The Fair Folk

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Irving the Meek
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Post by Irving the Meek »

*ponder* I would really like to come up with some feats for elves in 3.5/Pathfinder/4e that tie them to this version of the fey. As much as I love Jackie and Nicky's writing, the Guide to the Shadow Fey felt a little lacking to me. I'd rather use these versions. (That, and I hate the Shadow Rift).

Of course, none of these utterly awesome ideas have any crunch attached to them at all right now, so maybe we need to think about that front first. I'll kick off a new thread for it.
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Post by NeoTiamat »

Archedius wrote:Wow...that is one of the creepiest npc's I've ever read about. I sat for a moment imagining all of what you wrote about- that's truly disturbing. Good job *gives a cookie*
Rotipher of the FoS wrote:This has gone well beyond an ordinary thread at this point, and become more like a CotN:Fey netbook in the making. Cool stuff, Neo! :D
*preens and eats cookie*

Well, I'm happy everyone is liking this, though I suspect a CotN:Fey would require far more effort than I'm willing to contribute. Still, the idea of turning this into a PDF appeals. Anyone here any good with PDF-making?
Ornum wrote:Also, good job on not providing stats. I'm all about fluff and not crunch. I also feel that stats make DM's lazy or limit their creativity and that such things should be made up by the DM to fit the individual campaign or adventure as needed.
Irving the Meek wrote:Of course, none of these utterly awesome ideas have any crunch attached to them at all right now, so maybe we need to think about that front first. I'll kick off a new thread for it.
Well, I'm avoiding 'Crunch' so far for a few reasons. First off is that I'm quite simply lazy, and my Eye of Anubis campaign has shown me that making monsters is emphatically not my strong point. So if I were to include statistics for these things, it would take me a lot more time and the results would not be very good.

The second reason is sort of what Ornum is getting at, which is that for me to provide statistics would limit the applicability of the Faerie. Some people around here use 3.5E, others Pathfinder, others 4E, and others might use the Storyteller system or what not. You might have PCs at 3rd level or you might have PCs at 15th level. No matter what I do, the Faerie I make won't be able to account for all that, and more likely than not won't fit with the campaign of whoever wants to use them. So I just won't bother.

Still, if you want to do so, Irving, be my guest. I might dig up some vague ideas for how I was envisioning the Faerie to date.
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Post by Kaitou Kage »

Since Neo is a buddy of mine, I am entertaining him with pictures.

Image
(Click for Larger Image)


Image
Pencils version


Did something a bit different from my normal style. Enjoy!
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Post by NeoTiamat »

Muahahaha! Fear, Fear the ELEGIST!

As always when dealing with the Fair Folk, appearances are decieving. Of course, the best situations is where the underestimated person proceeds to bury the population of a small village alive.

Or perhaps I simply have a strange sense of humor.

...I am told there is no perhaps about it. Ah well.

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The Linnorm of Ashmore Park
  • The Fae, also known as the Fair Folk, the Good Folk, the People of Peace, and similar euphamisms... are not creatures of the Natural Realm. While most can appear as such to some extent... some resemble no beast ever seen by mortal eyes.
    -Excerpt from Discussions of an Otherworldly Nature, by Leland Philips, 621
In the center of the city, there is a small park. Named for a Mordentish philanthropist, the park is easy to miss, nestled between a clothiers and a bookshop, a few hundred square yards of grass, trees, and a few stone benches.

A few things set Ashmore Park apart from its fellows. One is the Druid's Oak. Supposedly planted by a foreign mage back in the 5th century, any scholar of the natural will know that story to be a lie, and that the oak must be at least a thousand years old. A huge tree, it stands in the center of the Park, shading most of the park beneath its massive boughs. Wide enough for five men to have trouble clasping their hands about it, the Ashmore Oak is the pride of the neighborhood, a popular site for picnics, luncheons, and the occasional lover's tryst.

It is probably for the best that aside from the bookshop owner, none know of the Linnorm of Ashmore Park.

Appearance: The Linnorm of Ashmore Park is a vast Disease-Fey that dwells in a cavern beneath the roots of the Druid's Oak. Stretching eighty feet from head to tail, the Linnorm is a queer creature, combining the worst traits of serpent, weasel, and spider.

The Linnorm possesses a generally serpentine appearance, like a snake engorged to unnatural size. Four-fifths of the way up its body, eight spider-like limbs sprout from the Linnorm's body, each one a dozen feet long and ending in a razor-sharp blade. The head is serpentine, on the whole, but instead of two, eight glowing, malevolent eyes peer out of the Linnorm's ugly face, while a mane of dirty-white hair sprouts behind where its ears would be, had it such things. The entire creature is covered in pure-white fur, which it grooms whenever it is not feeding.

A huge collar of cold iron encircles the beast's throat, and is connected by a chain to a spike, one that is driven into the heart of the Druid's Oak's roots.

Nature: One would think that the city is a poor place for one of the great Faerie Beasts, and yet the Linnorm of Ashmore Park dwells in the very heart of one of the Core's great metropolises. Nor is it a difficult creature to find, if one knows the proper paths and rituals.

Should some foolhardy mortal wish to see the Linnorm, the procedure is simple. One must merely approach the Druid's Oak at dusk or dawn, when the shadows are long and the sun is partway beneath the horizon (this appears to be the part, that a portion of the sun must be both above, and another portion below, the horizon). The questioner knocks three times upon the Oak, and declares in a loud voice that "I am here to see Lord Pestilence!" The tree shall shiver, and in the shadows at its base, the questioner will notice a hole, like an animal burrow. Entering the burrow, one finds it quickly expands, soon taking the questioner to the Linnorm's cavern.

When the questioner arrives, the Linnorm is likely tearing and rending at the roots of the great oak tree, slicing at it with sword-like limbs or lacerating them with rows upon rows of small, shark-like teeth. The Linnorm tends to be rather irate at such times. If the questioner is lucky, then the Linnorm is gnawing upon a corpse delivered to it, and thus in a more genial mood.

The Linnorm of Ashmore Park is an old creature, and wise in the ways of magic. It is not a wizard or scholar, to delve into rigorous dissertations of arcane theory, but the Linnorm has an instinctive understanding of thaumaturgy, an intuitive grasp that gives it immense understanding. Moreover, in its time the Linnorm claims to have been one of the Great Lords of Faerie, and certainly it knows many things of the unnatural world, the locations of artifacts and gates, the practicing of spells and rituals, and darker things too, of death and life and how one may become the other.

For these answers, the Linnorm asks a simple price. Corpses, the more and the fresher the better. There was a time when the Linnorm of Ashmore Park asked for its freedom, but the enchantments binding it are strong and fierce, and now it suffices for momentary relief from the pain of its cold-iron collar.

One day, though, the Linnorm shall slither through the streets of the city, and thousands shall fall in its wake.

The Truth: The ancient Linnorm is a creature of pestilence and disease, a beast of venom and poison. Were it not bound, it's noxious aura would sicken every living thing for miles about, turning a beautiful, flourishing city into a wasteland of the dead and dying.

Several centuries ago, however, the Linnorm was captured and chained by a hermit, a man whose name has been lost to all but the wyrm. He bound it with powerful magics to the Druid's Oak, binding its death to the oak's life. No matter how much it struggles, no matter how much it gnaws and poisons and destroys, the Linnorm cannot destroy its chains, nor can it kill the great Druid's Oak.

Of course, over the years people have learned of the Linnorm, and some have sought to use it for their own ends. One such person is the bookseller, Randall Marks. A small, gnarled gnome of a man, Marks portrays the kindly antiquarian, a grandfatherly figure who conceals a shriveled and avaricious soul.

Marks learned of the Linnorm several years ago, in one of the old books that came by his store. Testing the legend, he was amazed that it worked, and more amazed yet at the Linnorm's encyclopedic knowledge of magic, Faerie, and other realms. And for that, the wyrm asked nothing more than a steady supply of dead bodies. Randall Marks had stumbled upon a small gold mine.

Today, Marks runs a bit of a consulting business for wizards and mages in the city. For a very high price, he tracks down answers to particularly thorny magical questions, sending scholars pamphlets and books. In truth, Marks purchases corpses from a variety of grave robbers and uses them to learn the information from the Linnorm, then forges the papers to 'prove' his point. Some few mages have caught on to Marks's forgery, but care not the least so long as the answers are reliable. And they are, so much so that in a few years more Randall Marks hopes to retire to some sunny villa far, far from the irksome customers and aggravatingly cheerful neighbors.

Defeating the Linnorm of Ashmore Park: The best way to beat the Linnorm is not to have to fight it. So long as it is chained to the Druid's Oak, the great wyrm is incapable of leaving its chamber or causing much permanent harm to a questioner (though if he gets too close to those lethal limbs...)

If ever released, however, the story becomes something quite different (and it is not that hard to release. The Linnorm cannot harm the Druid's Oak, but mortals are under no such compulsion). The Linnorm is swift and sinuous, unimaginably strong and quite intelligent, if feral. Moreover, it is poison. Not poisonous, but poison. Its limbs, its bite, its breath, its very presence spreads disease and pain. Not just any disease, but a concoctation of them, an assortment of plagues that ooze from its hide like a foul miasma. And the longer it dwells in an area, the more this miasma spreads to infect the area, causing hundreds, thousands to die.

Once released, the only real recourse is to somehow bind the great beast once more, unless one has access to truly superhuman abilities. And for that, one would need to find just what spell or magic the hermit used to chain it centuries ago. Nor is even finding those any promise of it being easy...

DM Notes: The Linnorm is kind of a book-end encounter. It works best at the very start and at the very end of the campaign, and as a background presence in between.

At the start of a campaign, Randall Marks is a good 'entry' antagonist. He's grumpy and ill-tempered, and mildly larcenous, but not really evil compared to most things PCs are liable to meet. Tracking down a trail of stolen bodies that eventually lead them to Marks can be something to do at low levels, culminating in a meeting with the Linnorm, something that is terrifying and immensely powerful, but as of yet harmless.

The Linnorm can hover in the background afterwards, perhaps even becoming a resource on magical lore to the PCs provided they supply it with dead things. (An alternative introduction for the Linnorm is the PCs being directed to it as someone who knows the answer to a question they are looking for).

Eventually, however, when the PCs are high level, it is time for the Linnorm to break its bonds. Perhaps the oak-tree is destroyed in an accident (lightning strike?), or perhaps something more sinister is at work. The PCs then have to deal with a great and powerful monster that dwells in its lair at times, but whos aura of disease is slowly killing the entire city. In other words, it becomes an almost-traditional Dragon Slaying, or alternatively a search for the hermit's binding rituals in an investigative adventure.

Thoughts?
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Post by Joël of the FoS »

Perhaps without providing complete stats, you could suggest what basic caracteristics / levels / powers / feat / abilities you had in mind for each fey?

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Post by NeoTiamat »

Joël of the FoS wrote:Perhaps without providing complete stats, you could suggest what basic caracteristics / levels / powers / feat / abilities you had in mind for each fey?

Joël
Hum, if you so desire. It's not too hard in most cases.

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  • Red Jack: Red Jack probably best appears in the middle levels of the campaign. Too low level, and he might be underwhelming considering his reputation. Too high, and the PCs simply have so many tricks and investigative schemes no mystery is going to last long.

    Physically, the two shapes are quite different. The Beast Form is a pretty straight-forward brawler, though one that likely has some kind of madness aura due to its screaming voices. The Man Form is a bit trickier, but has either spells or copious SLAs, in particular fear/illusion spells such as Phantasmal Killer or Fear.

    In 4th Edition, Red Jack would be an Solo Brute in Beast Form, again with a confusion-type aura, while it's an Solo Controller or Artillery in Man Form, powers having the Fear and Psychic keywords.

    Brum of the Mound: Brum works fairly well at all levels, since he's fairly easy to scale up. After all, if you want the PCs to go battier despite Locate Object and such, just have there be more coins and a shorter time limit before Brum goes berserk.

    Physically, Brum is very easy to emulate in 3E, since he's basically designed as an Ogre/Giant. Early levels can be represented by an Ogre or a Hill Giant, while later on you can scale up to such things as Storm Giants or Craa'ghoran Giants (from one of the later MMs). His main schtick is that he's nearly invulnerable, so Damage Reduction and Spell Resistance are good additions, and later on SLAs such as Earthquake or Chain Lightning are good.

    In 4th, Brum is a Solo Soldier. Not too much to say. He's big, he's tough, and he might have a few powers with the Lightning or other weather/disaster-like keywords.

    The Minister of Fear: The Minister is a very high level foe, though he's also easy enough to avoid if you're not foolish. For maximum fear, you might not even have the Minister attack, just sic a pack of his Hounds at the PCs (which is still dangerous, but lets the Minister save face if they beat them. The didn't fight him after all).

    The Hounds function well as just large animals. Dire Wolves or Tigers, perhaps with the Horrid template from Eberron or Half-Fiend templates. In 4th Edition, they should be Skirmishers, I think, large, high-damage, and very mobile. They travel in a great pack, and they use fairly good strategy, trying to use numbers and mobility to isolate foes and pick them off.

    If the Minister does participate, he's a very quiet combatant. He should have some auras or some such to help out the Hounds, combined with a few enchantment SLAs or effects, such as Dominate or Suggestion. In 4th Edition he'd likely focus similarly on debuffs such as Domination or Weakness.

    The False Knight: This fellow isn't really a combat encounter, but if he does become such (perhaps the PCs are rescuing someone from him), then it should be at a high level, certainly.

    In both 3E and 4E the False Knight fights like a traditional knight, if one with a bit more lethal a set up than most. He rides back and forth on his dragonish steed and charges people with his lance or hits them with his sword. He'd be an Elite Soldier, I think, so he likely has a collection of lackeys(which can be anything from fairly human changelings to some of the other creatures I make) at his side.

    The Elegist: The Elegist, just by the scope of his threat, is designed for middle-to-higher level PCs. Low level PCs are likely to get overwhelmed by the sheer quantity.

    In 3E, The Elegist is easy. He's a Bard, almost assuredly with Requiem (the feat from Libris Mortis that lets you affect undead), and he hangs near the back buffing up his undead. A +2 to Attack Rolls and Damage tends to get nasty when multiplied by thirty or so zombies. A smattering of Enchantments (such as the Bardic Suggestion/Fascination) round out his offensive capability. DR/Rowan is another good idea.

    In 4E, the Elegist would be an Elite Controller, I think. Powers should include something to summon some more undead, a Psychic-attack of some sort (possibly one that ends in Domination), and otherwise just lots of powers with control over movement as he forces people to dance around. Perhaps an attack that shifts a PC a few squares (right into the middle of the ghouls), or an aura that shifts every creature around him a bit (such as that of the water dragon from Draconomicon). Making some of his powers turn off if he gts hit with Rowan-wood seems fitting.

    In either case, the Elegist is very much a foe in need of support. His main danger is that he raises a lot of undead. At lowest levels, he might just have a lot of zombies and skeletons, but you can scale that up rapidly in lethality. A Bodak from 3E? Mad Wraiths in 4th Edition? Sky's the limit.

    The Linnorm of Ashmore Park: This is an emphaatically high level strength. To a certain extent, the Linnorm is an excuse to include a genuine Dragon in Ravenloft, in an atmospheric fashion.

    In either edition, you can get the Linnorm by fiddling around with a regular dragon or with a Purple Worm of some sort. The Linnorm is certainly a Solo monster, and a nasty one at that. Acidic breath weapons, a poison bite, eight claw attacks that cause disease, a constriction attack, perhaps even an aura of poison, all can be appropriate. If the PCs fight the Linnorm head on, it should be one of the most epic fights of the campaign.
-This what you had in mind?
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Post by NeoTiamat »

I'm on a roll, so here's some more pseudo-intellectual rambling. I've another location in mind, but it can wait a bit.

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Relations between the Fair Folk and Mortals: The connections between humanity and the Fair Folk is a curious one. The Fey are not human, they have never been human, and with one or two mythic exceptions, they will never be human. They don't even think the way that people do. It's as hard for a Faerie to intuitively understand a human as it is for a human to understand a water-beetle. Most Fey get an intellectual knowledge of how humans work over the courses of their false lives, but there's no understanding to it.

At the same time, however, humans (and demihumans) have a certain spark that no Faerie does. Call it a soul for ease of reference, though one can argue that point. Humans can effect things by belief, Faerie can't, or only on a vastly diminished scale. It's this human ability to believe in things that gives them the power to dictate Faerie narratives.

Which puts the Fair Folk in a curious bind of needing humanity without really having any idea how they work. Many of the Faerie simply elect to ignore mortals, taking on common forms of hobgoblins or boggarts and relying on the collective belief in their kind for enough power to sustain themselves.

Those of the Fair Folk with ambition, however, require personal narratives. Which, in turn, requires the Faerie to deal with humanity, somehow at least.

Faerie Glamer: Perhaps due to their nature as representations of abstract ideas (concepts and narratives), but the Fair Folk tend to have a considerable power to change the appearances of the world. Just about every Faerie has it, from the meanest goblin being able to disappear, to the great Lords and Ladies of Faerie hiding entire villages from human memory.

Functionally, this means that most Faerie have some forms of illusion magics, with more powerful Faerie getting more and more powerful illusions. Most Faerie have some way of hiding themselves from humanity also. Some turn invisible or merge with the shadows, but the pinnacle of Faerie achievement in this regards is the ability to pass for a human.

The caveat is that most of the Fair Folk are disastrously bad at imitating mortals.

At its simplest, it's because the Faerie operate on 'Story Logic', while the rest of the world operates on 'Actual Logic'. For the Fair Folk, things such as cause-and-effect, physics, even time are pretty fluid ideas. Moreover, even vampires and werewolves were once human. The Fair Folk never were, so to them, humanity is as alien and bizarre as they are to us.

Thus, when most of the Faerie take mortal form, it is dead obvious that they aren't really human, or at least not very normal. They look strange, otherworldy, too beautiful or too hideous to be mortal. They do strange things, have difficulty with basic concepts, and talk in circuitous patterns.

There's a curious progression in the capability of Faerie at imitating humans. The weaker ones are very, very bad at it, to the point where a troup of goblins imitating human children can be more frightening then the same goblins without the Glamer. As they grow in skill, they start to be able to at least resemble humans, even if they act eccentric or outright mad. At the pinnacle of power, a few of the Fair Folk actually learn to imitate mankind, though a few 'tells' remain. And then, as the Faerie grows yet more powerful, yet more alien, the understanding of humanity slips away.

The Faerie listed above fall all over the place on this scale. Red Jack is simply too poor at it, with no more understanding of humanity than how to kill them (though there, his knowledge is encyclopedic). Brum is about half-decent at imitating humanity. He acts like a schizophrenic beggar, but at least he doesn't radiate inhumanity. The False Knight is at the pinnacle of human-imitation, so much so that if he tries, it takes a good eye to catch him. The Elegist is close, though not quite so skilled. The Minister of Fear has grown too much in power to really act like a mortal, though he once could, while the Linnorm of Ashmore Park never bothered in the first place.
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Post by Joël of the FoS »

NeoTiamat wrote:-This what you had in mind?
Yes, excellent :) Just for us to take the exact same direction you
envisioned.

And if anybody wants to suggest powers / ability / etc, please do so!

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Post by Kaitou Kage »

Been talking to Neo and the subject of Eastern spirits came up. I had him half-convinced to write up an idea, but he turned the tables and made me do the dirty work instead ;) So here's what came out of it.

Chi-no-Nagare-no-Ou -- "The King of Flowing Blood"

Those that live near rivers of Japan often hear tales of children being dragged into the water and drowned by turtle-like spirits. These spirits, called kappa, are mischievous, capricious, and sometimes malevolent. They feed eagerly on blood -- human blood, cattle blood, and horse blood especially. Sometimes they feast on entrails, leaving nothing but a hollow shell of a corpse behind. Still, they have great knowledge of medicine, and men that trap and bargain with a kappa can learn the secrets of the doctor's trade.

One kappa stands out among the rest. He calls himself by the self-styled name, "The King of Flowing Blood," and he is more malicious than most of his kind. He considers himself something of a god, and will only deal with mortals if he has no other choice.

The King of Flowing Blood is indistinguishable from most of his kin. He is short, the size of a child not yet 10 years old. Despite his size, he is much stronger than he looks, like all kappa. He has yellow-green skin, webbed hands and feet, and a tortoise shell on his back. Like many of his kind, he can change his color like a chameleon. And, of course, he has a bowl-like depression on top of his head that holds the water that gives him his powers. The only signs the King of Flowing Blood is different from other kappa are the bloodstains around his mouth and on his fingertips.

The bloodstains are there because the King of Flowing Blood has developed a taste for blood unlike that of his kin. What's more, he prefers living blood. To acquire his favorite flavor, he kidnaps his victims and puts his medicinal skills to good use. He has learned how to extract as much blood from the body as possible while keeping it alive -- a process that can be very long, drawn-out, and excruciatingly painful for his meal. But the meal's feelings matter not to him. It is, after all, only food. And he does not kill maliciously. He's just hungry, that's all.

The King of Flowing Blood travels to quiet villages and towns near rivers, lakes, and swamps. He avoids cities because he, like all kappa, is frightened by loud noises and cities tend to have too much of that. Once he finds a new hunting ground, he makes his abode around the largest body of fresh water nearby. Often he finds a cave or a thicket to hide in. Then, he begins his hunt.

Livestock disappears first, and always from farms closest to the King of Flowing Blood's home. Cattle and horses are taken if they're present, but the King of Flowing Blood is not above sampling "lesser" creatures. Their corpses turn up near the rivers, drained completely of blood, their expressions panicked and pained. Then, he turns his attentions toward humans. He attacks lone people, waiting til they come to his water before he abducts them and carries them to his lair. The body usually turns up a couple of days later, left near the water and sucked dry of fluids.

Defeating the King of Flowing Blood

The King of Flowing Blood is surprisingly easy to chase off, but most in the Core would not understand how to handle him. Don't try bowing to him right off, though. He's too clever to fall for that so easily. Like most of his kind, however, he abhors and fears metal objects and loud noises on the level of cannon fire. Thus, the simplest way to scare him off is to approach him with a terrible racket. When confronted with such noise, he flees the village, never to return.

He can also be stopped if you catch him sneaking up on you. The King of Flowing Blood is unfailingly polite when in face to face conversation. He knows this, which is why he attempts to catch his victims by surprise. But if you turn around and look him in the eye, he cannot attack you. Once you catch him so, you can talk to him, even deal with him. He will not enter into a bargain easily, but the kappa are all bound by any promises they make. A particularly clever person can trick the King of Flowing Blood into abandoning the village forever.

Finally, he can be tricked into bowing, which causes the water on his head to fall out and him to lose his power. When encountering most kappa, one need only bow deeply and courteously. The kappa, ever polite, will bow back and the water will fall out of his head. Not so with the King of Flowing Blood. He knows this weakness and actively seeks to avoid it. To trap him into it, one must first provide a blood offering of a cow, horse, or human(oid) at dawn. Then, one must engage the King of Flowing Blood in conversation for a full day and night during which the kappa feasts on his meal. Once dawn breaks the next day, one must stand, bow deeply, and offer thanks for the conversation and the time. Only then will the King of Flowing Blood, sated on his feast and ever the polite host, bow in return in equal thanks. This causes the water to slide off his head and makes him weak. As with the loud noise, the King of Flowing Blood will flee and not come back again.

To defeat him permanently, one must trick him into losing his water, then slay him as you would any beast. He must be slain with metal -- any metal will do. You must be careful and clever, though, for he flees as soon as his water falls from his head. Anyone that wishes to slay him permanently must be ready to trap him or corner him when he runs, or he will likely escape.

The King of Flowing Blood will also teach medicine to ambitious would-be doctors. To acquire his secrets, one must bring the blood offering as above. This will convince the King of Flowing Blood to speak freely on matters of medicine, healing, and the body. He will teach for a day and a night, but no longer. One that wishes to learn more must provide another blood offering. And make certain not to bow too deeply to him after the lesson or he will lose his water and run away!

DM Notes: The kappa concept in general can be used as a "fey," but this is my attempt at creating one that stands out from his fellows a little bit. A very large number of Eastern spirits and demons fit easily into the definition of fey provided here by NeoTiamat and can be adapted for most campaigns or used as interloper spirits in a pinch. The kappa are known for drowning children, eating entrails and drinking blood. But they're also skilled medics. Most are evil and wicked, but some are benevolent and all of them are polite. Kappa are also said to love cucumbers and are very fond of sumo. Some legends claim that a particularly quarrelsome kappa will challenge its victim to a sumo bout. It is also said that if you give a kappa a cucumber etched with the names and ages of all your family members, the kappa will be unable to harm you or your family.

Combat Notes: By 4e rules, the King of Flowing Blood would be a Solo Lurker, albeit a physically powerful one. He favors grapples and wrestling (remember, kappa love sumo), and will always attempt to attack from stealth. Although he is Small size (both 3e and 4e), he is quite strong and capable of grappling with most warriors.

If he feels outmatched or drops below half HP, he will not hesitate to flee. He runs to the nearest body of water and makes his escape there. He also flees immediately if he is tricked into losing his water. As a kappa, he is a very adept swimmer, such that no mortal can possibly keep up with him without magical aid.

Hope this works for someone!
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Post by NeoTiamat »

I'm a bad influence.

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Goblinholm
  • Clap! Snap! the black crack!
    Grip, grab! Pinch, nab!
    And down to Goblin-town
    You go, my lad!

    Clash, crash! Crush, smash!
    Hammer and tongs! Knocker and gongs!
    Pound, pound, far underground!
    Ho, ho! my lad!

    Swish, smack! Whip crack!
    Batter and beat! Yammer and bleat!
    Work, work! Nor dare to shirk,
    While Goblins quaff, and Goblins laugh,
    Round and round far underground
    Below, my lad!

    -Goblin Song from The Hobbit by J.R.R. Tolkien
Life in the Core can be harsh, far from the glittering lights and false smiles of the cities of the land. Food must be hacked from the ground with months of backbreaking effort, and the spectre of starvation is everpresent. Winters are horrifically cold and long, five months or more of darkness and gloom. Wolves howl their sonatos of bloodlust at the edhes of man's fires. A single unexpected freeze or over-harsh rain can ruin a crop, and endanger a farmer's whole family.

Is it any wonder then that such a family, on the brink of ruin, might opt to sacrifice one member for the betterment of the whole? In some villages, the elders might opt to remove themselves, going to scavenge in the forest and just... not coming back. Children might not survive the winter... smothered in a bed with five others, huddled together for warmth.

Or you might take your little girl or old father to the hollow in the forest. There you will find an old tree-stump, wide around as a millwheel, though cut down at waist height. And just... leave them there.

Legends say that the Goblin-Folk will take them in, and give you luck. Crops will flower, animals grow fat and foal twins, and the winter might seem a little warmer. Just don't think about what happened to those left behind.

Sometimes, if you approach the stump at night, you can hear the hammers of forges below.

Nature: The nature of Earth-Fey of Goblinholm is to work. They labor endlessly in mines, in forges, in workshops of all manner. Goblincraft items are famed throughout the realms of Faerie. Swords, axes, armor, helmets, but also medallions, jewelry, traps, and even stranger things. A sample follows:
  • -A goblin sword with a blade sharper than a gossip's tongue. It looks a little dull, a little heavy, poorly balanced and crude, but it is capable of felling a Falkovnian Talon with a single blow.

    -A jewelry box that is cunningly constructed by the artisans of Goblinholm. Numerous false bottoms, sliding panels, little needle-traps and retracting blades. More, in fact, then a box of this size could physically hold.

    -A thin strand of thread, crafted from cat whiskers. Anything tied to it cannot make a sound, and the little thread cannot be broken even by a rampaging dragon. A child's laughter shatters it forever, however.
No one is quite sure where these objects go. Some remain in Goblinholm, others are gifted to the great Lords and Ladies of Faerie. Yet others find their way to the packs of goblin merchants in the Midnight Market. Sometimes, though, a clever mortal can get ahold of goblin-craft.

Relations with Humans: But it is not for their craft that the goblin-folk are known. For if a mortal is left at Goblinholm overnight, then they become 'property' of the goblins, forever after.

The way the goblin-folk accept a slave is peculiar. One can willingly sleep outside Goblinholm for a week and suffer no more than a chill from sleeping outside. But if a person is brought to the tree-stump by someone with authority over them (usually the paterfamilias of a peasant family), then they are the goblins', and greatly valued.

A slave's lot is an odd one, for it cannot be said that they are mistreated, or even particularly noticed. Once brought in, the new human is paraded with much fanfare throughout the Goblinholm, and presented to the King with a feast where the slave is treated as a guest of honor.

They are then promptly forgotten.

Sometimes the slaves are given work to do, old women to spin thread or young children to carry things in a forge, but there is always the feeling that this is mere makework. They are fed well, if idiosyncratically (fungi and insects are common threads in the meals). They are never mistreated, though often ignored. They just can never leave.

Provided they avoid the Goblin King. For if they do, they might just disappear.

Appearance: On the surface, the entrance to Goblinholm is cunningly concealed in a massive tree stump in a clearing. The tree stump is false, a construction of goblin-craft and goblin-cunning. When one knocks upon the stump thrice and breaks a single egg upon it, the top slides open, revealing a winding stairwell into the depths of Goblinholm.

Deep, deep into the ground the stairwell curls, until you reach the lair of the goblin-folk. Goblinholm is a series of underground lairs, with tunnels and chambers hewn from the dirt and soil, braced by timbers. The entire lair has a claustrophobic and labyrinthine feel. Roofs are rarely higher than five feet, and only the widest thoroughfares let more than two men travel abreast. Throughout the tunnels, the ringing of forges can be heard, and all of Goblinholm is uncomfortably warm.

A few visitors have compared Goblinholm to a vision of Hell.

The great exception to this rule of low ceilings and narrow passages is the personal lair of the Goblin King. This is a huge hall, as large as a good-sized auditorium, a slope-roofed chamber with treetrunks bracing the roof. Flags of vanquished foes hang from the rafters. Some are the standards of soldiers or nobles, but some are of no heraldic system known in the Core. Three fire pits are located in a triangle in the center of the hall, and at the end is a throne of bone and crystal.

The Denizens of Goblinholm: The goblin-folk are strange folk, twisted, stunted parodies of humanities. They tend to be only three or four feet tall, and their skin tends towards earth-colors (browns, ochres, dark reds). They possess large noses and large ears, and usually have lantern-like eyes of an unhealthy yellow color.

Beyond that, the goblin-folk are a random assortment. Some are fat, either hideously obese or at least pot-bellied. Others are so slender as to be collections of sticks. Few are in between. Some have short, stubby limbs, others have arms that reach to the floor. Many have tusks, or flat molars like a horse, or triple-rows of teeth like sharks.

The clothing of the goblin-folk tends to vary wildly, but likewise tend to extremes. Most dress very poorly, in simple homespun, often poorly fitting. Some, however, dress as well as any Dementlieuse aristocrat, with colorful outfits, vests, jackets, often accented with monocles, pocketwatches, and gentlemen's canes.

The Goblin King: No one is quite sure how many goblin-folk dwell beneath the earth, but all those in Goblinholm acknowledge King Hob. He is a great, gross, obese boar of a goblin, tall as a man and wider than he is tall. He wears food-splattered bearskins and fine, goblin-craft armor, though King Hob is so vast in size that he barely moves, carried everywhere upon a litter. In his past, King Hob claims to have been a mighty warlord, and certainly the dozens of captured battle-flags in his hall bears it out. Now, though, King Hob is merely a great glutton of a goblin, a hideous monster of excess...

...except when he isn't. For sometimes, a young man wanders Goblinholm, and he too answers to King Hob, though he waves off the 'king' part with a self-conscious smile. A polite, handsome youth with golden-blond hair dressed in the clothing of a young scholar or student, Hob never says anything threatening, is always friendly and personable. One just can't shake the feeling that he's laughing at some massive joke behind his facade of manners, a joke at your expense.

Of course, his friendliness has a cost. People who talk to King Hob sometimes disappear, dragged away by the goblin-folk... somewhere. But every time this happens, the great, gross goblin is seen a little less, and the young scholar a little more...

Defeating the Goblin-Folk: As with all Faerie, it is better not to have to fight King Hob and his crew. The goblin-folk are friendly enough, and if a stranger can find them then they are willing to deal with them, provided they don't try to escape with a slave. The goblin-folk are born wheelers and dealers, and for the right price, anything is possible... even a slave's freedom. Of course, what price would satisfy King Hob is a question all its own.

Experienced adventurers may thing of goblins as something weak, pathetic, to be destroyed by any competent warrior. Such visitors are in for a very rude surprise. The goblin-folks are skilled strategicians and cunning engineers, using fiendish traps to hold foes at bay, using the tunnels and their size to their advantage, presenting foes with masses of spears and hails of crossbow fire.

Moreover, the Goblin King is a lethal foe. As the Warlord, King Hob may be slow and fat, but one blow from his stone morningstar can shatter rock, and he can shrug off sword blows and arrow wounds with his vast layer of blubber. As the young scholar, Hob fights with a rapier, as a duelist, all quick strikes and rapid evades. In either form, he fights well, and uses a double-handful of sinister spells to aid him, summoning fogs, causing tunnel-collapses, or similar.

Fighting all the way through Goblinholm is likely to be suicide without a very good plan or a great many allies.

There's a trick, of course, if you know it. King Hob, you see, has an obsession. The eggs of a goose. Should one be presented to him, then the Goblin King must have it, crawling over his own troops to reach it, ignoring all else until he cracks it and sups on the contents. It has to be specifically the egg of a goose. Why a goose? Who knows?

DM Notes: King Hob and Goblinholm can be an interesting challenge for lower level PCs, or particularly benevolent PCs. The obvious choice is for the PCs to get involved trying to rescue someone given up to the goblin-folk. Perhaps a farmer has second thoughts, or perhaps the PCs are in Goblinholm for another reason (directed there by someone from the Midnight Market to purchase weapons, perhaps?) when they find out.

Of course, something to remember is that every slave has been given up, sold away once already. And the goblins are not cruel masters, if passing strange. Will they even want to return?

Alternatively, on a grander scale, they might need to stop King Hob's transformation, perhaps as a favor for another Faerie. Fighting all of Goblinholm's forces is likely impractical, so this would be an adventure of clever maneuvering and politicking, to find his secret and somehow destroy it. What's the secret? Well, that's up to you to figure out... an old ritual, perhaps, or a secret artifact, or a bargain with a creature even older and viler than King Hob.

Combat Notes: The basic goblin-folk are, well, goblins. Something to remember, however, is that goblins do not have an Intelligence penalty. So they can be smart. Look up Tucker's Kobolds for an idea of how Goblinholm's goblins should fight, but basic goblins from 3E or 4E work stat-wise, perhaps with more emphasis on spellcasters.

The Goblin King, on the other hand, can work as a goblin or human with a lot of class-levels. The Warlord-type has a huge Con and Str and lots of Fighter or Barbarian levels, while the Scholar has rogue or better yet, swashbuckler levels. In either case, a few SLAs are appropriate.

In 4E terms, Hob is an Solo Soldier or an Solo Skirmisher, though PCs should really have fought at least one, possibly more encounters with goblins before him. In either case, he has several powers such as conjuring a sickness inducing cloud or causing cave-ins. Also emphasis on high survivability and high manueverability, respectively.

Thoughts anyone?
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Post by Kaitou Kage »

Here's another Japanese fey for you all to use in the Core

Daikagyou-no-Sensei (Teacher of Great Lessons)

  • "You wish to know the way to your prize? Then lean in close and listen carefully. The path is fraught with difficulty and only the truly determined can achieve it. Are you certain you have what it takes?"
    • -- The Teacher of Great Lessons
Far-off lands, greatly removed from the Core, they tell stories of men with birds' faces that live on mountains and play tricks on the too-haughty and too-proud. They call these creatures tengu.

In their homeland, the tengu have reputations as spirits of wisdom, but also spirits of great mischief. They are often sought out for advice, but they consider themselves above humans and often seek to remind humanity not to get too arrogant. The tengu delight in playing pranks on the proud and vainglorious. They despise braggarts and actively seek ways to pull the rug from underneath such people.

One tengu stands out among his fellows. Unlike others that stay in their own lands, this one struck out from home and now wanders the Core. He calls himself Daikagyou-no-Sensei, the Teacher of Great Lessons, because he seeks out those people his kind are notorious for picking on, and strives to teach them humility and conscientiousness.

Appearance: The Teacher of Great Lessons's natural form resembles a humanoid crow or raven. His body is covered in black feathers, his head is that of a bird, and great black wings sprout from his back. In his natural form, he prefers light warrior's clothing to accommodate both flight and ease of movement. He possesses a strong, regal warrior's build, and his demeanor is often imperious and critical.

More often, though, the Teacher of Great Lessons appears in other forms. As a consummate shapeshifter, the Teacher of Great Lessons maintains several identities that he uses across the Core. When he travels in lands where the Vistani are not persecuted or killed on sight, he usually assumes the form of a Vistana fortuneteller. The details of his appearance vary, but his basic concept remains the same. In other lands, he takes on many different forms, ranging from street beggars to refined wizards, depending on the situation. No matter what shape he wears, he maintains a knowing air of amusement, as if he's privy to some secret you are not and the idea amuses him.

Nature: The Teacher of Great Lessons is a tengu, and his attitude shows this. Fortunately for him, most people in the Core have no idea what a tengu is, a fact he finds all the more entertaining. He, like all of his kind, has a great sense of humor, and uses his humor to tear down people he finds revolting -- the overly proud and arrogant. Still, unless a truly humble person approaches him, he rarely passes up the opportunity to play a good prank. He is, after all, a trickster spirit at heart.

He wanders from place to place, seeking people that "need" his wisdom. Often times, he looks for tyrants and oppressors, the Evil Sherriff sort, that in their arrogance mistreat their subjects. He moves in, establishes himself as a wise man, a Vistana, or some other sort of advisor. He uses a variety of hypnotism, enchantment, and suggestion magics to get close to his target, and then he carefully lays out his prank. He is patient, but is not afraid to use his magic to speed things along.

Ultimately, his goal is not to simply humiliate, but to teach on the dangers of being too proud. All of his pranks are also lessons that he expects his targets to learn from. He takes care to weave each trick to strike precisely at the core of his victim. He never intentionally causes pain, nor does he kill -- he only carefully and calculatingly embarrasses, and his attacks are structured to open eyes through agitation.

Because he often shows up as a Vistana diviner, the Teacher of Great Lessons is frequently approached willingly by unsuspecting folks just seeking a bit of advice or fortune-telling. Here, the Teacher of Great Lessons cannot deny his trickster nature. He gives answers to people's questions that are truthful enough, but presented obliquely, or with added superfluous directions and advice. For example, to find a remedy for an injured animal, he might advise his visitor on the proper herbs to find, but will also say to make the poultice, one must perform a ridiculous dance on a rooftop while wearing a white loincloth under the full moon. This, of course, is supposed to make the poultice more effective even though it does nothing but embarrass the unfortunate sod and give the tengu a good laugh.

He is, like all his kind, a skilled martial artist and an expert swordsman. Furthermore, he has a very profound respect for the truly humble. The Teacher of Great Lessons will honestly teach a warrior that displays genuine deference and willingness to learn. Such lessons are surprisingly straightforward for a tengu, so much so that while the Teacher of Great Lessons occasionally employs some more humbling methods, he does so with less mischief and humor and more encouragement and earnestness.

DM Notes: The Teacher of Great Lessons can be used to point the party on the right path in an adventure while also throwing in a few unusual twists and turns. He is not a malicious spirit, but he can never pass up an opportunity to play tricks, so any prophecies he makes will invariably include embarrassing or awkward situations for the PCs. Two PCs that rather dislike each other may be expected to share a kiss, or he might require the group to sift through some especially disgusting (but generally harmless) substance. To open a magically locked door in a ruin, he might suggest the party needs the key, but the one opening the door must stand nude in an absurd pose that mimicks a nearby statue. In any case, his prophecies and advice usually turn out true, they just have some extra strings attached.

If he feels the advisees are reluctant, he isn't afraid to plant magical suggestions or use hypnotism. Tengu can create flickering, hypnotic lights called tengu-bi that resemble will-o-wisps. These lights can be made to flicker and move in mesmerizing patterns that leave people extremely open to suggestion. When phsyically threatened, the Teacher of Great Lessons usually employs these to distract his opponents, and then quietly makes his escape.

He can also employ the party to aid him in dealing with his personal targets. This works especially well if the party is either of a chaotic bent or of a good bent since his victims tend to be evil. It's important to note that not all of his victims are evil, though. The Teacher of Great Lessons will just as willingly strike at a haughty paladin that has grown overly self-righteous, and depending on the party, he could serve as an enemy, as well. His presence is more likely to be introduced as a fiend out to humiliate and ruin a noble (or perceived noble) leader. In such a case, though, it is best not to use him as a direct enemy, but instead make his attacks a way to guide the PCs and point them on the next part of the adventure. Most often, he will appear as a Vistana, but if he approaches the party willingly, he might appear in his natural form and claim to be a Ravenkin or were-raven. The most important thing to remember is his apparent form is mutable and can change to suit the needs of the situation.

To get a reasonable idea of how to develop the methods of the Teacher of Great Lessons, reference Robin Hood's actions toward Prince John and the Sherriff of Rottingham in Mel Brooks's "Robin Hood, Men in Tights."

Combat: Ideally, the Teacher of Great Lessons should not be employed in a combat situation. He is meant to be used strictly as a roleplay character. If attacked without provocation (and he considers most attacks made to be unprovoked, regardless of whatever pranks he's pulled), he usually tries to subdue his enemies with hypnosis and enchantment before he makes his escape. If he's forced into physical conflict, however, remember that he is a highly skilled fighter with great ability in both swordplay and unarmed combat.

In 4e, he would be a Solo Skirmisher or Solo Controller, depending on the DM and the situation. It's hard to attribute him to one of the two roles, but in either case he should have good combat ability and at least some enchantments and manipulations. In 3e, he would have a good attack bonus, Spring Attack and Combat Expertise would certainly be on his list, as well as a few Improved combat actions like Improved Disarm and Improved Feint. He would supplement these abilities with an array of SLA's, especially ones that focus on mental manipulation (charms, suggestion, etc.).

If he must be defeated, he does not require any special rituals or methods to kill. However, DMs are strongly advised to keep him out of combat situations and use him either as a dubious ally for the PCs or as a helpful foil who seems antagonistic, but whose actions open another route on the adventure.
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Post by NeoTiamat »

Is anyone still reading these? Regardless, with the excellent assistance of Kaitou Kage, I shall be assembling these Faerie into a PDF, a Children of the Night: Faerie, as Rotipher suggested earlier, once I get enough of the Fair Folk here.

Joel, any chance the FoS could host it?

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Cecil, The Master Cat
  • "My brothers," said he, "may make a handsome living by joining their shares together; but, for my part, after I have eaten up my cat, and made myself a muff from his skin, I must then die of hunger."

    The cat, who heard all this, but pretended otherwise, said to him with a grave and serious air, "Do not be so concerned, my good master. If you will but give me a bag, and have a pair of boots made for me, that I may scamper through the dirt and the brambles, then you shall see that you are not so poorly off with me as you imagine."

    -Excerpt from The Master Cat; or, Puss in Boots, collected by Charles Perrault
There are many who consider madness to be an essential condition of the Faerie existence. To be a Fey, by the words of these scholars, is to be hopelessly insane and erratic, by very definition. One can no more have a sane Fey than an airborne fish or a wealthy pauper.

Image, for instance, a Faerie who has spent months, even years, constructing some vast and labyrinthine intrigue. Every pawn is in place, every rook well-positioned, the knights are ready to charge forth, the bishops have said their prayers, and the Queen awaits only a single word. Does it make any sense, the greybeards ask, for the Faerie to then undermine his own plots and plans, wrecking in hours what took decades to create. Can such a creature be anything other than insane?

The answer to this, Cecil can say, is no. For the Master Cat has done just that many a time over the centuries, and there is always a method in his madness.

Appearance: Cecil is a cat. To be fair, he is a distinctive feline, an Akiri Mau [DM's Note: That's Egyptian Mau over here] with a silvery coat covered in dark spots. Aside from his peculiar coat, Cecil is a muscular, athletic animal with a somewhat rounded face and large, eloquent yellow eyes. His spots form a kind of M marking over his forehead. For some unknown reason, his left, front paw possesses six toes instead of the more usual five.

Physically, that is all there is to Cecil. He imitates the feline form perfectly. But then again, he has been at it since time out of mind.

Cecil's voice is a melodious tenor, though he can mimic most any sound heard. His command of the language is perfect, and where most Faerie are clumsy, or at the least confusing when speaking, the Master Cat is eloquent and pleasant to listen to.

Nature: Amongst certain circles of Faerie, Cecil is known as the Traitorous Advisor, and this is an adequate representation of his modus operandi. Cecil is a dual-natured Faerie, an embodiment of the concept of cats, but also of conflict.

Cecil begins his efforts by selecting a mark, who is usually a mortal (though sometimes something more esoteric, such as a vampire or hag), and in desperate straights. They may be a nobleman on the verge of bankruptcy, a peasant who was crippled and fears starvation, or a vampire being harried by ever more persuasive hunters. All that matters is that the mark is desperate for aid. That is when Cecil makes his approach.

Most marks at first doubt their sanity upon finding themselves speaking with a cat, but Cecil has a number of stories he tells about his nature to set his mark at ease. He may be an escaped wizard's familiar, or an ensorcelled human, or even a fragment of the mark's subconscious. Whatever the mark would believe.

Cecil then proceeds to offer to 'help' the mark out of his woes. If the mark agrees (and pays some manner of price for Cecil's aid), then Cecil sets to work. The specifics of the price are irrelevant to the Master Cat, so long as the mark does not believe that he works for free.

Once Cecil sets about to save the mark from ruin, he usually succeeds in short order. The Master Cat is an excellent strategician and judge of human nature, and he is completely unscrupulous. Moreover, Cecil can call upon a host of Faerie favors to his aid. One common aspect to Cecil's intervention is that the mark survives over the ruins of someone's corpse. The aforementioned nobleman might find that a wealthy and old aristocrat dies in his sleep, and a 'new will' is discovered which leaves everything to the nobleman, at the expense of the older aristocrat's family. The vampire's hunters, on the other hand, may simply find their camp overrun at night by King Hob's men.

Cecil is careful never to do anything that would make the mark's conscience balk completely (hence why he prefers desperate men), but the mark ascends only as someone else descends.

Moreover, Cecil does not stop just with the preventation of ruin. With his aid, the mark soon ascends to the very top of his arena. The nobleman will soon become the determinator of local fashion and opinion (carefully coached by Cecil, of course), while the vampire will be led to destroy his foes one by one.

In time, however, the mark becomes powerful, respected, his enemies vanquished and defeated. There is no more conflict, and the mark doesn't really need Cecil's help any longer. Whereupon Cecil smiles his feline smile, and turns to offer his aid to one of the mark's weakest foes.

Soon, the mark will find his schemes failing, his fortune tumbling, everything he created destroyed by Cecil and his new 'master', until the mark is worse off, far worse off than he ever was before. Many a mark's last sight was the blade of his foeman, and off in the corner, a spotted, silver-coated cat.

Of course, they can take comfort in one fact. What Cecil gives, Cecil takes.

The Truth: Cecil is one of the earliest recorded Faerie still active. Cecil first appears in the Akiri courts of Amenmahet II, first of the Ninth Dynasty, where hieroglyphic records show a speckled cat at the foot of the Pharoah. Then called Kekel, the feline advisor was considered a messenger of Bast.

It should probably be noted by scholars of Har'Akir that every pharoah of the Ninth Dynasty died violently, and that the entire Dynasty survived only sixty years (going through fourteen pharoahs during that time period), and sufferred three civil wars and two foreign invasions.

Since then, Cecil has been content with creating his chaos on a smaller scale. In truth, all that matters to Cecil is the maximization of conflict. The Master Cat makes certain that his erstwhile masters fight with others on their way up, and once they seem secure, Cecil brings them right back down.

All Cecil cares about is conflict. If he must destroy what he has created only years ago, well then, why not? The more conflict, whether acrimonious exchanges in court or clashes upon the battlefield, the more the Master Cat is happy.

Still, Cecil has to admit that his recent schemes have lacked a certain element of panache. It's been a very long time since the Master Cat has brought down a kingdom...

Defeating Cecil: On the one hand, Cecil is an eminently easy foe to defeat. He's just a cat. He has no war-form of a Bengal Tiger, he is no mighty mage. He is merely a small, rather quick cat.

Cecil does have a few powers, of course. No bonds can hold him, and he can open any door in the world with a bat of the paw. He can slip out of a Cage of Force, even. Moreover, Cecil can travel instantly to wherever he wants. He merely jogs into the shadows, or the bushes, or somewhere out of sight, and jogs out of the other side of the bush half a continent away.

But what makes Cecil so deadly dangerous is that he knows people. At any given, Cecil is running a dozen of his games, acting as infrequent advisor to warlords, bandit chieftains, society grand dames, master merchants, and powerful wizards. Turning any of these against his foes is really very simple. As if that is not enough, Cecil is well-situated in Faerie society (probably because them alone he doesn't (usually) betray). Cecil is on first-name basis with King Hob, and it is really child's play to direct Red Jack's summoner towards Cecil's enemies.

If things ever get truly unfortunate, however, one should always remember that cats have nine lives. And while Cecil seems to have used up more than his share, every time he is killed so far, he has been reincarnated in a newborn kitten somewhere in the Demiplane.

It's almost as though Cecil has some way of getting more than his fair share of lives.

DM Notes: Cecil has two main uses in a campaign. He's an equalizer, and he's an arch-villain. Both of these uses can, and should be used together.

As an equalizer, remember that Cecil loathes lack of conflict. He can turn up to help the PCs, posing as some enchanted mortal or some such, and help them defeat some immensely powerful vampire lord or what not. On the other hand, if the PCs are the ones who are powerful, than they may find that Cecil has attached himself to some two-bit villain of theirs, who may prove to be not so harmless very soon.

As an arch-villain, one need only remember that Cecil's ultimate goal is maximum conflict. Ideally, Cecil wants war, a fragmented civil war which turns brother against brother, neighbor against neighbor, with a dozen sides and never any victor. Cecil's done it once before, after all. Perhaps it's time to try again.

Used together, a campaign might start with Cecil helping one foe, and the PCs opposing them. A bit later, when things are looking grim for the PCs, Cecil might switch sides and help the PCs until the foe is defeated, and for a while later. A few successes afterwards, however Cecil migt abandon them in favor of a new villain, and may well be manipulating more than one foe towards a clash. Both the new Captain of the Gendarmerie and the thieve's guildmaster may have a feline advisor, as well as the local Sentire of the Ezran church. By playing all sides against each other, Cecil will try to create a conflict, and it's up to the PCs to stop him.

Cecil can also be used to string together multiple Faeries who are otherwise unconnected. Seeking to cause some chaos, Cecil might deliver Red Jack's ritual to someone. He might invite the Elegist into the graveyard. He may lead his mark to the Midnight Market to purchase allies such as Conall. He can be a unifying thread in a campaign, never the main villain, but always the Cat behind the Man, as it were.

In a simpler situation, there's the question of how does Cecil 'refill' his lives. It may take simple time, but for instant antagonism on the part of the PCs, perhaps it requires stealing the life-force of someone or something. Cats are said to have been able to suck the breath (and life) out of newborn babes, after all.

Combat Notes: Cecil is, by and large, a rather dismal combatant. He's a cat. He has very high HD for a cat, and his powers of escape and entry are second to none, but he's still a cat.

Thus, most likely instead of fighting Cecil, PCs should end up fighting some of Cecil's henchmen, who could be just about anything under the sun. Faeries, Undead, mortal servitors of all sorts, just about anything might find itself serving the speckled silver cat.

If you do insist on using Cecil as a combatant, he should be a backrows dweller and support caster, a Controller (Leader) type in 4E terms. Illusion and Enchantment spells are his forte, as well as debuffs of any sort.
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
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Sorti
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Post by Sorti »

NeoTiamat wrote:Is anyone still reading these?
*munches pop-corn and takes notes* don't stop..
Coltiviamo per tutti un rancore
che ha l'odore del sangue rappreso
ciò che allora chiamammo dolore
è soltanto un discorso sospeso
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Post by Gonzoron of the FoS »

NeoTiamat wrote:Is anyone still reading these? Regardless, with the excellent assistance of Kaitou Kage, I shall be assembling these Faerie into a PDF, a Children of the Night: Faerie, as Rotipher suggested earlier, once I get enough of the Fair Folk here.
Most definitely still reading and enjoying. I wholeheartedly encourage compiling them into a netbook, though just as my own opinion, I'd rather see it under a different name. The stickler in me says that the "CoTN" label implies a certain format. Namely, exactly 13 NPC's of the given creature type, each with full stats and a mini-adventure. If you're willing to go that route, then by all means, call it CotN:F, but if not, maybe there's a better title to be had.
"We're realistic heroes. We're not here to save the world, just nudge the world into a better place."
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Post by NeoTiamat »

Well speak up people! After a while you start to wonder if you're talking to an empty room.

Well, pleasure to have you here, Sorti, Gonzoron.

As far as titles.... You'll probably get 13 entries (That's my aim right now), though I fear that unless someone else decides to pipe up and help out, there will be no adventures beside my DMing notes.

That said, main reason for the CotN name would be to connect it to the "collection of unique monsters" tradition, though I'm open to alternative suggestions.

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Modern Faerie: The Fair Folk are, by definition, immortal. As creatures of concept and narrative, they exist so long as their concept or personal narrative continues, and since destroying the concept of 'water' or 'murder' is functionally impossible, the Fair Folk tend to continue onwards until something kills them, which is usually... difficult.

But sometimes, new Faerie are required. A new concept appears, something unique, and unheard of, and with sufficient cultural cachet as to create its own associated superstitions and beliefs. Most commonly, this happens because of human inventions, and as technology advances and spreads, so too do associated Faerie.

Faerie tend to ignore human inventions until they become sufficiently prominent for a Faerie to see a way to adopt it for itself. Usually, this means a Faerie with a related concept expands into these new ideas, as in the case below. Other times, a new Faerie is created through whichever method the Fair Folk use to shore up their numbers (even immortals suffer the attrition of time).

Those who expect the Fair Folk to be fossilized in their ways are in for a nasty surprise when facing such a 'Modern' Faerie.

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Lucas Silver, the Photographer
  • "Please look into the camera, sir. It's a revolutionary technology, yes it is, sir, right out of Paridon. Daguerreotyping it's called, sir, it's going to replace painting by the end of my life, just you wait, sir."

    "Now let me just get the picture fixed, just needs some hydrosulphite of soda, that's it sir, done and dandy. Ought to look right fine on the mantle-piece when I'm done, sir."

    "Tired, sir? That's alright, it's the smell of these chemicals. Quite harmless, sir, just drink some orange juice or a snifter of brandy and you'll be right as rain. That'll be six shillings, sir. Cheap at twice the price sir, you'll see."

    -Lucas Silver, traveling daguerreotypist and Murder-Fey
Five years ago, the daguerreotype was invented in Zherisia. It was a cunning invention of chemistry that allowed one to transfer an image after an exposure of some minutes onto a prepared silver plate. The plates are fragile and easily corroded by the elements, but it was the first photography, creating perfect likenesses that no artist could ever accomplish.

In short order, daguerreotyping became quite popular amongst the Zherisian middle and lower class, and it is spreading to the Core. The wealthy still prefer portraits by practiced artists, but a daguerreotype is cheap, and creates a likeness beyond compare.

And if the images are too life-like, to realistic, if the images are actually alive, trapped souls within silver and iodine and gold chloride, then what's the problem? The customer paid for a perfect likeness, after all.

Appearance: Lucas Silver, upon first meeting, resembles nothing so much as a caricature of a man, or perhaps an animate scarecrow. A tall, bony, horse-faced Zherisian in a threadbare suit, with a bowler hat atop his head and chewing a foul-smelling cigar. His face is engagingly ugly, equine and raw-boned, but expressive and amusing to look upon. His hands are similarly large and callused, but Lucas uses them to gesture freely.

In person, Lucas is obsequious, but also talkative and friendly. He chatters on about cameras and photo-equipment to his customer, but digresses easily, talking about anything. He isn't educated, but he's friendly and quick-witted, and it fills the air while he sets up his camera equipment in his customer's parlor for a session.

Of course, for all that Lucas Silver is a skilled mimic of humanity, a few elements of mortal society leave him quite confused. For starters, Silver is physically incapable of telling time, whether on a clock, with a watch, or any other form. The little numbers are meaningless to him, a being to whom time is significantly more... flexible. Lucas can tell apart noon from dusk without errors, but ask him to meet you at 10 in the morning and if he arrives on time it will be more luck than anything.

More troublesome, however, is that Lucas Silver has no shadow. A Faerie of light and murder, Lucas casts no shadow, a weakness he is well aware of. In a customer's house, Silver sets up numerous lamps and lights to break up any shadows and explain his own lack, whereas outside he strives to meet at night time or in the dark if possible.

Nature: Lucas Silver maintains the facade of a traveling daguerreotypist, selling his services to the lower-middle class, to clerks and butchers and similar men. Though his skill with a camera is beyond compare, and his magics ensure that he can create a perfect image every time, Lucas takes care to maintain a reputation as a second-rate photographer.

Lucas Silver travels from city to city, sometimes setting up shop, or even a studio, for a few months, other times visiting a little town or village for a few days. To most of the Core, where a daguerreotype is never seen, Lucas is a new sensation, taking a few photographs for free before accepting commissions.

Most of the customers recieve nothing more or less than a reasonably competent daguerreotype of themselves, encased in a glass case, to hand on their walls or place above their mantles. A few, however, recieve an image that is perfect, a likeness so clear that it is almost eerie. It is those people who must fear.

Lucas Silver is capable of capturing the soul of a customer. As the daguerreotype exposure continues, the victim grows weaker, quieter, as their soul is entrapped within the silver plate with the image. Lucas merely smiles, and chatters, and when he takes his pay.

A few people survive being unsouled, though the metaphysical consequences are dire. Most, however, die soon afterwards, falling into a deep malaise that leads them to death. Doctors can discover no reason for this demise, just a lack of will to live, but a priest soon finds that healing magics have no effect upon the unsouled.

Resurrection magic has no effect upon the victim so long as the soul remains in its silver plate prison.

The Truth: Lucas cannot capture souls at will. Instead, he must use a special chemical solution of sparrow blood, graveyard soil, and powdered mandrake root, and a silver plate prepared with stolen silver in his daguerreotype, and the image must be perfect, not necessarily difficult for a Faerie of light.

But Lucas is not merely satisfied with watching his victims die a soul-less death. Their souls are locked in the daguerreotypes, but the daguerreotyping process leaves only a single image, which understandably remains with the customer. But before he leaves a place, Lucas always takes great efforts to collect all of his cursed daguerreotypes.

Most often, he does this during the inevitable funerals, arriving and committing his thefts amidst the chaos of the ceremonies. Other times, the Murder-Fey breaks into the victim's home to steal what Lucas sees as 'his'. Most rarely, Lucas persuades the local Faerie to commit his theft for him, though he does this only in extremis.

As for what he does with the souls...? A very good question. In his lair and travelling pack, Lucas Silver has dozens, hundreds of the daguerreotypes, all neatly framed and secured. Most of them, it seems, the Faerie keeps, but a few find their ways elsewhere. A wizard may purchase the soul of an enemy, or a Faerie Lord may require the souls of twelve virgins for a ritual (and daguerreotypes are much easier to handle than people). And many of the daguerreotypes find their way to the Midnight Market, sold amongst the other strange objects of that realm.

The Daguerreotypes: Lucas Silver's cursed photographs are difficult to identify, but it can be done. Each one is a silver plate, some nine inches by six inches, and locked in a glass frame to protect it from the elements. Each one is absolutely perfect, the peak of the photographer's art. And yet, each one is a little sad, the faces of the people gloomy and miserable. Most tellingly, the images sometimes move when one isn't looking at them.

Burning the daguerreotypes releases the souls, though if the victim is already dead it does nothing for them beyond letting them proceed to their afterlife.

Defeating Lucas Silver: The Murder-Fey is a creature of stealth and subterfuge, not combat, but Lucas Silver is no weakling. His broad hands strike blows like hammers, and Silver possesses power over light and its absence. He can plunge an area into sudden darkness, or cause such a bright flash as to blind a foeman.

Killing Lucas, however, is tricky. Should the Murder-Fey be slain, then one of the daguerreotypes in his possession burns up, and Silver is resurrected within minutes, as powerful as ever, and that soul is consumed forever. Only by destroying all of his photographs can this Murder-Fey be defeated.

DM Notes: Lucas is a designed as an introductory Faerie, in many ways. He is not very powerful, possessing neither strong magics nor incredible physical prowess. But at the same time, he is a creature with a long list of horrors in his past, and thus something the PCs will want to destroy.

Players may find out about Lucas by investigating the deaths he leaves in his wake, or by finding out about the daguerreotypes (such as in the Midnight Market), or by coming upon Lucas in his thievery or in his collection of materials for the possessing daguerreotypes. That done, the players will need to track him down and figure out some way to destroy the daguerreotypes (and find out that they even need to) before killing Lucas.

Lucas Silver can also serve as an introduction to the idea that the Faerie are not just nature-obsessed dryads and satyrs. He's a creature of modern technology, but just as mystical and otherworldy as his stranger kin.

Combat Notes: Lucas is a low-level combatant, but should probably be an Elite Lurker in 4E terminology, likely with support from some local common-fey, goblins or gnomes or similar. He strikes with his bare hands, but would also have powers revolving around light in some way. Darkness spells, blinding attacks, invisibility are all appopriate.
Ravenloft GM: Eye of Anubis, Shattered City, and Prof. Lupescu's Traveling Ghost Show
Lead Writer & Editor: VRS Files: Doppelgangers; Contributor: QtR #20, #21, #22, #23, #24
Freelance Writer for Paizo Publishing
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