Where I Read: Daggerheart (part five)

We’re into a new chapter, and this one is about how you actually play the game. It starts out by explaining that the basic flow of the game is that the GM describe what’s up, then the players and GM talk about it so that everyone really understands what’s up, then the players do stuff and the GM resolves the stuff they do. Fair enough, that is more or less how it usually works, but I still feel like it’s a pretty clunky way to explain it.

I mean, the Powered by the Apocalypse influence is pretty noticeable in how they try to distil the flow of play into something you can describe accurately instead of just going with the grand old roleplaying tradition of, “eh, it works at our table, you’ll figure it out.” And I’m technically all for that, but, well, some things really are pretty self-explanatory and every bit of wordcount you spend on explicitly describing them just takes time and attention away from the actually complicated parts.

… if you’re reading this from a point in the future where I’ve finally gotten around to publishing my magnum opus Monstrous Mishaps and you want to point out that I’m pretty frequently guilty of said over-explaining myself, then I can only say… yes, okay, okay, but don’t do as I do, do as I say!

There’s a piece of example play about a thief running away after stealing from a noble, nothing very exceptional there.

Next we’re introduced to the concept of “spotlight,” and this actually gets my attention, because it sounds halfway clever: whichever character is acting has the spotlight. Usually the GM just lets it wander around the characters present, but there are also mechanics that can decree things like, “an enemy gets the spotlight.” A sort of narrative approach to initiative, huh? Interesting, interesting… Let’s see how it works in practice.

Anyway, there is explicitly no such thing as a turn order or a limit to how many actions you can take at once, it’s up to the GM to decide what is reasonable. Being used to PbtA, I can testify that this works a lot better than it sounds like it should. There’s also the mention that not being “locked into combat” makes it easier to contemplate non-violent actions like running away, which I have also found to be true.

A player acts by making “player moves” that describe what their character is doing, and a GM acts by making “GM moves” which describe, well, just about anything the GM wants to happen, really. GM moves are usually made when a player either fails a roll or rolls with Fear. Ah, so there is some universal effects to the Fear mechanic. Okay, that might work. The GM can also spend Fear to make additional GM moves if he’s starting to feel bored. NPCs or environments might also have unique “Fear moves” that can be activated by spending Fear.

We are reminded once again that players roll with a d12 “Hope Die” and a d12 “Fear Die,” and when the Hope Die is higher you “rolled with Hope” and when the Fear Die is higher you “rolled with Fear.” If you rolled with Hope you gain Hope even if you failed, and if you rolled with Fear the GM gains Fear and makes a GM move even if you succeeded. Yep, that’s clear enough. If you roll the same number on both dice, you get a critical success, which means that you succeed with Hope regardless of what the result was. You also clear a point of Stress and, if it was an attack roll, do extra damage.

Hope can be spent to assist allies with their rolls, to get the bonus from an Experience, or activate a Hope Feature. There are apparently two different ways to assist allies, “Help an Ally” and “Initiate a Tag Team Roll.” We’ll get both described in more detail later. You can only have 6 Hope at any given time, so you’re expected to spend it freely.

Evasion gets another mention, and apparently it’s not just physical defence, it’s what an enemy rolls against for any sort of hostile effect against you. Hmm, okay.

Hit Points and Damage Thresholds! Okay, here it gets complicated… But basically, you have a certain number of Hit Points, and you also have two Damage Thresholds, one Major and one Severe. If you take some damage, but it’s less than your Major Threshold, you lose 1 HP. If you take damage between your Major and Severe Thresholds, you lose 2 HP. And if you take damage at or above your Severe Threshold, you lose 3 HP. That… seems like a complicated way of doing it, but okay then. Lose all your Hit Points, and you have to make a “death move.”

Stress is basically mental Hit Points. You can mark Stress as part of a special ability, as we have seen in several places already, or the GM can inflict it on you when things go badly, or require that you mark Stress to succeed at something you otherwise might have failed at. When you’ve marked all your Stress, you become “vulnerable,” which we’ll find out more of later, and also any further Stress you would have marked gets transformed into Hit Points instead. Fair enough.

There’s a fairly long and unnecessary description of how to make a roll that just goes over everything we’ve already covered, but it does specify that rolling with Hope and Fear does change the outcome of success and failures. Essentially, success with Hope is “yes, and,” success with Fear is “yes, but,” failure with Hope is “no, but” and failure with Fear is “no, and.” And I guess a critical success is something like, “yes, and even more stuff,” but you get what I mean. Somewhat charming, and I can see the appeal, but my experience with trying to come up with layers of success and failure for Storyteller games have made me a bit weary of that much granularity. Oh well.

There is a sidebar clarifying that there is no such thing as a roll with no consequences – the story always changes in some way, for the better or the worse or a little of both. That much I can get behind, yes.

Okay, here is the “Tag Team” roll. Basically, once per session you can spend 3 Hope and explain how you and another player perform some kind of combo move. You both roll, and then you choose which roll you want to keep and have apply to both of you. If the action was an attack and you succeeded, you both roll damage and add it up. There is also a more standard “Group Action roll” where someone takes the lead and everyone else can make separate rolls that provide bonuses for the leader’s roll if they succeed.

There’s a whole lot of text about how to make a attack roll, but it’s all stuff we’ve seen before. The attack gives you which die to roll, your proficiency tells you how many dice of that type to roll, and you add any bonuses to the result. It’s noted again that damage isn’t subtracted straight from Hit Points in Daggerheart, it’s compared with Thresholds to calculate the number of Hit Points lost, and armour and resistances also factor into it in some way that is yet to be revealed.

Reaction rolls are a special sort of roll that are done when someone else is in the spotlight – mainly, to resist some action of theirs. They don’t generate Hope or Fear, but otherwise work as normal.

Advantages and disadvantages on rolls… just mean that you add 1d6 or subtract 1d6. Okay.

The style of play during battle is described, and here I get a bit confused, because now it seems like the spotlight always shifts to the GM whenever a player fails or rolls with Fear (or when the GM spends Fear to take the spotlight). Is that specific to combat, because I feel like this was described differently earlier? But okay, I guess that works.

Domain cards! You can hold five cards in your “hand” at any given time, while the rest are going to be in your “vault.” The ones in your hand you can use normally, the ones in your vault are inaccessible for now but can be moved back into your hand when you rest or if you’re willing to spend Stress to get them. You might also permanently lose cards, in which case they are removed from play. When you level up, you also get to switch out one card, presumably so you can start using your cool new tricks immediately.

Conditions! There are three universal conditions that can affect play: Hidden, Restrained, and Vulnerable. Hidden means that you’re out of all foes’ immediate sight, so they have a disadvantage on any rolls against you. Restrained means that you can’t move, but you can still take actions that don’t require you to move from the spot. Vulnerable  (that’s the one that happens when you’re all Stressed out, you might recall) means that you’re somehow off balance or on the spot, so all rolls against you have an advantage.

The GM decides how a player can get out of a condition, and it may or may not require a roll. An NPC can always free themselves from a condition when they have the spotlight without needing to roll or spend for it, but then they have to pass the spotlight back to a player.

Countdowns are mentioned as being a way to keep track of when something bad is going to happen, and they can tick down based on whatever criteria the GM sets – any time an action gets made, for example, any time there’s downtime, or any time a player rolls with Fear. We’ll learn more about countdowns later, apparently.

There is a section on ranges. Apparently this game mixes the lackadaisical modern approach, where ranges come in a few loose categories like “within arm’s reach” and “within a stone’s throw,” and the grognardy old-school approach where ranges are carefully measured up and woe betide anyone who gets an inch wrong. Specifically, each category is given a precise number of inches on the tabletop. This… seems like the absolute worst of both worlds, frankly. And again, what happened to being all about Teh Story?! I should not have to break out the measuring tape for a game where it’s all about the fluffy feelz!

Muttermuttermutter… anyway, you can move anywhere that’s Close to you as part of another action, but if you want to move further than that you need to succeed at a roll and the GM decides how hard it will be. Enemies can likewise move within their Close range freely, or can move within their Very Far range by using up their spotlight but without needing to roll for it.

There are rules for cover (disadvantage to rolls against you) and for targeting groups (all members of the group has to be within Very Close range of whatever you aim for) and line of sight and I swear that there is something about all of this that makes me see red. There shouldn’t be all these fiddly rules! Not in a game where everything in the setting itself (what there is of one) is so fluid and undefined! The rules and setting are meant to match, guys! They’re meant to reinforce each other! If you want to go loosey-goosey that’s fine, and if you want to nail down every stray variable that’s also fine, but pick one!

Aaaarrrrgghh. Isn’t this chapter done yet?

Gold! Gold is counted in handfuls, bags, and chests, with 10 handfuls to a bag and 10 bags to a chest. But, it also notes, there aren’t actually any prices set for anything in this book, so it’s up to each GM how much gold to hand out and how much to charge for anything.

But.

But.

Buuuuuuut.

BUT THEN WHY EVEN BOTHER WITH AAAARRGGGGGH AAAARRGGGGGH AAAARRGGGGGH AAAARRGGGGGH AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRGGGGGH!!!!!!

Sorry, sorry, I think I just marked my 6th Stress box and became Vulnerable… But I can do this. There’s just downtime and death left in this part of the chapter.

Downtime! You can take a short rest or a long rest, but once you’ve taken three short rests the next one has to be a long’un. Each option gives you access to different downtime moves, of which you can perform two during each downtime. They involve things like regaining Hit Points, clearing Stress, repairing armour, and gaining Hope. The downtime moves for long rests are, naturally, a little stronger than the ones for short rests – more Hit Points regained, more Stress reduced, etc. However, whenever you stop moving, the GM also gains Fear, 1d4 at a short rest and 1d4+the number of players for a long rest. Works for me. You can also work at some project, like crafting a weapon or something.

Death! When you mark your last Hit Point, you have three choices. You can go out in a “blaze of glory”: choose to perform one action of your choice that automatically gets a critical success, then you die. You can “risk it all,” in which case you make a roll and if you roll with Hope you regain some Hit Points and can continue, but if you roll with Fear you die. Or you can “avoid death,” in which case you get knocked unconscious and maybe permanently get your maximum amount of Hope reduced by 1.

Okay, I have nothing to complain about in the last two sections. But man, this isn’t getting any easier.

Grimdark Principles

Woo! I have been hard at work with my Dark Heresy port – which I realise is all that I ever talk about lately, but when I get manic about something I need to ride it until it starts boring me again, at which point I can get manic about something else – and I’m actually pretty close to having it ready as a playable game. There is some fine-tuning, but most of it is in sorting the rules into a more easily accessible format. The actual function of them I think I can more or less stand by at this point.

For this week, have a look at my Principles. Principles are one of my favourite parts of Powered by the Apocalypse – they’re specific assumptions and elements of playstyle that goes with the particular setting and genre of a particular game. I had to rewrite these about a million times, but now I think they actually work for the sort of game I’ve been running. Here they are:

  • Never whisper when you can roar. The forty-first millennium has no room for subtlety. Everything about it is oversized, overwrought, overwhelming, and not least of all loud. There are no genteel duels on sunlit streets, only frantic no-holds-barred chainsaw-wielding brawls fought atop the broken stained glass of ruined cathedrals; no calm discussions between dispassionate parties, only furious demands shouted over the thunder of enemy gunfire. Whenever you frame a scene, ask yourself: how could this be more operatic and baroque?
  • Fill the world with brooding ruins; afflict everything with slow rot. The galaxy is old, its decadent empires stubbornly clinging to life even as they are dragged, inch by inch, towards oblivion. Nor is anything replacing them – those that manage to prosper in this time of fire and blood are those that have no interest in building anything of their own, only in tearing down or consuming what already exists. The decay isn’t fast, but it’s omnipresent, visible in the blasted skylines of bombed-out cities and the jagged scars of grizzled veterans. Everything is either old and worn out, or new and crudely inferior.
  • Spin webs of baffling complexity. Nothing is simple and elegant. Everything is covered with unnecessary details and slathered in adjustments, caveats, reworkings and contradictory purposes. Every culture has a convoluted history that has given rise to bizarre practices, and every piece of machinery has been jury-rigged from components originally meant for something else. Things that are meant to be covert are even more so; whatever part of a secret plan you manage to unravel is probably a diversion designed to cover a deeper agenda, or else it was meant to go down a whole different way but was sabotaged by unplanned events or a third faction. If something seems straightforward and common-sensical, it means that you haven’t added enough detail and contradiction to it yet.
  • Beneath every demoralising appearance, hide an even more awful truth. Things always seem pretty bad, and they’re invariably even worse than that. If you think that you have a predator on your trail, there is probably a second one lying in ambush ahead of you. If you’re tracking a skeevy underhive cult, it will turn out to be only the smallest part of a vast, powerful conspiracy reaches into the highest spires. Whomever you most rely on will either stab you in the back or die right before your eyes. Show plenty of problems and threats to the players, and for each one secretly ask yourself: how might this be worse than it seems?
  • Hoard knowledge and spread deceit. Knowledge in the Imperium is at once tightly controlled and rapidly decaying. No one has a complete picture – the real facts are either strictly classified, distorted by propaganda, or simply forgotten or misfiled. As acolytes of the Inquisition, the players have a duty to separate the truth from the lies, but they should have their work cut out for them; even the most trifling pieces of accurate data are furiously protected and once acquired, turn out to have large holes in them.
  • Show that humanity is fleeting. The Imperium is fighting for mankind against all that would see it end, against the alien xenos and the mutating powers of the Warp. However, the way it fights invariably eats away at the humanity of its people in turn. Imperial Commanders accept, or initiate, horrific widespread atrocities because it’s the only way to keep the system going, turning the strong into sadistic monsters and the weak into whimpering animals. Psykers invite the Warp into their own minds for the power to meet it on the battlefield. Tech-priests replace their bodies with metal out of loathing for human weakness. Even Astartes, supposedly the ultimate champions of Man, have turned themselves into lumbering, brainwashed killing machines that have little resemblance to the men they once were. On every side, show human nature suppressed or corrupted, stolen away or abandoned.
  • Let there be no innocence, only degrees of guilt. No one is pure, no matter how impeccably they present themselves. The seemingly noblest of people are still driven to acts of petty spite and hubristic arrogance by the strain of their position. Lesser souls, realising that there is little justice in the galaxy and that their ultimate fate will likely be a grim one, sell out their integrity for a slightly more bearable life here and now. Some people are worse than others – there are depths of depravity in the galaxy that the common, everyday sinner could barely even imagine, much less partake in – but no one is both completely sane and completely righteous, and most are some combination of crazy and corrupt.
  • Explore the brutal power of faith. Faith in the Imperium is not about gentle comfort and community; it is a thing of cleansing fire and blood-soaked martyrdom, of baying mobs and dungeons echoing with screams. Faith can turn a crowd of cowering peasants into a conquering army, can move planets on their axis, can spit in the face of Hell itself. Terrifying, psychotic certainty is a weapon as powerful as any bolter, and as volatile as a promethium refinery. Let the players try to use it to their advantage, but also put them to the risk of finding themselves on the wrong side of someone’s crusade.
  • Make every victory pyrrhic. Victory is always possible even in the grim darkness of the far future. After all, if there was no reason to fight, how could there be war? However, victory is rarely uplifting or hopeful. Rather, it never comes without losses, casualties, and the dismal knowledge that this can’t go on much longer. Never let a victory completely restore the status quo. Every triumph has a too-heavy cost, and entropy always increases, whether from the collateral damage of the fight or from the ever-accumulating injuries and mental scars of the fighters.
  • Treat technology as magic. The Imperium uses advanced technology while being almost wholly ignorant of science. The oldest and most powerful devices are relics that no one knows how to build anymore, and even machines and tools that come off the assembly line are constructed by rote, according to ancient instructions that are treated with religious awe. As far as Imperials are concerned, their weapons and vehicles work by the will of the machine-spirits, who are appeased through maintenance rituals; accordingly, any high-tech device will be decorated with fanciful engravings and colourful prayer rolls to keep it in a good mood. This also means that “high” and “low” technology exists side by side, with waxen candles burning atop cogitor banks and the instructions for operating a mechanic walker being scribbled on vellum. Whenever technology is mentioned, add some detail to hint at how completely its wielders misunderstand it.
  • Relish the players’ fight against impossible odds. The players may be tiny insects struggling against the vagaries of an uncaring cosmos, but the story is nevertheless about that struggle. They are the antiheroes of this tragedy, destined to ultimately fall but compelling for their desperate struggle against their dark fate. Push them to the brink, because that’s where they have the chance to shine; cheer their temporary victories and relish the Heavy Metal brutality of their inevitable defeats. Don’t go easy on them, but always give them a way to fight back, to prove their manful defiance of the odds stacked against them.
  • Portray visceral realities, not abstract rules. Never treat the numbers and the rules like they have an existence of their own. Mechanical effects – injuries, penalties, moves – come from the fiction and have consequences in the fiction. If you’re down a few Wounds, then you have a specific injury; if you’ve gained a few Insanity Points, then some past event still haunts your mind. Never apply a rule without noting what part of the grimdark reality it represents.
  • Demand immediate action. Things in Dark Heresy happens quickly, relentlessly, and often brutally. Threats are always escalating, the chrono is forever running out. Whenever you stop talking, demand to know what the players are doing about what you just said, and then build off of their actions to a new dilemma. Keep the situation ever-changing and the players engaged in it.

Psykers being psykic

I have been hard at work this week adjusting the Dark Heresy Careers to my new idea of how to structure the port. Mostly it has given met yet another new idea for how to structure the port that I will eventually have to adjust the entire rule set to, but… let’s leave that for the future, I think.

Anyway, the part I’m most proud of is the modified rules for psychic powers. As with most things DH, I keep struggling to keep it simple and elegant, but end up having to settle for making it simpler than the original rules (which is, let’s be honest, not a very high bar to clear). In this case, I had to give psychic powers a slightly different structure than most special moves, by incorporating the Fettered/Unfettered/Push scale from Deathwatch and onward. The goal being to make something that’s relatively straightforward to use but still captures the randomness of Warhammer 40,000 psychic shenanigans.

Thus, I present to you, my new and improved rules! The progression in psychic strength depends on four Talents, like so:

TALENT: PSY RATING 1

When you draw on the power of the Warp and get a result of 10+, you achieve a Minor Success on if you used the power on Unfettered strength and a Basic Success if you used the power on Push strength.

TALENT: PSY RATING 2

When you draw on the power of the Warp and get a result of 10+, you achieve a Minor Success on if you used the power on Fettered Strength, a Basic Success if you use it on Unfettered strength, and a Major Success if you used the power on Push strength.

TALENT: PSY RATING 3

Choose one Psychic Discipline. You may now learn Psychic Powers from it.

TALENT: PSY RATING 4

When you draw on the power of the Warp and get a result of 10+, you achieve a Basic Success on if you used the power on Fettered Strength, a Major Success if you use it on Unfettered strength, and an Absolute Success if you used the power on Push strength.

And all of those refer to the actual move draw on the power of the Warp, which looks like this. Brace yourself now, this gets long:

SPECIAL MOVE: DRAW ON THE POWER OF THE WARP

When you draw on the power of the Warp, decide which strength to use: Fettered, Unfettered, or Push. Then roll +Willpower. 10+, you succeed at a level depending on the strength you used and the Talent that gave you access to the move.

  • Minor Success: you activate a Minor Psychic Power that you possess, but you exhaust your will; take -1 ongoing to draw on the power of the Warp until you’ve had a chance to rest and meditate.
  • Basic Success: you activate a Minor Psychic Power that you possess.
  • Major Success: choose one of:
    • You activate a Psychic Power that you possess.
    • You activate a Minor Psychic Power that you possess, and also hold 1 that can be spent on activating a Minor Psychic Power that you possess at a later time without the need to roll.
  • Absolute Success: choose one of:
    • You activate a Psychic Power that you possess, and also hold 1 that can be spent on activating a Psychic Power that you possess at a later time without the need to roll.
    • You activate a Minor Psychic Power that you possess, and also hold 2 that can be spent on activating a Minor Psychic Power that you possess at a later time without the need to roll.

In addition, if both your dice showed the same number, you manifest a Psychic Phenomenon depending on the strength you used and the number rolled.

  • Fettered: your disciplined caution keeps most of the energies you wield in check, only allowing them to hint at their undying malice.
  1. For a few seconds, voices echo oddly around you, as if you were standing in a vast cavern.
  2. A loathsome stench spreads around you.
  3. A fine coating of frost grows on every surface in your immediate surroundings.
  4. All animals in your immediate surroundings become spooked and restless.
  5. All food and drink in your immediate surroundings instantly spoil.
  6. All mirrors within your immediate surroundings crack.
  7. All plants within your immediate surroundings wither and die.
  8. Blood pours from stone and wood around you. Any carven idols or statues appear to be weeping blood.
  9. You and everyone within short range of you become short of breath for a few seconds, unable to run or exert themselves until the feeling passes.
  10. For a few seconds, utter darkness descends on an area within reach of you.
  • Unfettered: you trifled with forces beyond your understanding, and some of their destructive potential slipped your grasp. You still contain the worst of it, but all the same you’ve just demonstrated why psykers are not safe to be around.
  1. Everyone currently looking at you are forced to recoil in fear as they see you with a horrifying visage for a split instant. You also gain 1 Corruption Point.
  2. All mechanical devices around you temporarily seize to work. All ranged weapons drop to 0 Ammo.
  3. Ghostly apparitions appear around you for a few seconds. You and every player within short range of you gain 1 Insanity Point.
  4. Everyone within short range of you are knocked off their feet by a sudden earthquake.
  5. A piercing wail causes everyone within short range of you to be deafened for a few hours. Anything made of glass shatters.
  6. Uncontrollable Warp energies courses through your unprotected mind. You gain 1d5 Insanity Points.
  7. You and every player within short range of you gain 1d5l Insanity Points from glimpsing the heart of the Warp.
  8. A psychic shockwave emanates from you. Roll to refuse to fall, and everyone within reach of you becomes stunned for a long moment.
  9. Everyone within reach of you suffers a momentary rage and must attack whoever is closest to them. Players also each gain 1 Corruption Point.
  10. You and everyone within reach of you are flung about as high into the air as a second-story window. Anyone who can’t stop their fall somehow suffers injury as normal when hitting the ground again.
  • Push: foolishly, you opened the gates of the Immaterium wide, and what now comes pouring through them is beyond anyone’s control. The cost of your hubris may be steep.
  1. You wink out of existence and appear again, without knowledge of the intervening time, about half a minute later.
  2. Blood rains from the sky, and for the next short while you can only draw on the power of the Warp with Push strength.
  3. You switch bodies with another person near you for a few seconds. You gain 1d10 Insanity Points from the experience, and if the other person is a player, they do as well.
  4. Dark energies course through your body. You gain 1d10 Corruption Points and cannot attempt to draw on the power of the Warp again for an hour.
  5. The Warp touches everyone around you. You and every player within long range of you must roll to shield yourself with disgust.
  6. A Lesser Daemon materialises. It will eventually be forced to return to the Warp, but before then it’s free to work its malice.
  7. You become the epicentre for an explosion of psychic energy. You and everyone within reach of you take a hit for 1d10h damage, and all your carried equipment is instantly destroyed, including your clothes.
  8. Gravity reverses itself within long range of you, causing everything to fall upward for about half a minute.
  9. A daemon possesses you. It offers you your body back in return for you performing a heinous act that will irrevocably doom your soul. If you accept, the daemon remains in the back of your mind for as long as you work towards your sinister goal, ready to take back control permanently if it thinks you show insufficient enthusiasm, only leaving once you have held up your end. If you refuse, or if the daemon declares you in breach of the agreement at a later date, you permanently become a Daemonhost; make a new character.
  10. A rift in reality is torn opens and you’re sucked through, never to be seen again. Make a new character.

Where I Read: Daggerheart (part four)

All right, communities. They can represent either a location, an ethos, or a common goal, meaning that more than one could apply to your character’s background, but you should choose the one that has most defined their outlook. Also, it’s all very complicated and nuanced and you should consider your character’s inner-most delicate feelings and THIS IS A GAME WHERE YOU CAN PLAY A WALKING FUNGUS WITH A TURTLE SHELL WILL YOU PLEASE STOP PRETENDING THAT IT’S SOME KIND OF HIGH ART?!!!

Sorry, sorry, I just couldn’t hold it in anymore. Honestly, it’s probably a miracle that it took this long for this readthrough to turn into an angry rant, usually that happens on circa page four…

Okay, let’s try to get through this without further outbursts…

Highborne communities… well, they’re nobles, basically. High and mighty, like to think that they’re better than the people who are really not their sort of people. They get an advantage on rolls to negotiate with those impressed by titles and wealth, which, let’s face it, are a not inconsiderable portion of the population. A suggested variation is that the aristocracy might actually be a magocracy, with nobles being those with magical powers.

Loreborne communities are all about learning and skill, and of furiously politicking to rise through the ranks. Guilds and schools are both typical Lorebornes. They get an advantage to rolls to have read about something in a book at some point.

Orderborne communities are ones that be described as an “order,” a group of people who think that they stand for something and are very serious about it. Clerical and knightly orders are the obvious examples. Once per day, they get to roll a d20 as their Hope Die if they can explain how what they’re doing is in keeping with their beliefs.

Ridgeborne communities are sturdy hill folk with a chip on their shoulder about how those damn dirty flatlanders can’t be trusted. That’s about it, they live in the mountains and hills where most people don’t wanna live. They get an advantage on traversing and surviving in harsh environments.

Seaborne communities live by and off of the water, as sailors, fishermen or pirates. Some might even be nomads who live their whole lives on their ships. Every time they roll with Fear, they get a token that they can trade in for a bonus on another roll, because they “can sense the ebb and flow of life.”

Slyborne communities are crooks, your basic thieves and scoundrels from the wrong side of the magic-powered train tracks. They lie, scheme, and get in trouble with the law. They get an advantage to rolls to detect lies, hide, or negotiate with criminals. There’s also some flavour descriptions of gambling dens, black markets and hideouts with hidden escape routes.

Underborne communities live underground, either in your typical fantasy gigantic cave system or just in a hole in the ground like a hobbit. There are some examples of houses hanging from the roof in the silk of giant spiders, or being built into the base of stalagmites. They get an advantage on rolls to either spot or hide in an area with poor light.

Wanderborne communities are fully nomadic. Examples offered are people traveling in great big air balloons, piloting kite-drawn skimmers across the sea, or just walking on their own two feet and living in portable dwellings. They get the ability to spend Hope to reach into their pack and take out precisely what they needed for the situation they’re currently in.

Wildborne communities live deep in the woods to commune with Nature. Possibilities include tree houses, hollowed-out trunks, or homes built into giant mushrooms. They get an advantage on rolls to move without being heard.

So that’s all of them. Okay, so none of that is terrible or anything, and some of the flavour ideas are nice, certainly it’s more interesting to have the players come upon a village of dwarves living in giant mushrooms than just have them stumble on yet another community of dirt farmers, but I don’t really like how non-mutually-exclusive a lot of these are. Honestly, I feel like these are the ones that should have been possible to combine for additional customization, not the ancestries. For instance, a pirate should be a mix of Slyborne and Seaborne, a scion of a magical overclass should be Highborne and Loreborne, a monk from a mountain monastery should be Ridgeborne and Orderborne… I feel like that would have made for more interesting and nuanced characters than being the bastard offspring of a turtle and a toadstool… Oh well.

The chapter ends with a long teary-eyed lecture on how to play disabled characters Sensitively, and I have decided that I’m not going to touch it with a ten-foot pole. Instead, I’ll try to get back into the spirit of things by trying out the character creation system.

So, first up I need a class and a subclass. Let’s go with Wizard, of the School of Learning. I’m all about the utility spells! I’m instructed to take my subclass’ foundation card – ah, okay, so you do get it for free, I missed that earlier – which in my case means I can take an extra domain card, and also I can take Stress instead of spending Hope when I want to invoke an Experience. Because my brain is all big and shit, see.

Further fringe benefits: I have the ability to perform flavour magic tricks at will, and when I roll a number I like (let’s say 5) on a die I gain Hope or clear Stress. I have the ability to make an enemy reroll a successful attack against me by spending 3 Hope. Naa na na na – na na – na na – can’t touch this…

I also get either a book I’m trying to translate or a small, harmless elemental pet. Okay, I decide that I travel alongside Sparky, my pet fire-imp. There are also a bunch of questions, and I’ll get to those, but let’s put the character together a bit more first.

Hum hum, I start with level 1, makes sense… Choose my name and pronouns, my name is Scielbald Fleetflipper and I’m a boy-frog (at the moment, at least – us frogs are known to switch depending on environmental factors…). Ancestry, as I just alluded to I’m a Ribbet, because while I’m not as psyched about that as I started out being I still think it might be fun.

Community… well, there it gets a little more interesting, doesn’t it? I could really double down on the nerd angle and go with Loreborne, but that feels a little too boring. So let’s say I’m Seaborne. I grew up among the fisher-frogs on the banks of the Great Gahoola Lake, until I was apprenticed by a wandering wizard. That’ll get me that ability to gather up bonus from Fear, making me more mystical.

Character Traits… well, my spellcasting comes from Knowledge, so I’d better take +2 in that. I also think I’m pretty good at hopping and skipping, so let’s put the +1s in Agility and Finesse. My spindly little frog-limbs don’t lend themselves to heavy lifting, so let’s put the -1 in Strength. That leaves the +0s for Presence and Instinct. I’m a little too bookish to be good at social niceties and noticing what’s going on around me.

As a Wizard, I start with 5 Hit Points and Evasion 11, and like all characters I start with 6 Stress boxes and 2 points of Hope.

Equipment! Apparently I get suggestions for equipment in my character guide. I had to spend some time trying to find my character guide, but it was hiding at the back of the book. It apparently suggests I start with a quarterstaff and leather armour. Sounds good. I also get a bunch of other standard adventurer stuff like rope and rations. Fine, fine – equipment always bores me.

Okay, so now it’s time to answer those background questions. Let’s go find them.

“What responsibilities did your community once count on you for? How did you let them down?” I was meant to follow in my father’s flipper-steps as the wiseman and lorekeeper of our village, and I was only meant to study enough magic to be more useful. However, once I saw the wonders of the world outside, I could never bring myself to return.

“You’ve spent your life searching for a book or object of great significance. What is it, and why is it so important to you?” I am searching for the Frozen Egg of Eugastine the Truth-Croaker. She was a great hero of the Gahoolan lands, but her bloodline has been extinguished over the years. Legend has it that one of her eggs was preserved in magical statis, and if it could be found and revived, the heir of Eugastine might yet return. If I could do that, it would prove that my wanderings were ultimately in my family’s interest, and I would be vindicated and forgiven!

“You have a powerful rival. Who are they, and why are you so determined to defeat them?” Ah, that would be that puffed-up buffoon Martinus Bloodwart! He’s always getting ahead of me, snatching up tomes of eldritch lore by offering prices that I can match. He seems to think that the High Art of magic is something you can buy your way to. Well, I’ll show him that the Gift cannot be bought for gold!

Next I choose two Experiences. Let’s go with “Lake-Town Shaman” and “Travel the World in Search of Elusive Lore.” That sums up my main conflict pretty well.

Then I need to choose my domain cards. Usually I’d choose two from the first-level cards for Codex and Splendour, but my foundation card gives me an extra one, so three in total. The Codex cards are all “grimoires,” so they give me several spells apiece. The ones I can choose between are Book of Ava (lets you knock people back, strengthen armour, and summon an ice spike), Book of Illiat (put people to sleep, shoot magic missiles, and speak to people telepathically), and Book of Tyfar (set people on fire, conjure a mist, and telekinetically lift things). For Splendour I can take Bolt Beacon (damage an enemy, and also they glow in the dark and get easy to hit), Mending Touch (heal) and Reassurance (let an ally reroll their dice).

Well, first of all, this is… really kind of flavourless. I mean, it’s pretty clearly repackaged D&D spells, but D&D spells are quirky and fun. These ones barely bother to tell you what they do other than strictly mechanical effects. Oh, all right, all right. I guess I’ll take Book of Illiat, Book of Tyfar, and Mending Touch. That’ll give me some nice tricks up my sleeve.

The last part is connections to other players, but as I have no other players, I guess I’m done. Well… I guess I can see myself playing this character, sure? There’s some quirky appeal to him, he’s got a nice range of abilities (almost a little too many, but it’s within reasonable limits), and there’s fuel for me to ham it up and get over-enthusiastic about stuff, which is really my forte as a player. But I can’t say that I’m all too psyched, either. It’s all passable, but it’s also all kind of… meh.

I can’t believe they took the fun out of playing a humanoid frog…