AD&D 2nd Edition
Everything I have for Second Edition
Everything I have for Second Edition
Characters in a role-playing game strive for many things – fame, glory, experience, among them. But for those who are not fully satisfied with such intangible rewards, there is one other goal – fortune.
Strands of glittering golden chains, stacks of silver coin, heaps of marten fur, bejeweled crowns, enameled sceptres, silken cloths, and powerful magical items all wait to be discovered – or wrested from the grasp of powerful monsters. With such treasures awaiting, how could any bold adventurer be content to remain peacefully at home7
Treasure is more than just a goal, a measure of material wealth, however. “It takes money to get money,” so the old saying goes, and for adventurers one could even say, “It takes money to stay alive.” As characters survive and succeed, their challenges become greater and more deadly.
At first level a simple suit of studded armor, a stout pair of boots, and a few simple spells were all a character needed; at higher levels such simple impediments no longer suffice. Faced with terrible foes, characters quickly discover that they need strong armors, barded horses, a variety of weapons, fortifications, men-at-arms, potions, scrolls, and potent magical items.
These are the kinds of things the characters have to find, make, or buy. And however they go about acquiring them, they’re going to need money. In a sense, then, treasure is also a method of measuring a character’s power. Even a low-level character with money and magic to spare is more than a match for an impoverished fellow of higher level. Thus, getting rich and getting ahead are rewards in and of themselves.
There are many different kinds of treasure. Some of these are obvious, their approximate value known to all. Others are less easy to spot, their value more difficult to determine.
The simplest treasures are items of set value – gold, silver, platinum, and copper coins. Virtually anyone can tell the worth of these. Those with a trained eye can assess the value of semi-precious and precious stones, both cut and uncut. A trained jeweler, goldsmith, or silversmith can appraise man’s work in precious metals – plateware, necklaces, brooches, tiaras, bracelets, rings, and other pieces of jewelry. Tradesmen can evaluate the handiwork of their craft, be it enamelware, blown glass, statuary, or delicate embroidery.
Over-eager adventurers can easily overlook vast treasures in the form of common goods. Few pay attention to bolts of fine linen, stacks of sable marten fur, casks of wine, or tons of raw iron ore, yet these can be worth great fortunes. Not every fortune shines, glitters, or can even be touched.
What if the characters find a sheaf of cracked papers in an ancient horde, and one of the papers turns out to be a long-lost land deed? Is it valuable? Could the characters use it to enforce a claim? Documents granting land, privileges, titles, offices, and rights of taxation (or freedom from it) are all valuable. The characters may not wish to become land-owners, but they can certainly find some merchant willing to pay cash money for the right.
Finally, there are magical items, desired and coveted by virtually every player character. These items give the character power beyond his level. They excite the imagination, and fill the campaign with mysterious wonder and romance. Carefully chosen and carefully awarded, magical items add an exotic element important to any AD&D® game.
The DM places, awards, and controls the treasures that appear in his campaign. The amount of treasure, both monetary and magical, the characters receive will have great effects on the development of the campaign. For this reason, several questions should be answered before play begins:
Is the world poor in magical items, such that the discovery of a simple potion will be seen as a great reward? Or is it rich in magical items, such that the player characters will have many and will use them often just to survive? Will their supply of magical items be so great as to render them all but unstoppable?
Will the player characters be forced to undertake dangerous adventures just to have food from day to day, or will they have so much wealth that their adventures will involve those of the highest levels of society and power? Will the characters have too much money, making them difficult to coerce, bribe, threaten, or even challenge? Will they be poor (and, possibly, depressed and frustrated)?
Only the DM can answer these questions. And answer them he should, for they will shape the campaign as surely as any other single factor.
One given in the AD&D game is that there is a significant amount of treasure (monetary and magical) that is not circulated in the society. These treasures are not used to purchase goods or pay for services. They do not collect interest in banks (a foreign concept to the age, anyway). They do not represent collateral used to secure loans or maintain prestige. They are not the underpinnings of monetary systems. They are just piles of unused treasure, apparently forgotten, their potential unrealized. By normal standards, this is an illogical situation. So, just why is there so much treasure laying around?
Now, it is not important te create a detailed background that goes into the economic theories of dragon-hoarding or the supply-and-demand trade structures of dwarves. But it doesn’t hurt to look at some of the basic premises behind all this loose treasure. Take these three related premises:
Premise #1: Long ago the world was a wealthier place, since all this money has been taken out of circulation.
Premise #2: Once the world was more culturally advanced, since only an organized society can control things like minting on a large scale.
Premise #3: The world has fallen into a dark age, since now these same hoards are eagerly sought after by adventurers and there are few governments able to mint such amounts of coinage.
From these premises, the DM begins to create a background for his campaign world. Here are some possibilities:
Once, in ages long before the present time, there was a Golden Age of learning and culture. (It could have been the Reign of the Elven Lords, the Empire of the Dwarves, the Great Age of Peace, the Time Before the Coming of Man, or the Rule of Good King Haring.)
Then came a great disaster and evil times. (Suddenly the Dragon-Fire began, the Sinking of the Gruen Mountains occurred, the Darkling invaded, Man arrived, or Therope usurped King Haring’s throne.)
Now, the world is slowly beginning to recover from this disastrous time, but much of what once was has been lost. There are hidden treasures of bygone ages, ancient ruins, forgotten wonders, and mighty magics now lost.
Ancient civilizations, now in ruins, are the source of many of the treasures adventurers seek. Of course, there are also new treasures being made and amassed, some of which are ripe for the picking.
Other deductions could be made and different premises reached from the same beginning. The ones given above provide a broad range of excuses for adventures, both for the players and the DM. Recovering that which was lost leads to all manner of possibilities: treasure maps, ruined empires overswept by desert, legends of powerful wizards with spells now unheard of, magical devices of unknown function, relics and artifacts from the previous age, even greater powers no longer worshiped.
The next question relating to treasure hoards is just who assembles these treasures and to what end? The answer can be divided into two simple categories, the unintelligent and the intelligent creature. Unintelligent creatures here refers not to those totally mindless beings, rather to those of animal nature for whom wealth has no meaning.
Unintelligent Creatures: Few unintelligent creatures set out with the intention of amassing a fortune. Such treasures grow by chance and happenstance.
The remains of victims dragged back to the creature’s lair may include what fortune, arms, armor, and magical items that victim was carrying. These, unsavory and indigestible, could be thrown aside or scattered among the bones and refuse of previous meals.
Fortunately for adventurers, most animals have some sanitary habits and regularly clean their dens of refuse, creating small garbage dumps just outside their doors. Thus, the unwanted litter from the aerie of a giant eagle could be scattered around the base of its tree, while the remains of a cave bear’s kill could be found somewhere near the opening to its den.
At the same time, animals (and animal-like monsters) often have a fascination with the strangest of objects. Packrats and magpies are known to carry off shiny objects, pet ferrets will carry off pennies and shoes, and birds will weave all manner of things into their nests. Thus it is possible for virtually any item of interest to be found in the lair of a creature.
There won’t be many items in a lair, since few animals make an industry of such gathering. However, the nest of a giant otter might include a set of leather armor and fine silks for bedding material, while the nest of a roc could have a magical rope woven into it.
In the rarest of instances, the creature could actually eat its treasure, though hardly by design. This is most often the case for creatures lacking the limbs to separate the edible from the inedible and especially for those with voracious appetites. Sharks’ bellies have been known to hold such strange items as license plates, suits of armor, hubcaps, and other indigestible bits of metal. In adventuring, such instances should be limited to beasts with massive maws (purple worms, killer whales, and gelatinous cubes).
Finally, there are a few creatures that actually feed on items others consider treasure. The beast may eat gems or precious metals. Of course, such creatures are not likely to have a sizeable hoard, and treasures found by them will not remain around forever.
Intelligent Creatures: Here, the DM can begin ascribing emotions and motives. Intelligent creatures may hoard because of greed and avarice. They may do so for social status or material comforts. Indeed, many normal reasons can be given. However, the reasons are not always clearly apparent.
While a hobgoblin may kill and steal to gain a treasure he can use to become the chief of his tribe or to buy goods from unscrupulous merchants, what are the reasons for a dragon to build a treasure hoard? Dragons don’t go into town and buy goods, and they don’t pay builders to construct homes. They just don’t seem to have any use for the vast sums of money they collect (and collect they do!).
For dragons and other intelligent creatures, the DM must create more bizarre and alien motives. Dragons may hoard treasure because they are obsessive about such things. They may have the notion that they are the guardians and recoverers of those things of the earth. They may simply feel it is their right to possess all that they can. Within their own relationships, the size of a hoard may have some bearing on the perceived might of the creature. It could even be that the wondrous beauty of treasure items brings an inner harmony and peace to the creature.
Even for those intelligent creatures with understandable motives, things are apt to be a bit different from normal. A hobgoblin society is vastly different from that of humans or most other player characters races. Hobgoblins don’t go to cities and spend money on palaces, fine drink, and elaborate gardens. Their expenditures are apt to be much more brutal or mundane. At the same time they do not have an economy as developed as that of human society. Perhaps they need vast sums of money because the price relationships are so bizarre.
Weapons may be astronomical in price and armor outlandish. Powerful chieftains may demand regular gifts and tribute from their underlings. Such payments may be made eagerly since death is the alternative. Indeed such a system of gifting may be culturally ingrained, each warrior attempting to prove he is still fit to be a member of the tribe.
Everything above notwithstanding, it isn’t necessary to justify every hoard in existence. However, doing so provides clues about the size of a treasure and how the owner might react to someone trying to snatch it.
A dragon might take an extreme view of anyone taking even the slightest amount of treasure from its vast pile. A hobgoblin might go berserk if the characters attempt to rob him. The hobgoblin’s companions might take little interest in their friend’s problem. The player characters represent a threat, but, after all, each hobgoblin must prove he can defend himself.
On the other hand, looting the chieftain’s treasure room would almost certainly lead to upheavals within the tribe. The chief is bound by the same customs as his warriors, and if he can’t protect his treasures, he doesn’t deserve to be chieftain – at least by this particular philosophy.
Intelligent monsters will take precautions to guard their treasure that would never dawn on unintelligent beasts. The hobgoblin chieftain isn’t going to leave his treasury unguarded.
Furthermore, he isn’t going to trust his own guards, either, and so is likely to have the treasury rigged with at least one (and probably several) dangerous traps. Should he be so lucky, the chieftain will even have a trained guardbeast or two to discourage thieves.
Even a lowly hobgoblin warrior is going to make an effort to protect what is his. If his horde is small, he may carry his wealth with him at all times. He may bury it where only he can find it. He may place it in a trapped and locked chest, preferably one that is chained to the wall or floor. This is not a society with an overabundance of love and trust, after all.
A dragon, at the other extreme, may simply consider his reputation sufficient deterrent. Certainly this is true while the dragon is present! (And player characters should never just come across an unoccupied dragon hoard.)
It is important for the DM to distinguish between placed treasures and those found with random encounters. The scale of the two is vastly different.
Monster descriptions in the Monstrous Compendium differentiate between treasures found in a creature’s lair, den, or base and those carried by individuals. Treasure gained through a random encounter will be smaller than treasure gained through a planned encounter. If a random treasure is larger or more significant than a placed one, the players are going to remember and value the random encounter more than the plot.
Treasures should be used to build the adventure, develop a plot, and reward intelligent and daring play. If they just appear randomly, not only is the DM throwing away a useful adventure-building device, he is threatening his overall campaign. In general, a large treasure should be a planned part of an adventure, a way to motivate players, or a goal to be achieved by the characters.
And remember, as important as treasure is, it need not be the sole motivator for a story. Indeed, there are times when it will be unimportant to the adventure. In these cases, the plot doesn’t need the outside motivation of cash to interest the players. Still, small rewards should still be made available to the players. A treasure reward, no matter how small, gives the players the feeling that their characters are succeeding and moving ahead.
To simplify the assignment of treasures to lairs and monsters, the AD&D game uses a set of alphabetic codes to categorize different sizes and types of treasure. Each monster listing in the Monstrous Compendium has a “Treasure Type” listing followed by a series of letters. These letters refer to Table 83 in Appendix I, p. 133 of the DMG.
For all his good intentions, sooner or later the DM is likely to err in the awarding of treasure. Either he will award too little or hand out too much. The first is just tight-fistedness; the second leads to high-powered, low-role-playing campaigns (sometimes called “Monty Haul” dungeons).
Now, if both DM and players enjoy a particular type of campaign and are having a good time, there is no problem to fix. However, more often than not, these two extreme adventuring styles lead to game problems.
In the case of a tight-fisted DM, the most obvious signs that the players are not having fun are frustration, cynicism, and low expectations. If the characters are not finding treasures commensurate to the risks they took, the players are going to wonder if all the effort of playing is really worth it. They become frustrated when, upon solving a devious trap, they discover a pittance, or nothing at all.
Their cynicism shows as they start to make snide remarks about the level of rewards they have received or are likely to get for future efforts. Finally, they just begin to expect less and less from the DM’s campaign, until it reaches the point where they expect nothing and they go home! In such a campaign, the DM may have a fine time, creating detailed settings and elaborate adventures. But if he does not have the enthusiasm of his players, there isn’t much point in playing.
Such a campaign can succeed if there are other rewards that involve the players in the game. Perhaps there are ample opportunities for character advancement or personality development. The characters may have the opportunity to play a decisive role in world affairs. These things are possible, but only a DM of extraordinary skill can overcome the drawbacks he has created.
Fortunately, the problems of too little treasure are easily fixed – simply introduce more treasure into the campaign. No adjustments need to be made to the characters. The treasures available in the game world can be increased without the players even aware that the change has been effected.
At the other extreme, the problems of too much treasure are not so easily solved. Here players may enjoy the game – and why not? Their characters are doing quite well. They have sufficient money and magic to best any situation the DM can devise.
However, the DM seldom has the same enjoyment. He is faced with the task of topping the last lucrative adventure. He must make each adventure a greater challenge than the last. While this is true for all DMs, it is grossly exaggerated for the DM who has given out too much: How do you top the adventure where the fighter got the Hammer of Thor or some equally valuable item?
Invariably, the players reach a point where they, too, become frustrated. Everything is the same – “Oh, we did this before,” or “Ho-hum. Another Sword of Instant Monster Destruction.” Soon there are no challenges left, because the characters have eamed everything in the book!
Fixing such a situation is far from easy. The first thing to do is to stop giving out so much treasure in future adventures. Even this isn’t as simple as it sounds, since players have already had their expectations built up. Imagine playing for months or years in a world where you routinely find 5 magical items and tens of thousands of gold pieces each adventure and then, one day, finding only two or three magical items and a thousand gold pieces! Still, painful as it may be for players, cutting back on future treasure hauls is a must.
The second part of the fix is far more difficult – remove from the campaign some of what has already been given. Most players won’t voluntarily surrender their goods and equipment just because the DM made a mistake. The inventive DM must be inventive, resorting to new and bizarre taxes, accidents, theft, and anything else he can think of. Use a given method only once and be sure to allow the characters a fair chance. Nothing will upset and anger players more than having their characters jerked about like a dog on a chain.
Sometimes the situation has just gotten so far out of hand that there is no way to bring it back under control. For example, because the DM has given out excessive magic, the players have near-godlike powers. They have used wishes to exceed ability score limits and enhance their classes with permanent abilities. They have fashioned other-planar strongholds impervious to anything. They have reached the point where they are dictating the structure of the game to the DM. There is only one cure – starting over.
Require all the characters to retire, and begin anew with 1st-level characters, being careful not to make the same mistakes again. The players may grumble and complain, but if the DM is fair, the complaints should eventually be overcome. To this end, the DM may even want to set the new characters in a different part of his campaign world, one that has not been explored before.
One of the most important types of treasure a character can earn is a magical item. Not only does the item act as an immediate reward for good play, it increases the power and survivability of the character. Such items add to the wonder and romance of the game, allowing the character to perform feats far beyond those of ordinary mortals. Rare indeed is the player character who does not want the rewards of magical items.
Like other treasures, magical items may be found in the lairs of unintelligent and intelligent monsters. Random encounters with unintelligent monsters shouldn’t yield magical items (except in rare cases where the beast has swallowed them). After all, why (let alone how) would a giant snake carry around a sword +1?
Unintelligent creatures may have a few items in or near their lairs, the former possessions of their victims. Even this will be rare, however. Such monsters don’t recognize the worth of magical items and seldom make a special effort to collect them. The comments relating to treasure and unintelligent creatures can be applied here.
Intelligent creatures, on the other hand, tend to value magical items above other items of treasure. They recognize such items for what they are (unless the item is very well disguised or unique) and take them. Knowing such items can be used to their benefit, they will attempt to learn the function of the item. A creature that can use an item will use it. Useful magical items that are part of a treasure will therefore be in the creature’s hands, not hidden away.
For example, take the treasure of the hobgoblin chieftain. Over the years he has come into possession of a number of minor magical items. Currently the tribe’s treasure includes three potions of healing, a scroll of wizard spells, a sword +1, and two suits of chain mail +1. This is not a horde the crafty, old chieftain is going to ignore.
He wears one suit of armor at all times, carries the sword at his side, and has the three potions hidden away but close at hand should he need them. The other suit of armor he gives to the most faithful of his bodyguards.
As for the scroll, since nobody in the tribe can use it, it is rather carelessly tossed in with the rest of the treasure in the chieftain’s strongroom. He figures to trade it for something useful the next time a renegade merchant comes around. Player characters who hope to get the tribe’s magical items will have to wrest them, literally, from the fingers of the hobgoblins. That’s something to make the earning of magic more of a challenge.
As player characters earn more money and begin facing greater dangers, some of them will begin wondering where they can buy magical items. Using 20th-century, real-world economics, they will figure there must be stores that buy and sell such goods. Naturally they will want to find and patronize such stores. However, no magical stores exist.
Before the DM goes rushing off to create magical item shops, consider the player characters and their behavior. Just how often do player characters sell those potions and scrolls they find? Cash in a sword +1? Unload a horn of blasting or a ring of free action?
More often than not, player characters save such items. Certainly they don’t give away one-use items. One can never have too many potions of healing or scrolls with extra spells. Sooner or later the character might run out. Already have a sword +1? Maybe a henchman or hireling could use such a weapon (and develop a greater respect for his master). Give up the only horn of blasting the party has? Not very likely at all.
It is reasonable to assume that if the player characters aren’t giving up their goods, neither are any non-player characters. And if adventurers aren’t selling their finds, then there isn’t enough trade in magical items to sustain such a business.
Even if the characters do occasionally sell a magical item, setting up a magic shop is not a good idea. Where is the sense of adventure in going into a store and buying a sword +1? Haggling over the price of a wand? Player characters should feel like adventurers, not merchants or greengrocers.
Consider this as well: If a wizard or priest can buy any item he needs, why should he waste time attempting to make the item himself? Magical item research is an important role-playing element in the game, and opening a magic emporium kills it. There is a far different sense of pride on the player’s part when using a wand his character has made, or found after perilous adventure, as opposed to one he just bought.
Finally, buying and trading magic presumes a large number of magical items in the society. This lessens the DM’s control over the whole business. Logically-minded players will point out the inconsistency of a well-stocked magic shop in a campaign otherwise sparse in such rewards.
One of the things the DM decides is just how common magic is in his campaign. Is the world rich in magical items such that every lowly fighter has access to at least a sword +1? Players enjoy having a wide variety of interesting magical items, but there’s the risk of creating an out-of-control Monty Haul situation. And a magic-rich world has consequences unforeseen by most DMs.
If magic is common, then normal people will begin to build inventions around it. There may be djinni-powered steam engines, crystal ball telecommunications networks, and other very un-medieval results. This can be entertaining, but it does drastically change the shape of the campaign world.
The charm of discovering a magical item is lost if everyone has one, but too few magical items can also ruin a game. This is especially true at higher levels where magic is so important to character survival. You don’t want to kill half the party just so the survivors can be excited at discovering a sword +1.
The DM wants each magical treasure, no matter how small, to feel special, but at the same time he must be able to balance the pain of its acquisition against the reward. This is not a thing the DM can learn through formulae or tables. It takes time and judgment.
One of the abilities shared by the wizard and priest groups is their ability to construct magical items. This is a potent ability, but it is not one easily used. As DM you do not want your player characters constructing every magical item available. Each one should be an accomplishment and the springboard for a new adventure.
The wizard’s ability to research items is divided into different phases. Although a wizard can cast a magic missile at 1st level, he cannot transcribe that spell onto a scroll until he reaches 9th level. The same is true of brewing potions. Only when he reaches 11th level can a wizard attempt to create other magical items. Even then he may not be able to create many items if he lacks the ability to cast the necessary spells.
The priest can begin creating scrolls at 7th level and can brew a few potions (mainly those involving healing) at 9th level. Clerics can fabricate only a few other magical items and cannot attempt these until they reach at least 11th level. As with the wizard, their ability even then may be limited by the spells they have access to at the time.
Creating a magical item is much like researching a new spell. The DM and the player must cooperate and work together to bring about the desired goal. However, there are differences.
In magical item research, the desired goal is usually well-known to both the player and the DM. The player says, “Rupert wants to create a potion of clairaudience.” The effect is known; what must be done to create it isn’t. Therefore, once the player has stated his desire, the DM decides what materials, formulae, spells, and rites must be acquired and/or performed to create the item.
Once the DM knows this, the player can proceed. He does not tell the player what he needs to do! It is up to the player to discover the processes and steps required to create a magical item, however small. He may consult a sage, seek the guidance of a higher level spellcaster, or even use spells to call upon greater powers.
Even after learning what he must do, the spellcaster may have to do further research to learn the techniques required for each step. All of this will cost the character time and money, so his dedication and resources must be substantial if he hopes to succeed. The process of gathering the needed information and materials is a grand excuse for one adventure after another. This is part of the fun of the AD&D® game. Making a magical item is more than just a mechanical process. It should also be an opportunity for excitement and role-playing.
The construction of magical items is a realm of the AD&D rules open to broad DM interpretation. Just how the DM decides to approach it will affect the way magic is viewed in his game. There are two basic attitudes toward the making of magical items: The practical method and the fantastic method.
The practical method says that magical item manufacture is somehow tied to common sense; the materials needed to make the item reflect the properties of the item being constructed, and the steps required are fairly well-defined.
For example, a potion of climbing might require the hair of a climbing creature such as a giant spider or the legs of a giant insect. A wand of lightning bolts might have to be carved from the heart wood of an oak struck by lightning. Petrifaction might require the scales of a basilisk, a snake from a medusa, or a feather from a live cockatrice. Fear might require a drop of dragon sweat or the grave earth of a ghost. In each case, the relationship between the items needed and the object desired is relatively clear.
Furthermore, the component items themselves are physical and understandable. They may be rare, but they can be gathered without special preparations (other than those required for normal adventuring). In essence, the DM creates a “grocery list” that the player character must fill. The character goes out adventuring, seeking out the creatures or things that will provide him with the materials he needs.
This method has advantages, not the least being that it simplifies the DM’s task. When confronted by a player who wants to create some bizarre magical item, the DM need only list materials that seem appropriate to the magical effect.
At the same time, however, the practical method can be abused by clever players. They may figure out that every monster encountered has a potential usefulness to wizards and so begin collecting tissue samples, blood, hair, organs, and more. They become walking butcher shops – not at all what is desired!
Furthermore, players expect to find shops specializing in magical materials, both to sell and buy their needed goods. This defeats the need to adventure for one’s materials and ruins part of the role-playing involved in magical item creation.
The fantastical approach takes a drastically different view of magical item construction. Here, when the player says, “I want to create a rope of climbing,” the DM provides a list of impossible ingredients. It then becomes the player’s obligation to discover the means to collect each ingredient.
Thus, to make the rope of climbing, the DM could require a skein of unspun yarn, the voice of a spider, and the courage of a daring thief. The player would then have to discover the meaning of each ingredient or the means to produce it. This, in turn, could require more research and spells to accomplish the goal.
For the rope of climbing, the player might solve it by finding a magical sheep whose wool is so thick it needs no spinning. This he could form into a rope, casting spells to give a spider voice so it can say a few words over the cord. Finally, he could trick a renowned thief into using the unfinished rope on a dangerous mission. After all this, the wizard would cast the spells necessary to bind the various elements and, voila – a rope of climbing would be the result.
Folktales, myths, and legends are filled with instances of impossible tasks and impossible ingredients. To bind the Fenris Wolf of Norse mythology, the dwarves forged an unbreakable chain from such things as the roots of a mountain, the noise of a cat, and the breath of a fish. Folktales tell of heroes and heroines faced with impossible tasks – to plow the ocean or make a shirt without seams. Hercules was faced with Twelve Labors deemed impossible by others. Culhwch (of Celtic legend) had to produce sweet honey without bees. If the player characters aspire to such ranks of heroism and wonder, surely they can accomplish deeds such as these.
The fantastical method gives the campaign a high fantasy element, for such impossible tasks are part of the wonder and enchantment of such a world. Furthermore, it ensures that each ingredient or step will be an adventure. Wizards won’t casually assemble their ingredients at the local magic supply warehouse. It also provides the DM with a means to control the time required (since assembling components can be quite a task) and a method for draining excess cash from the character’s accounts.
At the same time, players can perceive this method as too difficult and too restrictive. They may become discouraged by the DM’s demands. To alleviate this, at least partially, the DM should balance the requirements against the potency of the item being created.
Combining the practical with the fantastical is a workable alternative to either method. Not every magical item can be created by gathering the organs of creatures or the essences of rare plants, nor does each require the spellcaster to overcome the impossible.
Simple and common magical items (potions of healing, scrolls with various spells, wands of detection) could require only that the proper things be brought together and ensorcelled. Powerful, exotic, and highly useful items (such as a sword +1) might test the spellcaster’s abilities and resourcefulness, requiring that he solve puzzles and riddles far beyond the normal ken.
The combination of the two philosophies can even be used to explam the fact that some magical items are so common and others so rare – potions are everywhere, but maces of disruption are hard to come by. Potions require simple ingredients; maces require the moving of mountains.
Just because a spellcaster knows a spell, he isn’t automatically endowed with the knowledge to create a scroll or potion of similar function. The processes and formulae used in each are different.
A spell on a page in a wizard’s spell book is different from a spell contained on a scroll. The first requires memorization and may need components or gestures to activate. The latter needs only an utterance to be effective. A potion, ingested to be effective, is clearly a different form of the same thing.
Because of these differences, a wizard must learn more of his art before attempting to make scrolls and potions. He is assumed to have attamed the appropriate degree of training by the time he reaches 9th level. Even then the knowledge of how to create such items does not just leap into his brain.
Rather, at ninth level he has the potential to create such items. He knows enough basics of the art and has learned where to look for the information he needs to make the attempt. The exact process for each spell is still a mystery to him.
The first step in creating a spell scroll (not a protection scroll) is for the wizard or priest to know and be able to cast the appropriate spell – the desired spell must exist in his spell books. If he has never seen the desired spell or has failed to leam it, he certainly cannot create a scroll for that spell. When creating a protection scroll, the wizard is limited to those protective spells that fall within the purview of his art, for example, protection from elementals, magic, and petrification.
If a wizard knows the spell, he can begin fabrication. His first step is to assemble the appropriate materials: quill, ink, and paper. These materials can’t be commonplace items lest they mar the final product or be consumed by the very magical energies the wizard seeks to enscribe.
The quill used for each spell must be fresh and unused. Lingering energies of the spell just transcribed cling to the quill. If the quill were used again, these energies would flow and intermingle with later attempts, causing them to fail.
Furthermore, the pen can’t be just an ordinary goose quill. It must be from a strange and magical creature, perhaps one appropriate to the nature of the spell (the feather of a cockatrice for a flesh to stone, etc.). The task of gathering the right quill can be an adventure in itself. Quills handpicked by the wizard himself increase the chance of success by 5%.
The paper or other material upon which the scroll is inscribed must also be of fine quality. Paper is best for this purpose, followed by parchment, and then papyrus. Each affects the chance of success as follows:
| Paper | +5% |
| Parchment | 0% |
| Papyrus | -5% |
The ink is the final consideration. In this area, the DM has the greatest leeway to demand the most exotic ingredients and processes. The ingredients could be simple – the ink of a giant squid mixed with the venom of a wyvem’s sting, or the musk of a giant skunk brewed with the blood of a gorgon. They could also be complex in meaning – the tears of a crocodile and a drop of water from the bottom of the deepest ocean, or a drop of mead from the cup of King Thyas blended with the lamentations of the women from the funeral of a great hero.
In general, the ink’s ingredients should relate to the overall purpose of the scroll. As with the quill, the ink required for each spell should be different and even each inscription of the same spell requires the batch to be brewed anew.
After the character has gathered and brewed all the materials, he can begin the actual process of writing. Wizards must have their spell books at hand to guide their work, while priests and others must work on a specially prepared altar. The actual process of writing the scroll requires one full day for each level of the spell inscribed.
Protection scrolls require six days of work. During this time, the spellcaster must be undisturbed, breaking only for food and sleep (and then for a minimum of each). If the spellcaster halts before the transcription is completed, the entire effort fails and all work done to that point is for naught.
After the work is completed, the DM secretly checks for success. The base chance is 80%. This can be increased or decreased by the materials used. For every level of the spell, 1% is subtracted from the success chance, but every level of the spellcaster adds 1%. Thus, a 15th-level mage (+15) making a scroll of a 7th-level spell (-7), using papyrus (-5) and writing with a cockatrice quill plucked with his own hand (+5) would have an (80 + 15 – 7 – 5 + 5 =) 88% chance of success.
If the number rolled on percentile dice is equal to or less than the required number, the attempt succeeds. If the roll is higher, the attempt fails, though the player has no way of knowing this.
If the attempt fails, the scroll is cursed in some way. The DM secretly decides an appropriate effect based on the spell that was attempted. A failed attempt to create a fireball scroll may result in a cursed scroll that explodes in a fiery ball of flame upon reading. The player character cannot detect the cursed effect until it is too late.
Note: A remove curse spell will cause this faulty scroll to tum to dust.
A single scroll can contain 1 to 6 spells, the number determined randomly by the DM. The player can never be certain of the amount of space required even for the same spell on two different scrolls. A failed attempt to transcribe a scroll automatically fills the remainder of the page, although other spells successfully written before the failure remain. In this case, the cursed effect of the failed spell will not come into effect until that spell is read.
When using a scroll he himself has prepared, a wizard does not need to resort to a read magic spell to understand the writing.
Potions are primarily the province of wizards, although priests can prepare those potions relating to healing and cures. (Priests of other mythos may or may not be able to prepare such potions, depending on the spell spheres available to them.) Healing and curing potions are beyond the ken of wizards.
As with other magical items, the character must identify and gather the materials needed to brew a potion before he can begin work. The formula can be as straightforward or bizarre as the DM desires. It may require the blood of a rare creature, powdered gems, the sweat of a mare, or the breath of a dying hero.
In addition, a potion requires a number of mundane ingredients. The basic cost of these ingredients ranges from 200 to 1,000 gp. The DM should decide this based on how common the potion is, its power, and the nature of the ingredients he has specified. A potion of dragon control is a rare item of great power and so should cost the full 1,000 gp. A potion of healing is a fairly necessary item, something the DM may want to be readily available to the characters. Therefore, it should be cheap, costing no more than 200 gp.
Wizards must do more than acquire ingredients: They also need a complete alchemical laboratory. Potions are not something you can brew up over the kitchen stove! This laboratory must be furnished with furnaces, alembics, retorts, beakers, distilling coils, and smoldering braziers – in short, all the trappings of a mad scientist’s laboratory (circa 1400 AD).
The basic cost for such a laboratory is at least 2,000 gp if all the skilled craftsmen are readily available to construct the equipment to the wizard’s specifications. And this cost covers only the furnishings; the wizard must also have an appropriate place to put all these things and to conduct his work. Given the strange noises and foul smells that issue at all hours from such a laboratory, many a landlord may be less than willing to have his rooms used for such purposes.
Once the laboratory is established, the wizard must pay 10% of its value every month to maintain the equipment, replacing things broken in experiments and minor ingredients that lose potency with age.
Priests do not make use of a laboratory – such equipment smacks of impious and heretical learning. Instead, the priest places his faith in greater powers to perform the actual transformations needed to blend the potion. As such, he uses an altar specially consecrated to the purpose. When constructing such an altar, the character must be ready to make some sacrifice of worth, either a monetary sacrifice or, even more significantly, a special service to his deity. Thereafter, the priest need only respect the altar as would be normal for his faith.
Creating the Potion: With all this equipment assembled, the wizard or priest is ready to begin. The cost already determined, the time to brew, infuse, distill, decant, and extract the potion is measured in days equal to the cost divided by 100. During this time, the character must remain uninterrupted except for the normal needs of sleep and food. If the work is disturbed, the potion is hopelessly ruined as are all ingredients used in it.
After the work is done, the DM secretly rolls percentile dice to determine if the potion has taken. The base chance of success is 70%. For every 100 gp worth of ingredients, 1% is subtracted. For every two levels of the spellcaster (or fraction thereof), 1% is added to the base.
If the percentile roll is equal to or less than the chance of success, the potion succeeds. If the potion fails, the spellcaster has unwittingly brewed either a deadly poison or a potion of delusion, at the DM’s discretion. Of course, the player won’t know whether a potion is good until it’s too late. In any case, the wizard or priest is wise to label his creation, for there is no sure way to distinguish between different potions by sight alone.
Potions and scrolls are not the only magical items spellcasters can create. Other types of magical items can be made – weapons, wands, staves, rods, rings, bracers, braziers, cloaks, and more.
There are also certain items the player characters can’t create. Artifacts, relics, books (except spell books), and intelligent weapons are the realm of the DM only. Such items can be found by the player characters, but never manufactured by them. This ensures that the DM controls certain elements that can appear only during the course of an adventure he designs.
Furthermore, certain magical items have a particular racial connection, particularly the dwarven warhammer +3, elven cloaks, boots of elvenkind, elven bows, and certain types of hammers and axes. These items can only be fashioned by NPC dwarves and elves of particularly ancient age. The making and awarding of these items is the task of the DM only.
Finally, the DM has the right to exclude from player manufacture any magical item he feels is too powerful or too significant a part of his campaign world. (For example, if all magical weapons in the DM’s campaign are the product of an ancient civilization and the art of their manufacture has now been lost. he can deny the ability to create such items to the player characters.)
These limitations notwithstanding, players should be invited to submit their own ideas for new or unique items. The possibilities for new items are limited only by the constraints of game balance. Perhaps the character wants an arrow that explodes in a flash of brilliant light or a wand that causes those touched to suffer amnesia.
Using the same give-and-take process described for new player spells, the DM should have the player write up a description of the desired item. The DM studies this, alters it as needed, and discusses the changes with the player. When both are in agreement, the character can begin the actual process of research and constuction.
When a player announces the desire to construct a given item, it is not the DM’s task to tell him whether this is within his capabilities or not. It is the DM’s responsibility to decide the materials and steps needed to construct the item. The player can then have his character consult a sage, fellow spellcaster, or higher power to learn what he needs. In the process he may discover he lacks the appropriate powers to create the item. This is one of the risks inherent in magical research.
Finding the Right Materials: First the character needs appropriate materials. When constructing a magical item, no ordinary sword, stick, cloak, necklace, or whatever will do. The item must be extraordinary in some way. Weapons must be of high-quality craftsmanship. Woods must be rare, specially grown, or cut in a particular way at a particular time. Cloth must be woven to exacting specifications. The material itself may be of an impossible nature (a shirt without seams or a hammer forged in a volcano’s heart and quenched in the deepest ocean).
Often, the only way to ensure the appropriate vessel for the enchantment is for the spellcaster to fashion or gather the item himself. However it is obtained, this vessel should cost far more than a normal item of the same type. The price can range from 1,000 to 10,000 (or more!) gold pieces depending on the material.
Preparing the Materials: Once the vessel for the magic is obtained, the character will have to prepare it. A sword may need to be dipped in rare acids to burn away impurities. Bone may need to be picked clean by giant ants. Wood could require soaking in rare oils and herbs.
Though the item is, as yet, far from gaining any sorcerous power, this stage is vital – failure here means the spell will fail to take. Normally this stage takes from two weeks to a month just to prepare the vessel. Additional ingredients at this stage will cost at least 500 gold pieces, if not more.
Enchanting the Item: The spellcaster is now ready to begin the actual enchantment. Wizards must first successfully cast an enchant an item (or have another do it for them) on the vessel according to the conditions described for that spell. Once he is finished, the wizard can cast other spells into the vessel, provide the last ingredients, or perform the final steps in the enchantment process (as defined by the DM).
The character might have to take the enchanted item to the peak of the highest mountain to expose it to the rays of the dawning sun before it will be ready. He could have to immerse it in the distilled sorrows of nightingales. If spells are necessary, these, instead of expending their energies, are absorbed and transformed by the enchanted vessel.
The spell that must be cast into the enchanted vessel is the one that matches the power desired. If there is no direct spell equivalent, a more powerful spell with essentially the same function can be cast instead. If there is no spell equivalent at all, the wizard must research the appropriate spell before he begins the process of making the magical item. or he must provide exotic ingredients capable of conferring the power on the item, whichever the DM decides.
Thus, at this step, the wizard could cast lightning bolt on a wand to make it a wand of lightning, but he would have to research a new spell to create gauntlets of Dexterity (since no spell exists to improve Dexterity) or bathe the gauntlets in the bottled essence of hummingbird dreams (as an example).
Finally, if the item is to hold its magic for more than a single use, a permanency spell must be cast. This locks the trapped magic into the vessel, empowering it at the command chosen by the wizard. If the permanency is not used, the vessel only holds charges equal to the number of spells cast upon it.
If all these steps have been performed correctly and without interruptions, the item will be created … maybe. The process is long and involved and there are many opportunities for unintended error. Thus, when all is said and done, a success roll must be made. The basic chance of success is 60%. Each level of the wizard adds 1% to the chance, while each spell, special process, or unique ingredient used lowers the chance by 1%. The DM can further adjust the percentage for any extra-special precautions or notorious shortcuts the character might take.
If the check is passed (by rolling equal to or lower than the success chance) the desired item has been created. If the check fails, the item is cursed, although this may not be known until a much later time. The function of the item becomes perverted, the opposite of the character’s intention. A cursed sword, for example, could lower the character’s chances of hitting, while cursed gauntlets could render the wearer clumsy.
A character can’t seek to make a cursed item with the hope and intention that the process will fail (thereby gaining a useful magical item). The nature of magical failure is such that the desired result, spoken or unspoken, never occurs.
For example, suppose Thibault the Younger, a mage of 17th level, seeks to make a powerful sword +5. Using the contact other plane spell and money, he learns the steps he must perform and the items he needs. His first task is to shape a sword blade with his own hands from the ore of Mount Lothrain, at the very center of the Dwarven Estates.
He travels there, only to discover that the Dwarven Lords consider this iron a treasure above all others, not to be given out to aliens not of the blood. After much careful bargaining, the Dwarven Lords agree to allow him to undergo the Ordeal of the Pit, the rite of dwarven manhood. Thibault is lowered into the caverns where even dwarves are loath to tread, where, in a solo adventure, he barely escapes with his life. By the time he has recovered and healed, the dwarves hail him as one of their own and reward him with the ore he seeks. As an extra benefit, during his time among the dwarves, Thibault learns a few more tricks of bladesmithing, increasing his proficiency.
Now Thibault has the ore and, on his journey home, stops by the Spring of Mastees to get the second item he needs – pure spring water. A short time later, he is safely home. There, he spends a month hammering, folding, quenching, and hammering again on the blade, spending 5,000 gp on the task.
Finally the work is done and the blade is finished, the last step being to etch it in a bath of black pudding acid. According to the instructions he received, Thibault must next instill the blade with the power of purity. Just what this means is not exactly clear, but his finances are running low and he doesn’t want to waste more time for investigation. He decides to have the blade consecrated at a local temple and then has a paladin lay hands upon it.
All these steps completed, Thibault begins his spellcasting. For days he works on casting the enchant an item spell. The spell succeeds. To make a +5 weapon he uses the enchanted weapon spell, one for each plus. However, after four castings, the enchant an item spell fades and Thibault must spend more time re-enchanting it. Once again successful, he casts the last enchanted weapon and then seals everything with a permanency spell.
The DM secretly makes a check for success. The chance is 60% (base) + 17% (Thibault’s level) -12% (for the ore, hand-forging, etching, instilling with purity, enchanting twice, five pluses. and the permanency) = 65%. The DM rolls a 45. The work is successful and the sword is finished. Needless to say, Thibault is not tremendously eager to do this again right away.
Clerics and other priests can also make magical items appropriate to their calling. The process begins with the selection of an appropriate vessel of the finest or most perfect materials. Once the vessel is at hand, the priest must spend two weeks in meditation and purification ceremonies and then another week in fasting and purification. Then he must likewise purify the item and seek to invoke it with a small portion of his deity’s grandeur. Fortunately, this step takes but a single day and night.
Once this is done, the item is ready for the final plea. As it rests upon an altar, the priest must pray for the blessed sign that the deity will endow the vessel with the desired powers. Each day there is a 1% cumulative chance that the prayers will be heard.
Once this step is completed, the item need only be sanctified and consecrated, unless it is to possess charges, in which case the priest has 24 hours to cast the appropriate spells into the item. Should the task be incomplete at the end of this time, the priest will once again have to seek his deity’s favor before continuing the process (in other words, start over at the beginning).
The priest is assumed to be perfectly faithful and true to his calling. Should this not be the case, in the DM’s estimation, the process may fail or yield some result unanticipated by the priest. The enchantment may fail or the character’s deity may curse the item in retribution for the priest’s impudence in seeking favor so ill-deserved. The DM must judge the standing of the priest based on his previous actions and his current motives.
Some items that carry several charges are rechargeable. Recharging isn’t easy, but it is easier than creating an entirely new magical item. High-level wizards or priests may find it useful to boost up an old item.
To recharge an item, it must first be enchanted either through the use of an enchant an item spell or prayer, as noted above. Once prepared, new charges can be cast into the item. One benefit of recharging an item is that each charge requires only the spell’s normal casting time (not the four hours plus four to eight normally required by the enchant an item spell).
However, recharging is not without risk to the item. Each time the item is enchanted to recharge, it must roll a saving throw vs. spell (using the saving throw of the caster) with a -1 penalty. If this saving throw is failed, the character has accidentally interfered with the magic of the item and it crumbles into useless dust.
Occasionally characters may find it desirable, useful, or vitally necessary to bring about the destruction of a magical item. Magical items are more resistant than ordinary ones, but they are hardly indestructible, as Table 29 shows.
Characters who have possession of a device and are determined to destroy it can do so at will. They need only snap the blade of a magical sword or burn a cloak or whatever.
It is possible to target specific magical items held by others, but it is very difficult. (In fact, it is no easier or harder than attacking a non-magical item.) Attempting to destroy an enemy’s magical item may require attack rolls, saving throws, and item saving throws.
The breaking of a magical item should result in something more dramatic than the breaking of a vase or a windowpane. As DM you are perfectly justified in describing a dramatic explosion of force, a small whirlwind, a foul stench, or whatever seems most appropriate to the moment.
For some items, particularly some staves, there are specific rules that define the effects of the item’s destruction. Such cases are rare and the effects are devastating, so they are recommended only for those particular items. For other items, you can say the destruction of a magical object causes somewhat less damage to those in the area. You might, for example, dictate that characters within 1′, 5′, or even 10′ suffer 1d8 hit points of damage.
This is just an example – the actual damage can vary, at your discretion. Remember, however, that such damage should only be used for effect; it should never kill or seriously injure a character. After all, killing the character in the explosion of his own magical sword is piling injury upon insult; the loss of a prized magical treasure is bad enough!
Vastly more potent than the most powerful magical items are extremely rare items of ancient power and majesty – artifacts, constructs of the utmost wizardly might, and relics, the remains of awesome powers and the greatest of holy men. These are items of great import and effect, so their use must be strictly controlled. The following absolute conditions are always in effect when dealing with artifacts and relics.
The appearance of an artifact or relic must always be the basis of an adventure. These items should never be casually introduced into play.
Characteristics of Artifacts and Relics: Each artifact and relic is unique. There can only be one of that item in existence in a given campaign. It appears in a campaign only when it has been placed there by the DM. These devices never form part of a randomly placed treasure and so are not on any treasure table. The DM must choose to include each particular artifact in his game.
Artifacts and relics always possess dangerous and possibly deadly side effects. These effects are all but irreversible, unaffected by wishes and most greater powers. Artifacts can only be destroyed by extraordinary means.
Artifacts and relics can never be transferred from one campaign to another. If player characters from another DM’s campaign enter yours, they automatically do so without any artifacts they might possess.
So, given all these warnings and admonitions, just what it is that makes artifacts and relics so potentially dangerous to use in a role-playing campaign?
At the top of the list is the fact that, in game terms, artifacts and relics are nothing more than excuses for the DM to break any and every rule he cares to. Upon learning the proper command, an artifact or relic might allow a character to raise all his ability scores immediately to their maximum or tum an enemy’s bones to jelly.
The artifact might allow the character to summon meteor swarms, utter a power word, resurrect, or stop time once per day at will. He might be able to summon powerful monsters and easily bend them to his will. He could discover the power to dominate the minds of others, enslaving them to his desires. And this might only be a small part of what the artifact would allow him to do. In short, there is no limit to what you, as the DM, decide an artifact can accomplish.
Origins of Artifacts and Relics: All of these items have been handed down from ancient times and have histories shrouded in myth and legend. An artifact has the same background and aura about it as, for example, King Arthur’s Excalibur, the skin of the Nemean lion worn by Hercules, Pandora’s box, the Golden Fleece, the sword, jewels, and mirror of ancient Japan, or the hammer of Thor.
These unique objects were once held and used by gods and mortals far greater and more powerful than normal men. Often these items existed for an express purpose – to be used by a particular hero, to fight a particular foe. So closely associated is an artifact with a person, time, or place that its powers can seldom be fully used except by specific individuals who meet certain standards. A weakling could not hurl Thor’s hammer, nor could just anyone command Baba Yaga’s hut. An artifact may show its full powers only to deal with particular, very specific, threats or dangers. Artifacts have purposes, sometimes fulfilled long in the past and sometimes never-ending.
Introducing Artifacts and Relics into a Campaign: Because the impact of an artifact is so great, you should use them only in the most earth-shakmg adventures you can devise. You must always have a reason for bringing an artifact into your game. It should never appear just because you want to give the characters something bigger and better.
If discovered at the beginning of an adventure, it should be the prelude to some great threat to the kingdom, empire, continent, or world where the item will make a difference. Rather than simply giving the item to the characters, you can introduce the danger first and then set the player characters searching for the artifact that will defeat or stem the tide of evil that threatens to over-sweep the land. Alternatively, the player characters could be faced with the worst of all situations – one in which the artifact is in the hands of the enemy and the players must get it away from them. Each of these creates an adventure or, more likely, a series of adventures centered around the device.
Once the adventure is over, it is best for you to find some way to get the artifact out of the players’ hands. In essence, the artifact was a MacGuffin – the thing that made the plot go – not something you want to remain in your campaign now that the need for the item is gone. This is very much in keeping with the nature of artifacts and relies, since they have a maddening habit of disappearing once their task is done. To leave the artifact in the campaign is to invite abuse by the player characters, perhaps for noble ends, but abuse all the same. There are, even in a fantasy game, “some things man was not meant to know.”
Because of their grand impact and titanic significance in the scheme of things, artifacts should be used sparingly. There are only so many times the characters can save the world before it becomes old hat.
Don’t be too eager to introduce these items into play and don’t bring them in too often. Artifacts and relics represent the epitome of magical items. They are going to lose a lot of effect if every king in every kingdom has one in his treasure chambers. If characters only find one artifact in their entire careers, it will be enough. Well-played for all its drama, it will lead to an adventure the players will remember for a long time to come.
When you do decide to introduce an artifact or relic, you design it specially for your campaign. Some examples are given at the end of this section, but artifaets should always be made to fit your campaign, not the other way around. In this way, the players will never know what to expect – not its shape, its history, its powers, or its purpose. All these things will make the discovery and use of the item more exciting. In addition, you will have the knowledge that you have created something major, perhaps the most significant thing, for your campaign. That is no small accomplishment.
Appearance: The first step in creating an artifact is to decide its form. It could be anything: a weapon, a hut with chicken legs, a book, a mask, a crown, a tooth, a throne, a mechanical nightingale, a crystal orb, a plain ring, a wand, or whatever.
History: After you know what it looks like, create a history for it. This history will guide you in deciding what powers the artifact has and what it is used for. In this history, decide who created the item and what their reasons for creating it were. Then, outline what has befallen the item over the centuries – where has it surfaced and what has happened at those times? Finally, embellish this history with clues to its powers and the erroneous legends that have come to surround the item.
Alignment: Choose an appropriate alignment for the artifact (all artifacts are heavily identified with an alignment).
Minor Powers: After you have a history of the item, begin to assign it powers. Artifacts normally have a number of relatively minor powers and one or two major abilities. Some minor abilities are:
Major Powers: After choosing minor powers, you can select the major powers. There should normally be no more than one or two of these. The major power must be in keeping with the history of the item. If you describe a sword wielded by a bloodthirsty and depraved tyrant, it makes little sense for the major power to be to resurrect others once per day. Rather, one would expect something terrible – deliquescing an enemy or summoning some extra-planar beast to kill upon command. Some suggested major powers are:
Dangers: After designing the beneficial or useful powers of the artifact, create the dangers inherent in its use. All artifacts have grave risks – such is the nature of their power. The item was originally used by someone of great will and power, and even they placed themselves in danger to use the power the artifact possessed. For the player characters, such danger is nearly inescapable. These dangers are usually drastic physical side effects that affect the character. Again, you want the drawbacks of the artifact to mesh with the history you have created. Some suggested drawbacks include:
Corrupting Effect: As if this weren’t enough, all artifacts have a corrupting effect. Characters become suspicious of others and possessive of the item. They begin to see threats where none were intended. Ultimately they will turn upon their friends and companions, seeing them as scheming enemies out to destroy them and steal the artifact.
As with the drawbacks, this effect is caused by the fact that the player character is not the one the artifact was first intended for. His personality is different, and no matter how great he is, he lacks the force of will of the great hero, arch-wizard, high priest, or demi-god who originally wielded the item.
Weakness: Finally, prepare some method by which the artifact can be destroyed. Destroying an artifact is never easy – in fact, it’s nearly impossible. Artifacts and relics are impervious to all normal harm and magical attacks. They cannot be crushed, dissolved in acid, melted or broken normally.
At best, the physical form can be disrupted for a period of time, but within a century or less it will re-form in some new location. To truly destroy an artifact, the characters must fulfill some exacting set of conditions as unique as the artifact itself. Possible ways to destroy an artifact include:
Once all this is done, you will have an artifact or relic ready for use in your campaign.
Listed below are some examples of artifacts. Because each artifact must be unique, no absolute powers are given. Suggested powers are listed, but the DM can alter these as he wishes.
The Hand of Vecna: Seldom is the name Vecna spoken, and even then only in the most hushed and terrified tones, for legends say the shade of this most supreme of all liches still roams the world.
Little is known of this being except that he eventually met his doom in some awesome conflagration – or at least that his physical body was destroyed. Still, rumors persist that one hand (and perhaps an eye) survived even this destruction.
These rumors ascribe strange and powerful abilities to the Hand of Vecna, still imbued with the unquenchable spirit of Vecna. The Hand is variously described as large and small, but all accounts agree that it is extremely withered and blackened, as if from a burned body.
The first recorded appearance of the Hand was during the Insurrection of the Yaheetes, 136 years after the passing of Vecna. With the overthrow of Paddin the Vain, leader of the dan, the Hand apparently disappeared.
During the reign of Hamoch of Tyrus, the hand was discovered by the fisherman Gisel. For several decades he kept it as a curiosity, until he was slain by his brother who stole the artifact. The brother was waylaid en route to Tyrus and the Hand fell into the possession of the outlaw Mace.
With a single gesture of the Hand, Mace is said to have struck down the gates of Tyrus and brought plague onto the royal house. Stories are told how he spent one night in the royal bedchamber where he was visited by the spirit of Vecna. Undoubtably he changed, for the next day he ordered the execution of his former followers to appease the wrathful shade.
In the 100 years of Mace’s reign, the city of Tyrus grew in power, but it became ill-famed as the Slaughterhouse of the Western Shore. Mace (now styled Vecna the Second) wa struck down by a Yemishite assassin when the power of the Hand inexplicably failed him.
Since that time the Hand has appeared briefly in a number of widely scattered lands. Most of these appearances are unsubstantiated, but the corruption of the Paladin-King of Miro is a well-documented case. Foolishly fixing the Hand onto his own arm, the Paladin-King discovered too late that he could not remove it and in the end it destroyed him.
For the Hand to function, it must be touched to the stump of an arm, to which it grafts instantly. The grip is immensely strong (19 Strength, no attack roll or damage bonuses however).
At first, the Hand seems useful and harmless enough, but within it resides some portien of Vecna’s evil spirit. Gradually the owner comes to believe he is Vecna. Good characters becoming cruel and malevolent; evil characters become the embodiment of corruption, eventually turning on their friends and allies.
Suggested powers for the Hand include: death ray (no saving throw, once a day), cause disease (100′ × 100′ area/2 times per day), animate dead (1/day), darkness (at will), +2 protection, web (1/day), disintegrate (1/day), regenerate 2 hp/turn, lightning bolt (12 dice, 1/day), and time stop (1/week).
Aside from the fact that the Hand is corruptive, its other major drawbacks indude the fact that it cannot be removed short of chopping off the arm and the fact that those who see the Hand will covet it, attempting to take it from its current owner. Finally, the Hand foresees the moment of its owner’s doom and its powers will fail just at that given time.
The Rod of Seven Parts: It is said that the Wind Dukes of Aaqa were the creators of this legendary artifact. Manifesting themselves upon the world at the battle of Pesh, where the powers of Chaos and Law arrayed themselves, the Dukes presented the Rod to the Captains of Law. In the battle, the Rod was supposedly sundered in the slaying of Miska, the Wolf-Spider, consort of the Queen of Chaos.
The Dukes, to prevent the Rod’s capture, snatched up the seven parts and scattered them throughout the world. Ever since, agents the Queen have sought out the Rod. It is rumored that if she regains all the parts, she can return Miska to the realms of men.
The original rod was said to be about 5′ long, but the pieces are irregular in length. The parts go together in a specific order, the first being narrowest and each later piece increasing in diameter. Assembling the Rod is difficult, however, because the item is still protected by the Wind Dukes. Each section conveys a sense of the direction to the next piece. Pieces assembled to each other in the correct order will bond together; however, if any piece is placed out of sequence, it will instantly disappear, to appear randomly somewhere else in the world. Upon assembling the first three pieces, the owner will refuse to part with the item at any time, even when sleeping, eating, bathing, or engaging in other personal activities.
Because it was once shattered, the Rod is fragile. There is a 5% chance that it will break apart (and be scattered by the Wind Dukes) each time its major power is used.
Each piece of the Rod has a minor power. Suggested powers are: immunity to one attack form, fly at will, cure light wounds (1/day), true seeing (1/day), hold monster (1/day), double character’s movement, slow (1/day). When completely assembled, the Rod can have major powers. Suggested powers are: restoration (1/day) and shape change (2/day).
Created to the service of order, the Rod changes its user to an absolute follower of law, even more so than the most rigid lawful good. The character will feel compelled to intervene in all things to maintain the primacy of law over chaos, heedless of the effects for good or ill. Those not adhering to the Rod-holder’s strict views are perceived as enemies. Once all the parts are assembled, the Rod also radiates an aura of fearsome, icy law affecting all within a 20′ radius. When its major powers are used, those who fail to save must flee in panic.
Heward ‘s Mystical Organ: In the Fables of Burdock readers find mention of a musical instrument, an organ of large size and mystical enchantment. It was said to have been fashioned by Heward, Patron of Bards, to teach mankind the art of song and to bring wonder and joy into the world. Through its keys and music, the Patron was able to spread the gifts of harmony, composing, grace, and beauty. Through his songs, Heward watched over and protected the lands, guiding the weather to glorious sunsets, rain to fall on parched soil, bread to rise firm and fresh, children to be happy, and indeed protecting all that mankind now loves.
Unfortunately, the Fables say, mice among the frets gnawed at the workings, causing sour notes to escape, giving voice to the harpies, sirens, and other evil creatures that entice and trap by song. Enraged, the Patron cursed the mice to remain forever lowly and meek of voice. Believing the Organ ruined, the Patron abandoned it (and took up the harp).
The location of the Mystical Organ is unknown, but the legends of several great and powerful bards relate its discovery and subsequent loss. Oldenburg the Blind supposedly discovered it and from its keys leamed the 9 Enchanting Lays whereby he won the heart of Princess Leir, daughter of the evil Fairie-lord Marrad. Mad Ossam was supposedly stricken upon trying to compose a tune at the Organ. Cursed with the power of blight and despair, he brought baronies to their knees in his travels. Many a bard has claimed to have studied at the Organ, but these are certainly nothing more than the exaggerations of showmen.
The Organ is a massive, immovable object. The pipes easily extend the height of a cathedral chapel. The keyboard has three different sets, and there are 27 ivory stops. Nine great pedals control the bass notes. Each pipe is sounded by a bound elemental of appropriate size. The stops, when arranged in different settings, alter the pitch and voice of each pipe, while the keys strike the notes. Age, disuse (for even an artifact of such delicacy must be tended), and the ravages of the spiteful mice have rendered many of the pipes, keys, and stops inoperable.
To use the Organ one must play a tune upon it. However, this is a tremendously dangerous business since there are so many possible combinations of settings and notes. Prior research and faith in the gods must serve as a guide. (As an option, players can compose or at least hum a little ditty of their own when their characters attempt to use the organ.)
When a tune is played, the magic takes effect. Just what magical result occurs is left to the DM. He should base this upon the quality of the playing, the tastefulness and mastery of the music, and the desires of the player.
Theoretically, Heward’s Mystical Organ can have as many powers as there are settings and tunes to be played. With such a broad range, the DM can create virtually any result. The press of a key may cause flowers or straw to rain over a small village 100 miles away, while a fugue may result in the sinking of several islands off the coast or the reshaping of the organist in to a newt (especially if he hits a bad note).
Unlike other artifacts (which possess powers the character must discover), users of the Organ should decide upon the effect they wish to create and then research the notes and stops needed to create it. The DM can, of course, alter the end result (mortals playing with the toys of gods seldom get what they really want) and a check should be made to see if any errors (a missed note or beat) occur in the playing.
If an error is made, the DM can have drawbacks and unfortunate results prepared. Some of these can include: permanently polymorphing the player into a small lizard or insect, permanent deafness or rnadness, or immediate alignment change. The character could be endowed with a voice equal to a horn of blasting (so he can’t speak without causing harm), or he might be forever compelled to speak in rhyme or in song. One or more levels might be drained by the Organ. All magical items within 100 feet could be permanently negated. The organist could be teleported to another planet, etc.
In addition, the tones of the Organ, no matter how badly set or played, are of unearthly beauty. Whenever it is played, all hearing it (including the organist) must roll a successful saving throw vs. spell or be enchanted forever.
Those so stricken cannot abide any other sound. Deprived of its tones, they despair and see no wonder or greatness (in either good or evil) in the world. Gradually, those enchanted take less and less interest in life until they finally reach the point where even the finest food is an anathema to them. These slowly wasting creatures are truly piteous sights.
The location of the Organ is constantly changing. All the legends agree that it exists nowhere in the world, but in some misty other realm. Noteworthy too is the fact that those who leave its hall are never able to find it again.