate from the card powers.

As you'll see, it turned out very differently to the old Deck of Illusions. I think you'll find it useful in your games: our group's wizard used it to great effect throughout H3: Pyramid of Shadows, so I've had a chance to rebalance the powers after seeing them in play. Oh, and check out the lore for the Prince card - after all his adventures, I couldn't write this up without mentioning our own, friendly wizard at least once.

It goes without saying that you're missing a trick if you don't print out the cards yourselves and provide them to your players as a proper handout. To that end, Sandy's working through the deck now, polishing up the card designs and presenting his own spins to each one. I'll be presenting his designs here on the blog over the next few months, after which I'll wrap them up into a single, made-for-print doc.

Lastly, if you do use it, make sure to drop me a line here and let us know how it went. It would really make our day to know our deck is being used at other tables!

Swords of the Storm God

"Wux tepoha thric tiichi"

John speaks Draconic. He looks at me with a completely straight face, and then hits me with a string of gruff, dragonborn gibberish. The best bit is, he doesn't translate. There's always a pause, and I'll have to say "uh... meaning?", and he'll mutter something like "I will smite you down and display your ruin for all to see what the treachery of blood costs" - and I swear he looks a little disappointed that nobody got it first time.

John gets his translations through the draconic translator. If he's tapping away on his phone between turns, he's usually cooking up another dose of draconic. His character once had a long conversation in draconic with an ancient storm dragon. Beforehand he'd shown me a list of questions, I'd prepared a bunch of answers, and he'd written some lines he could drop in if things went badly. All the way through, we were passing these notes to each other, explaining what we were saying. It was crazy.

Anyway, John plays "Sephirius", a dragonborn paladin of Kord. Way back when we were playing H2: Thunderspire Labyrinth, Seph got a hold of the Orb of Light, an undead-slaying artefact that embedded itself into the blade of his sword. I had this idea for bringing a lich into the game, and the Orb seemed the perfect way to lead them to it. But as the final confrontation loomed, I had a dilemma: how could I maximise Seph's chances of dealing the final blow (which I knew John would love), and - with the quest coming to an end - present an epic "consolation prize" for when the Orb moved on to a new wielder?

The circle is complete. Now crack open the crits.

John's big on Kord. When the going gets tough, he's even been known to assemble the "Circle of Kord": a dice-rolling pen designed to channel the power of the storm god. Seph himself is the quintessential paladin: like his diety, he's quick-to-anger and at times ruthless, but always fights with honour. Seph's journey began with earning his spurs as a paladin, and I figured that it was time to up the stakes.

When the lich dropped to a quarter hit points, the powerful Orb of Light opened a portal to the Astral Sea: hurling Seph and his opponent into Kord's arena, high atop Mount Venya. Here, before his god, Seph fought the last rounds alone.

Sephirius Stormclaw in the Arena of Kord

Sephirius triumphed, and as a prize, the god of storms himself hammered out a great warblade. Seph named it "Kluurok Uuenbir": Divine Thunder.

Check it out below: it should work in any game. Oh, and many thanks to John for letting me use his artwork this week!