A Case for Lovecraft in High Level D&D

Spoilers for The Case of Charles Dexter Ward to follow.

As my understanding of D&D and the gameplay it allows has progressed, I have become more and more sceptical of the potential for running effective Lovecraftian games at high levels. This is often because Lovecraft's works have focused on their protagonists being small, naive, and powerless, whilst D&D creates player characters that are borderline demigods. There is little to fear from the Great Old Ones when you can summon them to your doorstep or banish them to other realms with a snap of your fingers.

Recently though, I was reminded of a lesser known tale of Lovecraft's work that I think could work well for a campaign. It isn't one that is so hands on with the eldritch lore or summoning of outer realm entities, but it is one that I believe would still work for higher level play, whilst also working with the pulp-like style of D&D: H.P. Lovecraft's The Case of Charles Dexter Ward.

Firenewts: Fire, Life, and Blood

Firenewts are a people shaped by the innate belief that heat and life are one and the same. Creatures can of course live in low heat, but life- passion, love, goals, emotions- can only truly be felt in the presence of warmth and fire.

They feel pity for other cold-blooded races. For brief moments, they can feel truly alive when basking in the sun. But in truth their hearts are hollow and devoid of heat. Humans, dwarves, and other such creatures fare somewhat better, for they too can carry warmth within them. But the firenewts- born of lava and devoted to the flames- are amongst the most alive of all creatures of flesh.

Firenewt skin is translucent; it is mostly clear with red markings. Their flesh and organs come in hues of orange and red. As they move and twist and flex, their bodies look like liquid fire. This is where the rumour comes from that they and salamanders are one and the same.

Cannot find original source. If you know where it's from, let me know!

Firenewts need heat to spawn. Their tadpoles grow in lava vents, hot springs, and cauldrons. For this reason their intergenerational communities are limited in size. Urban groups find homes in hot houses, spas, and greenhouses. Their broods are tended to in cauldrons over open flames, and their free time is spent in saunas and steam rooms.

Out in the wilderness, they live around volcanoes.

Firenewt Tables

Like this, but with a sword and riding an ostrich

These tables are in relation to an upcoming post on my personal take on firenewts. They can be used separate from that interpretation though provided that you are alright with using firenewts as a society with a history of militaristic politics, slavery, and fire worship.

Giving Tortle Cultures a Backbone

Get it? Because their spinal cord and ribcage are fused into a shell, making it seem like they don't have a spine but in fact they do and– I think I made my point.

Tortles were released into the D&D world with two (arguably three if you want to start an AC debate) issues. Firstly, their lifespans are not reasonable for a chelonian race. Whilst real world chelonians do have lifespans within the 50 year range (e.g. C. mydas lives around 80 years, D. coriacea estimates range between 30-80 years), turtles are commonly depicted as long lived (predominantly due to the lifespan of species such as C. nigra and M. temminckii), and an opportunity for a race with longevity rivalling elves was poorly missed here.

The second issue is one that is not unique to the tortle but will inevitably be one that shapes their role in D&D games: they lack cultural variation and identity that makes them unique and interesting options for players. I can almost guarantee that the first time most people meet tortle NPCs, they will be on one island, all have one way of life, and be present so that DMs can tick off another race on their checklists and players have somewhere they can call home and never go to so that they can play their totally original idea for an adolescent tortle monk.

Let's try and remedy that.

Consider the Flumph

The flumph is one of many larval stages of an Old One. Understanding the flumph becomes a lot easier when you equate them to a larval echinoderm or fish fry.

Like this, but with more madness.

The flumph is small, hard to detect, and weak. They are produced with the knowledge that many of them will die before entering their next stage of development. This knowledge is known to the flumph, for they are wise in their youth.

Consider the Sibriex

Sibriex art by Christopher Burdett.

Note: this is about characterising and roleplaying the sibriex, not running it in combat. For the latter, I would recommend reading themonstersknow's post.

The sibriex is one of the many offspring of an Abyss, spawned painfully and in pain. Its appearance shows this clearly: a warping, bulbous mass of flesh, scutes, and boils, with “a massive cluster of bulbous sacs that coat the creature’s entire head, each of which is filled with what appear to be eggs for some other unknown Abyssal monster” (3.5e). Rusted chains tether it to the ground, anchoring its bulbous body of gases and juices to the land. The demon smells of roadkill: exhaust fumes, decomposing flesh, and fecal matter. Their creases fester with fats and sweat.