Saturday, November 7, 2009

The Skrath


The Skrath

The Skrath is indeed horrible, and feared in every corner of every land, more even than the dread Tarrasque. His body is the loathsome body of a hideous crawling thing, and his face is a grotesque mockery of the faces of men.

He creeps along the undersides of carriages, whispering foully to coach-horses and exposes his horrific tongue to lone fishwives on the wharves in the night.

It is said that the coming of The Skrath makes doves abandon their eggs, it is said that the coming of The Skrath causes gourds to grow in unclean shapes, it is said that the coming of The Skrath makes good men weep and wail and gnash their teeth and clean their knives until his coming is ended, it is said that the coming of The Skrath bodes ill for the education of children, yet it is also said that he teaches them the secrets of the Moon and the White Star.

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Crunch & Notes:

Basically, The Skrath is a unique three-foot-long greyish-green monster that shows up one day in a town or city and is usually found just lying there doing nothing (there is a 25% chance it will be found lying there doing nothing with its tongue hanging out). Treat The Skrath like an artifact or relic in AD&D--what exactly The Skrath actually can do is left entirely up to the DM, but the main thing is that the villagers, townsfolk, nobility, and other excitable 0-level types see The Skrath as the worst possible omen and have copious legends built up around it that may or may not be true and are terrified of it.

In imagining possible properties of The Skrath, remember that The Skrath may be powerful but it is not flashy: it won't just shoot fireballs at people, but maybe anyone who points at it will slowly melt over the course of a day, or maybe The Skrath just makes everyone roll at -15 all the time, or maybe it eats kindness and so removes all tender feelings from people, or maybe it is impossible to kill not because it has a million hit points but merely because anyone wanting to kill it immediately loses all motivation, or maybe it makes everyone's wishes at the exact moment it appears come true--so if someone's thinking "I wish I could find my shoe" then s/he'll see The Skrath and find a shoe, and if someone's thinking "I wish I'd never had a child" then their child disappears, or maybe The Skrath is a benevolent wizard doomed to crawl the earth in a detestable guise, or maybe The Skrath is a magical rorschach test that responds to people in whatever way they treat it, or maybe The Skrath is a philosopher that says disturbing things like the Earth revolves around the Sun and monarchy is not the ideal form of government and women should have the same legal rights as men, or maybe The Skrath is just a one hit-die greyish-green animal that lies there looking horrible and not doing anything and people think it's evil even though it's actually just ugly.

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Image credit: me

Friday, November 6, 2009

Top 10 D&D Monsters Sort of

I wasn't blogging yet when the 10 Favorite D&D Monsters meme went around. I keep trying to write one but I always end up with too many. Plus, really, I just love the classics. Especially compared to, like, Noisms and his Yak-men and people who actually like owlbears.

Basically, my favorites fit into these categories:


Things the Greeks thought up:

Minotaur, medusa, hydra, sphinx. Deep in the human mind is a maze and in the maze is a monster. It's a Greek monster. This probably has something to do with the invention of geometry and the Apollonian/Dionysian tension at the heart of all human endeavors. Or something. Maybe it's just me. Basically all I know is, if it refuses to die, turns you to stone, asks riddles, or is the product of an unholy union of man and beast I want to see it, then see it die.

Goblins:
The spooky magic kind with shrill voices that scare birds and eat babies and make terrible things happen to you if you tell lies or touch their weird magic tree.


Flail Snail:
Pretend you don't know what a snail is. Pretend you don't know what a flail is. Now look at the picture. God that's fucked.

Demons:
Medieval demons, Lovecraftian demons, effete 19th century demons, succubi. Whatever. Your parents were right about this game.

Smart skeletons:
Lich, Death Knight, Eye of Fear and Flame. It is dead, yet it knows something you don't. Or, worse: It is dead, therefore it knows something you don't.

non-Draculoid vampires:
Vampire halfling queens with pet vampire monkeys, for instance, or the Hollow Bride. Vampires are generally metaphors for the evils associated with The Old World and its ways. And D&D is all about the Old World and its ways. So fighting vampires cuts to the crux...no, bad pun...gets to the heart...no, worse pun...anyway vampires seem very close to the point of the whole thing.


Beholder:

Worst. Eye. Ever.


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Image credits:Minotaur Adrian Smith, Beholder Tom Wham, Skeleton Harry Clarke, Flail Snail--Alan Hunter.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Real Life Isn't 3e So Why Am I Buying Magic Items?

There are some reviews of some (extremely) inexpensive pdf dowloads buried in here, after the rambling intro, so, to help you find them, here's a table of contents:

Rambling Intro
Tome of "Forgotten Magical Items" [sic] Vols 1&2 by Jon Volden
Buck-a-Batch Magic Items 1, 2, and 3
Buck-a-Batch Potions 1, 2, and 3
Buck-A-Batch Magic Wear 1 by Creation's Edge Games
Green Devil Face 1-3 by Lamentations of the Flame Princess (James Edward Raggi IV)

RAMBLING INTRO

So, y'know, not to harp on it or anything, but a few days ago I won this contest. The prize was a 31$ gift certificate to RPGnow...

...and therein begins a tale because I'm not joking when I say it took me longer to spend the prize then it did to write the adventure that won the contest. This is because I am everything that's right and wrong with DIY and old school RPGers: On the upside, I don't think I need to buy supplements and adventures and new products to have fun playing the game but, unfortunately, I don't think I need new supplements and adventures and new products to have fun playing games.

So, if you're an RPG publisher--especialy an indie RPG publisher like the people who sell their stuff on RPGnow--I suck. I haven't bought a game book since the early Clinton administration.

Nevertheless, I accept the challenge to spend 31$ at RPGnow.

So, how to do it...After about an hour of clicking around aimlessly I decided I needed some rules about what I wasn't going to buy:

Games? I am just now getting my players used to playing D&D semi-regularly, it'll be a long time before we get bored with it, and it'll be probably forever before we play a new game that somebody I know doesn't already own. Whole games are pretty expensive (especially considering how many are free now).

Adventures? There's so many and it's really hard to know which ones are good, plus it always feels harder to learn a new adventure someone else wrote than to write my own. The World's Largest Dungeon was tempting but:

A) It cost 4 bucks more than my prize
B) It has every official monster in D&D, but most monsters suck. So how much of it could I really use? Fiendish darkmantles? Seriously?
C) I've never heard anything good about it.
D) The point of the World's Largest Dungeon is to say you finished the World's Largest Dungeon, but I'd end up changing it so much it wouldn't be The World's Largest Dungeon any more, it'd just be a bunch of semi-connected maybe-good dungeons like I could've bought separately,
E) The idea of a giant dungeon that is a magical monster-prison created by supernatural forces is the lamest and most cop-out-est way you could've figured out to get every monster into the same dungeon and it offends me.

Monster books? I think I'm way too big of a monster snob to get any decent value-for-money out of a monster book I can't actually hold in my hands and look through before I buy.

So the only thing left is books of stuff--magic items and traps. In terms of inspiration-per-dollar-spent, books full of nothing but nonstandard magic items seem like a good bet, so: here's what I got, and here's reviews of it...


Tome of "Forgotten Magical Items" [sic] Vols 1&2 by Jon Volden

X.P. 100 G.P. $9.95 (each)

Upon initial inspection, these will appear to be ordinary pdf downloads containing (flavor-lite, mechanics-only) verbal descriptions of various magical items--the first book containing weapons and armor, the second, miscellaneous magic items. Anyone with an intelligence of 9 or higher will notice that the vast majority of these are redundant or uninteresting. However, d4+1 hours of sorting through the repetitive (dozens of magical-furnishing-that-if-you-sleep-on-them-give-you-the-benefits-of-a-full-night's-rest or cooking-utensils-that-provide-infinite-food), uninspired (endless "____s of _____" that just raise an ability score a point or two), cartoony (little things that instantly grow into dragons--or bears or eagles or tigers), jokey ("toga of party readiness") and inane (thinly-disguised contemporary technological objects like copy machines or tanning oil) entries will allow the DM to find d4x10 items that are actually interesting in their own humble way and might be usable in a game ("shoes of many footprints", an arrow with an eyeball on the tip that lets you see whatever the eye can see). Whether this is worth $9.95 is left to the DM's discretion.


Buck-a-Batch Magic Items 1, 2, and 3
Buck-a-Batch Potions 1, 2, and 3
Buck-A-Batch Magic Wear 1
(1$ each)
by Creation's Edge Games

The Buck-a-Batch magic item books are a lot like The Tomes only 3e style: while the Tomes have no graphic design and are peppered with amateurish illustrations, the Buck-a-Batches all have (the exact same) very professional-looking graphic design and no illustrations. The Tomes are rules-agnostic (though really more like rules-atheist) the BABs have detailed d20 rules including how to make each item. The lamest items tend less toward post-Gygaxian we-were-stoned-when-we-wrote-this lameness like the Tomes' "Axe of Accidents" and more to the post-WoTC we-were-playing-Final-Fantasy-when-we-wrote-this lameness like the "Potion of Enemy Adaptation (Undead)"--that is, the Buck-a-Batches err more on the side of soulless systemization and symmetry than on the side of hippie loopiness. If there's an Orb of Acid in a Buck-A-Batch pdf, you can be sure the next entry'll be an Orb of Electricity and then an Orb of Ice and an Orb of Chaos and an Orb of Law...etc.

The good items in the BABs, on the other hand, tend to be the kind of thing that could've just as easily come from the Tomes--a potion that, when broken, creates a mist over a certain area that has an entertaining variety of diffferent random effects on whoever walks into it, for instance. Wherein lies some sort of lesson about D&D aesthetics, I suppose.

In the end, though, I'd say the BAB's have a slightly better item-to-cost ratio than the Tome (about 5 decent items per dollar spent, with "Magic Items 3" being the bottom of the barrel).

Green Devil Face 1-3

By Lamentations of the Flame Princess (James Edward Raggi IV)

RPGPundit's review of Green Devil Face 1 is wholly accurate and kinder and more thorough than anything I could write here about the first issue of Green Devil Face. GDF 1 is an extended in-joke with stats, basically. I only bought it because it was bundled cheap with the other two.

Green Devil Face 2 and 3 are much different and much better. If you don't already know, they're basically collections of trap rooms or other gimmick-locations that Raggi and other contributors came up with. There's a dopplegannger-replacement room, a chess room, a mummy-and-tar-trap room, a-thing-suspended-over-an-abyss room, etc.

Whether or not I ever use any of the rooms--and whether the authors are yet competing on the highest gimmick-room-inventing-levels--I find the idea of a collaborative room-submitting e-'zine interesting. It's like an issue of Dungeon with only the good parts included. The traps are elaborate enough that you get a window into how different people run their games*, and they effectively set the ball rolling to think up your own ideas--or at least they did for me.

The first two cost 1.50$ and the last, cheapest, best one costs 1.25$ and contains a few ideas I might actually use.



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*There is a certain trap room in one of the Green Devil Faces that is a marvel of expressionistic art--in the sense that it perfectly reflects the (online) personality of the contributor who wrote it (not Raggi): It will immediately strike anyone meeting it as unusual, intriguing, and sophisticated, yet it's so hard to tell what will set it off that it's tempting to avoid interacting with it altogether.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

Dead Giveaway


Two weeks ago, I had to postpone a game because one of my players had a last-minute photo shoot, one was being flown to Dubai by a dominatrix friend's client, and one of them was (probably) having sex with Dave Navarro.

So--sometimes--with my players, I worry: I hope that, of all the things that my players could be doing with their free time in LA, that playing D&D regularly will keep seeming like fun.

So I'm thinking about all this while helping Connie (up there on the left this morning, on stage at one of Hollywood's better-known strip clubs the rest of the week) roll up her first-ever character.

So she's got a rogue. Ok. It's a half-elf. (Half-elves are phenomenally popular with the ladies here for some reason.) Ok. Bunch of 15's--so far so good. This is fun right? Right?

She rolled her 4d4 for gold pieces, and went shopping. Got some leather armor, then I said:

"So, now you can get weapons, here's the list..."

"Am I allowed to get...like...throwing stars?"

Oh yeah.

I stopped worrying right there.

Tuesday, November 3, 2009

Hollow Bride


Hollow Bride

To the untutored eye, a Hollow Bride will usually appear to be an ordinary woman wearing a floor-length dress, with her arms dangling limply at her sides.

In actuality, a Bride has no body and consists of nothing more than a pair of hands fixed at the wrist to the ends of the empty sleeves of an empty dress held erect by a floating head. The dress maintains its shape through the action of animated entrails dangling from the thing's neck and, occasionally, with the aid of corset-like boning sewn into the garment.

It is said that a Hollow Bride is the result of a strong-willed but vain woman being fatally bitten by a vargouille that is itself then slain before it's victim's transformation is complete. In such cases, the victim transforms physically into something like a vargouille, but--having not been "trained" to think and hunt as it was meant to--still clings pitifully to the belief that it yet lives.

Through sheer force of will and belief, such creatures are able to prevent some of the transformation and decay that ordinarily afflicts a freshly-created vargouille's body. The head and features remain remarkably lifelike, wings do not sprout but rather the head levitates at exactly the height the head appeared at in life--and, unlike the rest of the body--the creature's hands do not rot away. Instead, the bride keeps its disembodied hands in thrall so that they can comb its hair, hold a mirror to its undecayed face, and sew the most elabourate finery available onto what's left of its form.

Once convinced that it's managed to assemble a reasonable facsimile of its former self, the Bride will attempt to re-integrate itself into human society. Brides long to mix with the living and cannot refuse invitations to social gatherings of any kind.

When overcome with hunger, the Brides forget themselves, simlutaneously sending their hands scurrying across the floor towards their prey and sending their faces flying fang-first toward the target's neck. A few very patient Brides have learned to use the dangling and prehensile intestines concealed in their sleeves to move their hands in the air with enough dexterity to cast spells.


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Crunch:
In combat, the Bride acts as three monsters--the Bride's head is like any other vargouille (except the lack of wings) and its hands are functionally identical to a matched set of crawling claws. Whether standard Romero rules vis a vis undead mind-body control apply is left to the DM's discretion.

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Image credits:
drawing--Mike Mignola
, painting-peter paul rubens, film still-from Francis' Ford Coppola's Dracula
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Yakov Smirnoff joke:
In Soviet Union, monster dresses like person for Halloween!

Monday, November 2, 2009

Wolves In The Throne Room, or The Adventure That's Worth A 31 Dollar Gift Certificate


So there was this Halloween One-Shot Adventure Contest over at the Tankards & Broadswords blog and I won. Rock.

To be honest, I kinda got lucky since when I first saw the post advertising the contest I had just finished running a creepy one-session-long adventure I'd thought up that was in the hook-line-and-sinker format that Badelaire asked for. (I normally write more open-ended stuff, but I was leaving town for several months and wanted something that'd lead to a satisfying pay-off in one session.)

If anybody reading also entered the contest, I'd love to see the other entries.

Anyway, without further ado, I now present this new and fully annotated deluxe version of the adventure in question...

Wolves In The Throne Room (Deluxe Edition)

Hook

It is winter. The dead of night. (Cue music) The PCs return home after a battle, adventure, border skirmish, Goblin War, etc. As they approach, lights flicker on in dark windows all over town—the townspeople shout : “They have returned!”.

The PCs are received as heroes and carried on the shoulders of the townspeople to Castle Vornheim for a banquet with the lord of the city. (Possible variant—one of the PCs is the lord of the city, and when s/he returns home, the banquet celebrates his/her homecoming.) (Which is how I ran it--the PCs had only recently eaten some obliviax and remembered who they were.)

When you start the game, you can actually serve a feast. (You can cook while the players generate characters.) When character generation is over, bring out the good silver, a roast beast, potatoes, wine, goblets, pumpkins, pheasants. Give slices of suckling pig to passing trick-or-treaters. Eat, drink, and be merry. Pick a certain dish on the table that you know not everyone will eat and that you know the “lord” player (if there is one) will eat, write down that it has been poisoned. Role-play all the way through the feast.

If, like I was, you happen to be housesitting for someone who has a throne, silver service, and a monkey-shaped candelabra in their kitchen, you'll probably want to run the game there.

During the feast the PCs meet various noble-type NPCs, (high priestess, head chef, lord’s three comely daughters, advisor, jester, juggling dwarf—tiny human entertainer, not an actual Dwarf—minstrel,court painter, etc.) most of whom quickly beg off and go to bed before the banquet ends (it’s the middle of the night). There are rumors among the superstitious commoners about how The Hunter Has Come.

The PCs and the lord finish their meal surrounded by a handful of tedious sycophants.

When the players have actually finished eating, tell everyone who ate the cranberry sauce (or whatever was poisoned) that they don’t feel so well.

They don’t immediately die, they just get woozy and occasionally have hallucinations that one or other of the guests at the table has a wolf’s head. After a while, if the lord is an NPC s/he goes into a coma, if a PC, s/he is just saddled with disturbing hallucinations and occasional vomiting at inopportune moments.) Everyone seems shocked. However, after careful questioning, torture, or spell-induced confession, most of the sycophants will turn into wolf-headed demons and attack the PCs. (Music cue.) (They’re immune to normal weapons but, luckily, the cutlery is silver.) The remainder are innocent and will cower in the corner.


Line-

Someone’s tried to poison the Lord. The various NPCs in the castle all act confused. Some actually are, some are magically disguised agents of The Hunter—who is, of course, responsible for the poison.

These agents include but are not necessarily limited to:

-A grey-haired witch named Thorn who controls evil creeping plants and wild animals (boars, stags, ravens, etc.) and is always accompanied by a wolf (or, when disguised as a daughter of the lord, an annoying lapdog). I also gave her the ability to animate the topiary animals in the garden behind the castle. Also, if it comes up, the witches' familiars can see invisible things but the witches can't--at least not directly.

-A blonde witch named Frost who controls cold, wind, and ice and who is always accompanied by a snowy owl. (Handy for making PCs slip off the roof during The Sinker.)(When I wrote this, I'd heard of "Death Frost Doom" and liked the title, but hadn't read it. That's probably where these witches came from.)

-A black-haired witch named Dread who creates fearful illusions (her attacks, for instance, always appear to do much more damage than they actually do—players should be fooled “the dagger rips your arm off, lose 12 hit points”) and is always accompanied by a raven.


-all the castle guards, who refuse to open the castle gates or let anyone out. They turn into wolf-headed demons under stress.

-a few random important-seeming NPCs who turn into Deceivers (Stag-head, snake-arms, goat-legged minor demons) when under stress. (When you hit a deceiver, save vs, spell or else you’ve been deceived and are hitting one of your own party members).

-various magic creepies who stalk the corridors spying for the witches and attack the PCs in their sleep if they try to rest while in the castle, such as (for example) Eyes of Dread: (When slain, the eyes turn into gloves—grey if they belong to Thorn, black if to Dread, white if to Frost. The glove will fit the offending witch, even if she is magically disguised, but no-one else.)

(Likewise, any other foe appearing in the middle of the adventure should, when defeated, provide a clue to the identity of the witches and demons, a piece of information that will help the PCs in the "sinker" battle, or a magic item that will be useful at the "sinker" if used properly.)

(Essentially the idea is, whatever the PCs do in the middle here should change the character of the last battle in some significant way.)

Some of the NPC nobles will know legends about The Hunter, and the villains will confess some information under duress. They say things like “Horned is the Hunter”, “The Frost is his shield, Dread is his strength, The Thorn is his fist” (To which my players responded "Yes, have some.") and imply he is an avatar of the demon Belphegor, there to usurp the power of the city’s lord and overwhelm civilization with wild things. Also, some kind of ceremony is coming.

Sinker--

After the PCs have gathered some useful information, or killed some of the beasties and witches, or it’s starting to look like a player has to go home so they can feed the dog or get up early for work, a friendly NPC (I recommend the juggling dwarf or the jester) tells the PCs that “The ceremony is beginning, we must hurry!”

On the roof (or in front of the castle if they’ve already been on the roof), in the snow, the Hunter (10-foot tall human stripped to the waist in a mask with stag horns—looks just like the Master Of The Wild Hunt from the original “Deities and Demigods” book—strong, fast, scary, axe-wielding, massive AC, HP, damage) (Cue music.), surrounded by the surviving witches and minor demons is performing a bloody pagan ceremony in a circle of candles made from the fat of virgins in order to bring forth a major demon--Belphegor The Untamed. (If the PCs are high-level, have Belphegor himself already be there—three heads—stag head, wolf head, crow head--snake heads on each fingertip arms, goat legs, generally unpleasant.)

They fight the PCs. The Hunter is really just one of the NPC nobles artifically bolstered by the witches’ magic. Killing the witch named Frost lowers his armor class to reasonable levels, killing Dread lowers his hit points considerably, killing Thorn reduces the amount of damage he can deal. In turn, killing the witches’ respective animals blinds the witches.

For extra fun, have the snow on the roof slippery enough that PCs fall off the roof into the (ice-covered) moat and have to crawl out before getting back to the melee. For extra extra fun, have the (touchingly loyal) juggling dwarf and jester help out and follow the PC’s commands—the jester is actualy an apprentice low-level wizard with some cantrips (mostly useless but they might do some good against the witches’ birds).

When and if the Hunter is slain, he dwindles and changes and, if unmasked, is revealed to be one of the noble NPCs (probably an advisor but if someone else comes to the fore during the adventure, feel free to make it whoever the most interesting choice would be.) He may or may not mention that he would have gotten away with it if it weren’t for “you meddling kids”.

And that's that.


Characters:

First, it should be noted that the GM should probably decided in advance whether s/he wants to run with the whole “the-courtiers-think-maybe-one-of-the-PCs-did-it” angle. This is only recommended for role-playing heavy groups. Otherwise, this adventure is designed to be flexible and can be run with almost any number of players.

The most important thing to remember is that this adventure will only truly be scary if the players like their characters and get attached to them and so don’t want them to die. (Most of the encounters in the adventure should be dangerous enough that the PCs might die, but ominous enough that they’ll see it coming.) Therefore, the players should be given considerable latitude in making their PCs.

If this adventure is run as a one-shot, the characters can be anything, though one of the characters (someone who would enjoy the role) should be designated “the lord”. If you want to go all out and think the players would enjoy it and you have time to prepare, the players can actually be pre-generated members of the court—wizard/jester, juggling dwarf, high-priestess, etc. The middle road would be allowing the characters to be whatever class and race they wanted, then assigning them jobs in the castle. Another middle road would be to write up a few characteristics and abilities for the jester, dwarf, etc. and attach them to whatever character the PC who wants to have that job rolled up.

The only tricky parts are:

1-There should be a mechanism by which the players have forgotten the exact layout of the castle—it’s been remodelled since they were gone, spell-damage has taken its toll on his/her memory, there’s a creepy enchantment on the castle that makes it confusing, etc. This will explain why the players don’t already know where everything is even though they live there.

(The actual layout of the castle needn’t be terribly complex, just big, it can be from an off-the-shelf module. The important thing is running into the villains and NPCs.) (I had a map and never used it--my players said things like "We go to bed, we go to the front gate," etc.)

2-The witches’ and monsters’ power levels should shift to scale with the original number and power level of the PCs.

3-If the players are members of the court then that’s x number of new NPCs you have to make up to replace them as possible suspects.

Notes on running the adventure:

“Wolves In The Throne Room” can also actually easily be run in a pre-existing campaign: if so, the characters can just be whoever the players happen to already be running, as long as they are at a low enough level that they can’t cast some spell allowing them to easily escape the castle whenever they want or instantly find out who poisoned the lord. You can also, if it fits your campaign, tell a PC that his or her noble brother has just died and s/he was elevated to the throne his/her absence.

“Wolves In The Throne Room” can also be used to kick off a campaign—while the lord and the PCs were away, the Hunter was spreading his baleful influence and many of the city’s treasures were looted, someone needs to go get them back, etc. If so, the same rules as for the “one-shot” apply.)

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Image credits-comic book panel--Mike Mignola, drawings--me, 3 witches--Albin Brunovsky

Sunday, November 1, 2009

Maggot Naga

Maggot (or Grub) Nagas are uncanny beasts with the heads of beautiful women and bloated, white, wormlike bodies. They range from three to six feet in length, and are as likely to be found conversing in the meeting halls of great houses as nesting in the digestive tracts of aging dragons. Whether these unsettling creatures are related to true nagas is unclear, but they exhibit similar abilities--albeit on a lesser scale--and an even more frightening intelligence. They are prized in certain rarefied circles for their unusual insight into the science of governance.

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Crunch & In-Play Notes:

Statwise, the Maggot Naga is basically a low-powered version of a water naga--a spellcasting monster with a poison bite; though you might consider giving it a couple gimmicks of its own, like it can automatically turn arrows fired at it into overlong maggots or its bite causes a random mutation.

The real point of the Maggot Naga is to wander around the campaign being both elegant and disgusting. I would role-play it completely straight--as if it's a perfectly sensible young Machiavellian advisor or lady-in-waiting who roams the castle (or chews its way through a frost giant's intestines), talking about grain production rates or discussing who is going to take the ring to Mount Doom that just happens to have the body of a great glistening maggot.

When the local Count invites the PCs for a sit-down about the recent peasant rebellion over dinner and there's a maggot-woman in the next chair articulately arguing the fine points of drought prevention in between face-first gulps of mutton, your players are bound to start wondering whether this regime--or any regime--could possibly be as corrupt as this looks, or whether this is just some sort of don't-judge-a-book-by-its-cover lesson in diplomacy and the grub chick is really just a perfectly nice young lady who has learned to be tirelessly patient in the face of persistent prejudice from superstitious rubes.

Which of these is the truth is, of course, entirely in the hands of the DM.