Consider the Treants

The prompt ping pong has come to a halt due to no fault on either end. We may resume it in the future, but I'm not making promises in the current state of things.

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In the Shadow of the Ancients 
by JasonEngle

Treants (or ents, if you want a Tolkien copyright, or tree-people if you think treants are just tree-ants) are plant people. It is important to remember this, because plants have a different subset of needs and traits that inform their societies.

They don't need agriculture, because their food is all around them. They do practice some forms of farming for pest control. Rot grubs are put in rotten bark to eat away the dead parts and retain the healthy growth. Bats and insect-eating birds are given roosting priorities to keep leaf-eating insects at bay.

They don't need housing - after all, being a giant walking tree leaves you with few predators to ward away, and being exposed to the sky and rain is sort of important. Their homes are their forests, which in turn define their family units - their groves. Treants are not born, but instead 'awaken' from old trees. When a tree is close to waking up, the grove moves close to protect it, and to ready the surrounding area for its first cumbersome steps.

Making My Own New Crobuzon

I saw that this post by The Githyanki Diaspora has come up to the surface, and thought I'd give it a go as a way to ease myself back into blog posting (been very busy this past month, hence the drop in activity and relatively low quality of this post).

The concept is straightforward: take three monstrous humanoids and three monstrous monsters. These are the residents of your New Crobuzon (based on the city within China Mieville's Bas Lag trilogy). I've decided to go with monsters found in 5th edition D&D to the surprise of none.

Styx by Circle Art

The City

A canal city, founded across a Stygian archipelago. The dead wash upon their shores and float through their canals, providing nutrients and income. Those that aren't quite dead bring with them a willingness to do anything to survive - a willingness that is fully exploited and is an essential part of the city's biome.

The city is simply known as 'the city' to many. The Styx's influence on the memory is strong, and trying to place a name on things is harder still when every bit of water within the city is tainted with the Styx's influence. Over time, all residents lose themselves, becoming a caricature of who they once were and an archetypal resident.

The Residents

Myconids: Decomposers of the bodies that wash up within the city; their mycelium stretch out across the canals and bridges. Many myconids escape within the shared spore-driven dream, clinging onto their shared memories to maintain a state of remembrance and cultural identity. Their physical forms meanwhile remain docile and drugged, used as labourers, messengers, and ferrymen.

Sprites: Sprites are the keepers of law and authority within the city. The city's law is not that of the book, but of the heart, for they can see the true colours of those they touch. They make their homes in the slumbering myconid sovereigns, where they cast judgemental looks at the fiends that they share the city with.

Succubi/Incubi: Where there are souls willing to give themselves willingly to anyone able to give them even the briefest respite from the end, there are fiends ready to be of service. Whilst this was the original reason for their settlement, succubi have grown to enjoy the lack of attention they get here; there are few unwanted lustful looks to be had from mushrooms. Their natural aptitude for charisma leads incubi and succubi to take roles in diplomacy and bartering, whilst their superior ability to defend themselves over myconids and sprites also lends many of them to take security roles.

Crokek'toeck from Baldur's Gate - Descent into Avernus

The Outsiders

Crokek'toeck: This lumbering beast is a mascot of sorts to the city, acting as transport between the city's main islands. It is unaffected by the influence of the Styx, and many theorise that, if it were only smarter, it would be an invaluable resource of information on the city's history and residents.

Intellect Devourers: A customary assassination involves providing the target with an elaborate chest, within which is an intellect devourer that has been chosen to start a new life in the city, taking the victim's place and aiming to amend or avoid the mistakes they made. Many parasitise Crokek'toeck or lurk in the undercity, waiting to ambush unsuspecting victims.

Ixitxachitl: Below the waters of the Styx, the ray-like ixitxachitl act as the city's criminal underworld. For an extortionate price, they'll help those that fall into the waters; for an even higher one, they'll give them back to their families after holding the victim for ransom and taking glee in watching their memories and minds deteriorate.

Sources:

Crokek'toeck - Baldur's Gate – Descent into Avernus, pg 230
Intellect devourer - Monster Manual, pg 191
Ixitxachitl - Out of the Abyss, pg 225-226
Myconid - Monster Manual, pg 230-232
Sprite - Monster Manual, pg 283
Succubus/Incubus - Monster Manual, pg 284-285

How a Dwarf is Made

Updated on 24/09/2019 to add more depth. Thank you to my readers for getting me to do more with this; I appreciate it when people show interest in my ideas, and when they're willing to tell me that these ideas need to be worked on.

Dwarves are not born; they're made. When a dwarf wants to make a child, they collect materials and begin their project. For some it takes months, others years to get their child together. Some dwarves find themselves overcome by a desire to construct new life - a moment of flash brilliance, akin to a eureka moment. Whilst this may be directed into other constructive pursuits, the potential to make children is always there.

The materials shape the dwarf, but the exact specifics of how are unknown. A mixture of geology and physiognomy is sought to inform the parents of what is best used for their child. The most common material is clay; easy to work with and mold, good for creating a sense of character. Others may be made of soapstone or alabaster. Dwarves with a marble birth are seen in many cultures as being of higher stock, as marble cannot be reworked once carved, meaning they were made with skilled hands and a great deal of preparation.

With no bloodlines to speak of, families and clans are defined by what materials they were made from, where those materials were collected from, and who brought them into the living world. Family relations and proximity can be defined by impurities in the building materials. Whilst an adult dwarf is for all intents and purposes made of flesh, elements of their rock-form still remain in their appearance. Parents are defined by those that crafted their body and whispered the words of life to them. This means a dwarf could have only one parent, or could have half a dozen.

Each child is unique, each one perfect and flawed in its own ways. Baby dwarves look more like golems than adults; as they age they come to resemble living things more and more. During their development they are malleable, both in mind and in body. Strict parents may threaten their children with being returned to the kiln for further work.

When they are created, they are traditionally given time to set, both physically and spiritually. This is time for the earth to find them and know their presence, and for the spirit of the child to find its way into its new body. Once this time comes to an end, the parent(s) hold their child close, whisper their name to them, and give them life.

Of course, time has taken its toll and changed the ways children come into being. Midwives can be commissioned to sculpt a child on one's behalf, or to at least take a more prominent role in smoothing out features and cleaning up the model before life is given. Households may hire the same sculptor time and time again, each with their own signature style of craftsmanship. The discovery of golemancy and the making of constructs has caused cracks in dwarven culture, with some seeing them as a human would see a newly-discovered primate, whilst others see them with the same sense of looming fear as modern man sees a robot/A.I. takeover.

Industrial creation is always an option, though many would claim the children made in the same casts and forges lack the same depth of character, the same intricacies of personhood. There is little to make them unique, no caring touch of a parent, no nurturing loved one to hold their cold body close and bring them into the waking world. In some communities, bringing new dwarves into being is overseen by a committee to ensure the construction is reasonable and follows the community's values.

In rare cases, dwarves may seek to create child clones of themselves. Whilst this is possible - reports do speak of entire clone colonies made to explore new caverns and set up duplicate settlements - the process of creation does not absolutely determine the individual's personality, only their external form.

Myths speak of the dwarves being crafted into being, then being taught how to make more of their own kind. Many more tales of old speak of heroes made from polished marble, tragic heroes covered in deep crack-like scars, and the construction of sentient prosthetic limbs crafted after losing limbs in battle.

Consider the Sahuagin

Deciding how I want to do sahuagin - or shark-people in general for non-D&D settings - has been difficult, mostly because I haven't wanted to categorise them as inherently 'evil', but at the same time want to evoke the feelings of the official sahuagin and address the elements one would expect from a society of mutant hexapodal shark-men. Here's where I'm up to so far.

character concept by Giorgio Baroni

Sahuagin are predators at heart, and are fully aware of it. They haven't succumbed to bestial fury, but have instead built a culture around their instincts to hunt.

Their connection to sharks is one akin to man's first relations with wolves; not full domestication, but not outright hostility. There is a mutual recognition of kinship and respect, and the sharkfolk have over time developed the ability to manipulate sharks and their relatives to aid them in their hunts, or shoal in designated waters.

Different sharks are chosen for different purposes and regions. Tiger and lemon sharks aid in pack hunting; many a diver has been caught off guard by how tactical a sahuagin hunting pack can be. Hammerhead groups of ~100 individuals guard treasure and lairs, whilst white sharks are bargained with by leaders as guards and enforcers. A few tales speak of gargantuan, ancient sharks being called allies of the sahuagin, with the beasts coming and going for decades at a time, depending on what suits their fancy.

Response to A Tradition

I haven't posted anything here in a while, and I often find the best way to get back into blog post writing is to start off with something simple and keep that ball rolling. So for today, I decided to respond to the following Tumblr prompt by sonatagreen (original post here):

In peacetime, the ruler grows their hair long. In war, they cut it short.
A ruler with long hair is held in great esteem, for defending the peace.
The traditional declaration of war is for the ruler to send their cut off hair to the enemy ruler. The statement carries greater weight the longer the hair: the receive long hair says that you have angered one who is slow to anger, that you have incurred a wrath not easily woken.

And here is a response by wakor-rising that was included in the screenshot I initially saw of the post:

Violent war-mongering leader frantically and aggressively tries to shave just a LITTLE hair off the top of their head into an envelope.
A faraway king receives a heavy wooden crate filled with a coil of the longest hair he has ever seen.
A despised ruler finds hundreds of pounds of cut-off ponytails at her castle entrance, each one belonging to her own people.
A young emperor refuses to cut their hair and insists on trying to make peace with invaders. The enemy leader steps forward, draws their blade, and cuts the emperor's hair themselves.
Hellen cuts her hair off and throws it in Cathy's face at her son's soccer scrimmage.

The notion of hair as a symbol of power and the symbolic losing of one's hair isn't a new concept. In the Hebrew Bible, we have Samson, who gained supernatural strength from being a nazirite (an Israelite who, amongst other things, allows their hair to grow long and doesn't cut it). When his hair is cut, Samson loses this power. A more recent take on this theme can be seen in George R R Martin's Dothraki, who braid their hair with bells after each victory and have their hair cut as a symbol of shame upon defeat. Culturally, we see hair and its presentation have prominence in multiple cultures, as a sign of power, life, beauty, and civility.

So the idea of hair as a sign of stability definitely has roots in real life and past fiction. The notion of cutting hair short in times of conflict also serves as a good practical practice: just as horse tails may be knotted to stop people using them for leverage, so too might rulers wish to have short hair so it cannot be used against them in combat.

Of course, there are multiple factors that could also come into play in such a culture, which add a lot of depth to such a setting. For example, methods of masking the true length of one's hair: in ancient Rome, Caesar hid his thinning hair with a laurel wreath, as a full head of hair was seen as desirable. In a similar way, rulers with short hair may use hair extensions or wigs to mask the true length of their hair, whilst hats and crowns may be seen as obvious forms of deceit, and as such be seen as unfavourable for a ruler to wear. Rulers who aren't gifted with long locks may have to seek other ways of providing large quantities of hair, such as having professional 'hair growers' to harvest from.

There is also the potential for scalping: forcibly removing hair - roots and all - from the scalp, leaving the victim with heavy scarring and the inability to grow hair in those areas. This would surely be seen as a ruthless form of defeating or humiliating a ruler. Alternatively, it could be seen as a dishonourable act on the part of the aggressor, as it gives the victim no option to participate in this culture of peaceful presentation and forewarning of battle.

Societal customs outside of nobility could also show influences from this practice (as in the case of wakor-rising's soccer game). People with long hair are seen as more level-headed and reasonable whilst those with short hair are more temperamental and violent. Barbers may hold a higher status, given their profession of shaping and shearing this status symbol. Those with long hair may wear protective head garments to stop others from cutting it off - assassinations of character may come in the form of skulking into rooms at night with scissors, providing temporary shame without risk of bloodshed or the crime of murder.

A final point I will bring up is that if this took place in a setting with magic, then there is the potential for a lord's challenge to go poorly for them if the ability to curse people with samples of their body parts is present. As in fictional depictions of Voodoo dolls, a ruler's hair could be used to harm them, and as such this cultural practice may require extra precautions in order to be done safely. Alternatively, the potential for curses may make the declaration of war that much more prominent, given that the ruler is willing to risk their own life and chop off their symbol of peace and strength in order to declare battle against an enemy.

Consider the D&D Frogs

Dunno why the jumping one has a rack, but finding wide bullywug pics is hard.

Frogs in D&D worlds get a bad reputation. This is little surprise when one considers that so many unpleasant species - froghemoths, slaad, bullywugs, grung, and banderhobbs - have amphibian forms and origins. I wanted to have a go at adding some details to the last three on that list, connecting them together and giving them some differentiation from my takes on other low-level enemies, such as kobolds and orcs.

Bullywugs

These are the bread and butter of frogfolk. Grung and banderhobbs are merely variations or developments of the original bullywug template. They are 4-5 feet in height (females are larger than males), varying in mottled tones of green, grey, and brown. They sense the world primarily through sight, but in the water their sense of taste and touch is amplified; the water becomes akin to an extension of their skin.

Bullywugs live in wet environments out of necessity. Their skin must be regularly moistened to enable them to breathe properly. This puts a limit on their range and resources, but has made them masters of this domain (at least until something more powerful comes along). Bullywugs that engage in trips outside of their wet domains have found various ways of dealing with their water dependency- carrying multiple waterskins, sticking to riverine communities, or forming pacts with water elementals are just a few options available.

Bullywug technology consists of animal usage and repurposing of natural resources. Food is gathered through wormeries and fisheries, or hunted with spears and nets (food is consumed whole- frogfolk cannot chew). Their clothes are purely practical, made of reeds and grasses and shells. Armour is harvested from oyster reefs, weapons from animal teeth and bones.

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.

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.