tovonind

[tovonind]

Vignettes #3: But it rained

'There's an almost perfect symmetry to them, isn't there?', said Ciel, watching the reploids below practice their routines. 'But then, what do I know of your twisted aesthetic, you damn cryptid?' This was said spinning back, pivoting on a heeled foot against smooth metal to turn and look at the tall, lanky individual perched loosely against one of the dozens of control panels littered across the lab.

Red, slit-like eyes stared back at her through an incongrouous slit in a jet-black wide-brimmed hat. 'You insist on this behaviour, Baldaquin', said a soft voice, velvet over steel. 'almost like you would like to see what i'd do when provoked.' He got up, and moved closer to her. Uncomfortably close. 'You know, all you need to do is ask.'

She backed away, not wanting to, but more because her body was reacting at an instinctive level to the terror induced by his physical proximity. She remembered the first few times she'd seen him, just gagging in the washrooms afterwards until her stomach was empty and her head felt blank. Clearing her throat reflexively, she looked back at the training space below and asked, 'so what do you want with them?'

In all apparent seriousness, he asked to be let into the room. As he stepped in, the reploids turned to look at him, their inhuman instincts not being trained to respond to fear in the same way. 'Good!', he exclaimed, 'really good. Now let's see if you can learn fear.'

From within a jet-black sleeve he extracted a single scalpel. Blood red, faintly glowing. Almost lazily, he walked up to the nearest reploid, and with a smooth motion, stabbed it in the eye. As it fell backward, screaming, he looked at the rest, 'Well? Come at me, then.'

And almost as one, they fell upon him. Ciel watched, horrified, as the man in black almost waltzed through the crowd of reploids, which writhed and twisted in his wake, smooth chunks of sinew and bone cleaving from their bodies and falling on the ground with sickening wet thuds. But the reploids were some of the most fearsome warriors ever created, with resilience beyond measure as individuals, and an innate ability to adapt and strategise amongst themselves, a self-organising army without the need for prior training. As they regrouped and got ready to attack, forming a pincer around the man in black, he laughed in amusement and threw his hand in the air, spraying what looked like a fountain of blood into the air, where the individual droplets hung. From a distance, they almost looked like small scalpels.

As he brought his hand down, the suspended blades arced downwards with deadly precision, cutting through muscles, stabbing vitals, and decimating the small army surrounding him. As the rain fell to the ground, so did the former reploids, all but one, left alive to view the carnage. As he walked towards it, it fell to its knees and began to wail, a horrible keening sound. He walked up and crouched down to look into its eyes. 'Good. You've learned fear. Remember this, and teach it to those of your kind that'll come after. Your successors, as it were. Shame, anger, vengeance, retribution, justice, there's so many places to go from here. Grow stronger. Stay alive. See if you can push me in the future, make me use more than a fraction of my power.'

He turned and looked back at Ciel, and said, 'Shame. it looks like your workload has increased again, but I needed to let off some steam after a mild provocation. Could I perhaps buy you a drink to apologise?'

#vignettes

[tovonind]

Vignettes #2: ubi bene, ibi patria

For the umpteenth time, Marcos wished he had an updated copy of his last well and testament. He swung back and forth in the pit, weaving around the jabs and swings as his opponent earnestly attempted to make art on the floor using his blood as paint. His reed like body almost seemed to bend, twist and stretch, as he sensed the currents of wind from the onrushing fists. His precognitive abilities showed him the next strike, a wild haymaker from the enraged ogre, but it took all of his excellent musculature acting in concert to duck backward in time. Even so, the spikes on the ogre's gauntlets raked a shallow furrow across his bare chest. A sudden vivid image of a river flooding red blossomed in his mind as the blood pounded in his ears, and he had to bite his lip to bring the world back into focus.

The crowd cheered wildly. In his vicinity, he could smell the beer and the blood, mixed with sweat, tears, urine, and cutting through everything else, a scent of desperation from the ogre in front of him, and spike of fear, that he recognised with a thrill, came from himself. He straightened himself, planted his feet apart to lower his center, and adopted a defensive stance. Fists held loose, arms in front of his torso and face. Bandages wrapped around his palms and hands drenched in blood and sweat, fraying at the ends.

He focused on calming his breathing, and cast his hearing out to the sounds in the pit. Laboured breathing from the ogre in front of him, almost grunting. Near-defeaning cheers from the rowdy audience, people arguing, bets being made in the distance, the odds stacked clearly against him - a puny blind human against an ogre? And as the fight went on, the odds were climbing. But not enough. Not yet. He smirked, and made a rude gesture at the ogre.

The ogre rushed forward, feinted toward the left, punched toward the right, aiming straight for his face. He felt it coming, and almost lazily deflected it with an open palm. 'Jarl, come on buddy, you'll have to do better than that', he whispered as the deflected fist drew them briefly close. The ogre screamed, incoherent in it's rage, apoplectic in it's fury, and swung at him again. He allowed it to graze him again, and made a show of falling to one knee as if hurt, before rising again.

Something strange caught the edge of his ear around then. Not a humming ... almost a chanting, a whisper with a strange cadence. It was subtle in the crowd, but unmistakable. A sinking feeling at the bottom of his stomach warned him that magic always complicated matters, and usually not in a way that worked out for him.

The cheers, jeers and boos from the crowd were dying away, something strange seemed to be happening. He tried to sense the ogre, but it was just standing still, making strange burbling noises, as if choking on something. The first beads of alarm from the crowd were popping up like wildflowers on his periphery. The sounds of choking were clearer now, and Marcos went forward to help he heard a heavy thunk as the ogre collapsed to it's knees, burbling and making whinnying sounds for help. Scrabbling, he heard it put it's arm into it's mouth as if trying to pluck a fishbone from it's throat. Flailing, desperate. Choking sounds turning to gasps, and then to keening screams as it dragged something out of it's throat. Something impossibly jagged, impossibly sharp. The sharp iron tang of lifeblood was in the air, and as he stood and listened, the keening stopped, a silent death rattle as the final breaths of air left a torn windpipe.

Marcos wasn't sure what happened. Someone had tampered with the fight, but to what end? Was it someone with a grudge against the ogre? He was relatively unknown in these parts, up near the drow lands, so it was unlikely that someone was trying to help him. Maybe it was... a flash of white.

Pain. Incredible, rich, pain. Triggering an avalanche of memories that cascaded across his muscles, spasming, retching. The distant percussion of wardrums playing in the background ... thump, thump thump thump... eyes that saw burning fields and dying comrades as a massive dracolich swarmed down to claim the fallen.. thump, thump thump thump ... eyes that saw all the running, hiding, while the wardrums beat on, the beats urging, forcing his expendable self to go back on to the field and sacrifice himself for the greater good, ... thump, thump thump thump.. eyes that were not allowed to disobey, eyes that did not leave the battlefield as he ran ... thump, thump thump thump .. the wardrums that now only remained etched in the pattern of the blood pounding in his head. White fading to red. Ribs broken, smashed, slashed. That had narrowly missed his lungs. But he was alive. For better or for worse. Still fucking alive.

He could hear a crooked, burbling, laughter from the ogre now. It wasn't the laughter of something alive, or even something with an intact set of vocal chords. He couldn't sense breathing - the creature was clearly dead. But even as he made this assessment, it stepped forward and took another swing.

He dodged, ducking and rolling out of the way, but only barely. The ogre's feet made a sound while stepping, but the weapon it now held in it's hand made no sound as it sliced through the stale air in the pit. The guttural wheezing, chuckling sound felt familiar, and something at the back of his mind recognised it but he didn't have time to place it as the ogre rumbled toward him again, and faster. Much faster than it had been in life, taking strides it shouldn't have been able to, the joints making bending and popping noises as it moved in a way it had not been designed to.

Marcos tensed and leaped up, landing on the ogre's arm as it swung past him on it's downswing, the strange weapon in it's hand silent. Somersaulting, he used the ogre's broken head as a platform to jump off of, and came down with a heavy spin-kick.

Heavy in life, the ogre took the hit without flinching, seemingly ignoring the crunch as Marco's legs impacted it straight in the chest and drove on through. With a meaty hand, it grabbed him by the neck and torso, and simply swung him like a ragdoll and pounded him against the ground.

As Marcos attempted to get up, the ogre took another attack, slashing with it's weapon across his back, and he felt the warmth of his own blood before the pain hit him. With a quick gesture, he attempted to cast a small healing spell on himself, rules be damned, but to his surprise it did not take. The wound from the strange weapon seemed to be canceling it out, and taking some of his precog ability with it.

Not bothering to get off the ground, Marcos centered himself, and readied himself for the next attack that he felt coming. It had been a long time, but bereft of his hearing and smell and precog, he felt truly blind once again. And somehow, that was the push he needed.

He shut himself off to all external stimuli, and concentrated. Deep, within his core, past the pain, past the memories, past the young boy he had once been, he found the fire. Burning, etched into his soul, crimson and beautiful, cold as his will. As the ogre swung down, Marcos brought his hands together, as a second set of hands, made completely of fire, rose out of his arms and grasped the phantom blade, holding it inches away from his face. With a strength borne out of desperation, he wrenched the blade away, and felt it taken from the ogre's grasp and flung out on to the mud a few feet away.

Jacknifing to his feet, Marcos punched out at the undead ogre, even now chuckling, although with a slightly confused note. Once, twice, each blow augmented by the flaming fists keeping lockstep, and went all in, pushing his body past it's limits, punching thrice, four times in a split second, the flaming flurry of blows lifting the ogre bodily and throwing it outwards, burning it in an inferno before it could hit the ground again. Utterly spent, Marcos collapsed.

Bleeding and bruised at the bottom of the pit, Marcos remembered that though the undead ogre had been dealt with, the caster was still at large. As he blacked out, he once again wished he'd fucking updated his last will and testament.

#vignettes

[tovonind]

Vignettes #1: Warble and weft

Amarel huffed as she made her way up the steep incline, bowed slightly beneath the weight of her food-laden pack. Saulkryn and other small animals made chittering sounds as they darted to and fro among the undergrowth and small tropical foliage. Along the way, she stopped a couple of times to catch her breath, and looked for the long, wide-leaved trees with their plump yellow fruit. Making her way up, she eventually reached a shallow plateau where a tiny wooden cabin perched against a sheer cliff face, with a magnificent view of the craggy Withertops spread out in front of her.

Amarel rested her pack outside the front wall and washed up in the trough outside her cabin, the recently collected rainwater fresh and cool against her face. As she mopped her face dry, she heard a clink from inside the cabin, followed by a low rattle. Immediately she froze, knowing that they shouldn't be anyone inside. Her alarm spell hadn't gone off, nor had she seen any tracks on her way that would indicate any wild animals having gotten in. Slowly, deliberately she took a deep breath and let her shoulders relax, the tension draining out of them though the goosebumps remained. Almost nonchalantly, she stepped in.

The interior of the wooden cabin was slightly more spacious than the outside made it seem. Lit by the soft sunlight from a couple of west-facing windows, the muted colors, wooden furniture, racks of well-worn books, and warm hearth spoke of a comfortable, if self-imposed, exile. 'Ah, raptor', said a voice from by the kitchen, 'welcome back. I was just making some tea.'

Amarel sighed as she began taking off her shoes, letting her feet revel in the sensation of the soft, cool earthen floor. 'I've asked you not to call me that, you old buzzard', she drawled, finally turning to look at the grey robed, bald, hunchbacked birdfolk stirring the pot, both literally and otherwise. 'If you're here for what I'm guessing you're here for, you're better of just having a cup of tea and then making your way back to that woebegone aviary. Whatever you're peddlin', I ain't interested.'

The old buzzard in question brought over two earthen cups of steaming steeped tea, and setting one in front of her, proceeded to stare mournfully into the dregs at the bottom of his own cup. 'Strange times are upon us', he began, and ignored her rude gestures trying to cut him off, 'and like it or not the war will come, even to your neck of the woods.' He broke off and looked at her, and once more Amarel found herself disconcerted by those piercing yellow eyes, ringed with black. Not the eyes of a hunter, but those of a scavenger. Or as he put it, a survivor.

'I'm not here to pander to your ego. or entreat you to come back and take your rightful place in defending your people. No, you made your choices and you can nest with their consequences.', he said, and then his eyes softening a bit, 'You have a good heart, but that is more a liability in these times, and perhaps it is all for the best...', he trailed off, looking out of the window into the mountains beyond, where the sunset seemed to set the granite peaks on fire. In the distance, a roc circled as it returned to it's nest for the night, although at this distance it just looked like a hawk or an eagle. 'I can see why you chose this place', he said, turning back to her.

Amarel sipped her tea and thought through what he'd said, and the words unsaid between them. The war of chaos, for that's what they'd started calling it, had been running for the better half of a century now, and showed no signs of abating. The winged folk had stayed out of it for the longest time, back when she'd argued in favour of joining in and picking a side. Now it seemed that their tune was changing somewhat, but it was late, too late now to do anything but grab your belongings and run. This, it appeared, was an apology, or at least the nearest thing to an apology as she'd get. After all, she had left. The question was, what would she do now?

For the longest time, Amarel and the buzzard sat in silence, occasionally sipping their tea and wordlessly enjoying the blazing sunset outside her window, burning the forests, melting the granite tops of the mountains, transforming the rivers into iridescent veins of molten magma. As the last bit of light made it's way past the horizon, Amarel got up, slightly stiff, and made her way to the bed, and pulled out a long, narrow metal chest from underneath. With a key that dangled on a cord around her neck, she unlocked the chest and slowly opened it, almost as if she wished it were empty. And it was.. almost, except for one object: a long, thin spear that seemed to be not entirely solid, shifting and reshaping, molding itself to her hands, her posture, rebalancing, recalibrating, as she swung it around experimentally, surprised at how familiar it felt. She turned back to the buzzard, her own eyes now yellow ringed with black.

'All right, you have my attention', she said. 'Let's talk.'

#vignettes

[tovonind]

On the names of plants

One of my players wants a terrarium-of-holding, and considering that my campaign involves a certain amount of worldhopping, I’m rather fascinated by the idea. It also means that I have to spend some time thinking of (i) how such a  thing would work, (ii) reading up the effects of introducing non-indigenous/endemic species into interesting biomes, and (iii) names for fantasy plants. Let’s talk about each of these for a bit:

1. The terrarium itself

Taking inspiration from how incredible terrariums can look, the early brainiac’s obsession with miniaturizing cities to preserve their culture (kandor being a prime example), and the native D&D bag-of-holding variants (the bag of colding, devouring, beans, tricks etc.), I’m taking a stab at an artifact that maintains small pocket-biomes. The item can be found here on D&Dbeyond, where it can be added to character sheets etc. Art for the terrarium comes from this fantastic artist on redbubble (Will Hewitt).

2. The effects of non-endemic plants in fantasy biomes

Before we get into this, let’s first look at some real-world examples (not that we want to be bounded by reality, but still, reality can very often surprise us). For reference, here’s a wiki article on introduced species. 

To summarize, when introduced into a new biome, plants can either - die out,  - naturalize (affecting the local biome to different extents),  - adapt/mutate/hybridize with local flora/fauna, or - become invasive

The fourth has the more interesting consequences, and the prerequisite for this can be summarized by two conditions:

- it has the resources it needs to grow.  - it doesn’t suffer competition or predation

From teh wiki,

An introduced species might become invasive if it can outcompete native species for resources such as nutrients, light, physical space, water, or food. If these species evolved under great competition or predation, then the new environment may host fewer able competitors, allowing the invader to proliferate quickly. Some interesting examples of this would be 

- introducing sustainable food crops in regions without food can lead to a complete change in the economy and lifestyle of the people in that region.

- a new plant can sometimes carry diseases or pests that are relatively benign to the plant itself, but fatal for other native species.

- Rootless duckweed (see below) can be dangerous almost everywhere it’s introduced.

- Cactacae and Myconids coming into contact with each other can be hilarious or deadly depending on the circumstances. 

- Mana-rich plants in mana-poor regions can completely warp the surrounding biomes, since they have no resistance to the glamouring effects of these plants. It is important to be careful while bringing any plants over from the Feywild.

- Some plants (like the fleshy tuberondum carnis) can cause higher level predators to stop preying on grazing animals, since they taste similar. This can lead to an explosion of grazing animals, which leads to the savannah being stripped of edible grasses, and upsets the biome. 

- Plants that grow in remote/inhospitable/extreme/space-like locales (that are not used to resource-rich environments) can sometimes go crazy when introduced into normal ones.

3. Names and characteristics of fantasy plants:

All right, let’s take a stab at these. A lot of these are real, with some added flavour. Can you identify which ones aren’t?

‘Bob’ is a variant of the Blackhew (Viburnum prunifolium): Native originally to Karvadam and now other parts of Tovon Ind with trade, the plant is thought to emit a low hum, along with an almost unnoticeable musk that vibrates at the same resonant frequency. Tabaxi, Moogles, Loxodons and other sensitive species can detect this to some extent, but it particularly seems to affect the slakemoths and other creatures of a dark aspect to varying degrees, ranging from mild distaste to complete discombobulation (scribbled in the margins: 'see what i did there?'). It is not presently known if this effect can be amplified, although traditional means like poultices, brews and steeped concoctions do not seem to be effective in this regard. The plant also has certain religious aspects to it, and is sometimes used as an offering during rituals at Dracoperonia (dragon temples) across the land. (updated Jan 6)

Corpse Flowers (also called the Titan Arum, Scientific name: Amorphophallus titanum) - not one big flower, but thousands of smaller ones. grow on corpses in the crystal forest and emit a faint bioluminiscence. folklore suggests that they’re releasing the souls of the fallen from their bodies to wander the forest for evermore.

Dwarvish Wheat / Lithiops (Lithops Hookeri, Lithops Salicola, Lithops Olivieri, etc.): A small, desert thriving rocklike plant of the succulent family that yields flour when processed, and is used to make dwarvish bread. It is thought to be what gives dwarvish bread its characteristic texture and density.

Witches' Butter / Yellow brain / Golden Jelly Fungus (Tremella mesenterica): Mostly extinct in nature but found in many private botanical gardens, this potent herb can sometimes be found growing on recently fallen and dead trees, especially if the trees had any magical essence. Being rich in mana, it has been used as a catalyst in many magical potions and poultices. While edible, it remarkably has no flavor. It is parasitic on other fungi.

Dragonsblood Tree (Dracaena cinnabari): With mana-rich sap that resembles dragons' blood (It’s a deep red, even when dried into resin, and is used for magical ceremonies, and as a stimulant), this rare tree is highly sought after and was even worshiped in older times. It is said that it can not be grown without the blessing of a dragon, and can only be found on the floating island of Caelondia. The canopy looks like an umbrella and acts like one. It shades the roots and reduces evaporation. 

Welwitschia / Tumbo / Tweeblaarkanniedood (Welwitschia mirabilis): A living fossil found in the deserts of Tovon Ind, its close relatives have gone extinct and its distant relatives include pines, spruces, larches, and firs. It has one very short trunk and two leaves—only two. It grows only two leaves no matter how mature it is (and it can get very mature - living 400 to over 2000 years!). Wine made from the leaves of this plant are said to induce intense visions, but sometimes have the unfortunate side effects of driving the imbiber completely insane (DC 10 CON).

The dude (Dudanus Principus): A small flowering bush that produces a pungent green-and-black bud that is often smoked as leaf, fermented to make beer, or steeped as tea, depending on the region. Produces a sap that tastes like milk. Grows best in cool climates. Artists in recent times have experimenting with using it as an ingredient in making paint.

Rootless Duckweed / The green death / the ravening swarm (Wolffia Arrhiza): An extremely small flowering plant, normally not dangerous unless it comes in contact with water, in which case it starts multiplying exponentially as long as water is available to sustain it. Once it crosses a critical threshold, it beings leaching moisture from the air. Careless mismanagement of this plant is thought to have wiped out small villages.

The strangler fig (also called the pleasant sleep, Ficus vulgaris): A symbiotic plant found in the forests near the northeastern part of the continent (to be fleshed out), emits a sweet scent that charms prey into coming close (DC12 CON). Small creatures caught unawares are slowly asphyxiated, and animals that come to eat these creatures carry the plant’s seeds to other locations.

Hydnora / Magis’ staff / the seeing Maw (Hydnora Morgana): The Hydnora plant grows almost completely underground, except for its strange, bristly red flower that is shaped like an open pod, or a gaping maw. Traps insects and other small creatures and keeps them until the flower is mature, then releases them to complete the pollination. The fruit takes two years to mature underground, is said to be similar in taste and texture to a potato, yet useful for tanning leather and preserving fishnets.

Mandrake root (Mandragora Vox): Potent magical herb, that has the appearance of a radish-like root. Causes deafness/madness and death in extreme cases if uprooted at any time other than twilight (recent studies show the absence of shadows as a necessary component in controlled conditions). Can be used to revive the recently dead if prepared in appropriate ways. 

Tesla trees / Wednesday’s weed (Arborum Fulmenis): Large electrified trees that appear to store up electricity inside their body during certain seasons, releasing all of it in huge arcs of lightning from their crown, burning away all that was growing or walking near them and thus getting fertilizer. Found in the garden of the time-lords in Karvadam and metal sections of the crystal forest.

A lot more fictional plants to cover! See the list here of fictional plants, this list of real but cool plants, and this list of old names for plants, for example.

A few more resources from my player: 

- https://www.reddit.com/r/Pathfinder_RPG/comments/94hpjl/are_there_any_magic_items_to_have_a_portable/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share

- https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/1077so/4e_making_a_portable_garden/?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share

- [starter item] https://aonprd.com/EquipmentMiscDisplay.aspx?ItemName=Portable%20terrarium

#worldbuilding

[tovonind]

Hallo worlds.

I’m creating this space mainly to keep track of the ‘process’, as I weave the first full campaign of Tovon Ind. This started as a spin-off of a one-shot I’d originally made for a friend’s birthday, but has exploded in terms of lore and seems like an increasingly viable setting for future campaigns.

So, in short, here’s what I want to keep track of:

The things I learn from week to week while practicing DMing, along with resources that I find useful. This ranges from voice acting tips, to building immersion, to mapmaking, to the economics and physics of different worlds. 

Story elements and lore that I make, so that they’re available when I want to foreshadow something or create major plot points. This overlaps a bit with the worldbuilding aspects, but is more ‘what-is’ instead of ‘how-to’.

Characters, weapons, items, places and other interesting things that I create or retrofit to 5e. 

And that’s it, I guess. Goodbye for now my imaginary audience, and keep the dragons close.