I’m trying to revise the GLOG classes into so that each (1) is defined more broadly/loosely, in a way that allows them to be interpreted in many ways (e.g. Inigo Montoya the Barbarian) and (2) has something to do both in and out of combat.
The Hunter is about being observant and avoiding observation. You may be a hunter of beasts or a hunter of men, or, for that matter, an explorer who simply knows that the best way to stay alive is to remain unnoticed and, when that fails, hit things from a very far distance.
You take what nobody wants or needs anymore (bits of dead bodies), weld them to what has never lived, and create something functional, something greater than the sum of its parts. You may call yourself as a necromancer inventor, or a deadhead, or an osso-mechanic, but people in your occupation are mostly referred to as re-animators.
Technically speaking, you are a kind of wizard, though you and the wizards would both prefer to ignore this. Wizards blow themselves up or get turned into a frog too often for your liking, and wizards are
horrified by your monstrosities jealous that you have never even come close to blowing up or getting turned into a frog.
There is another kind of necromancer, the sort that raises spirits and commands the dead and explodes corpses (what is it with wizards and explosions?!?). This is not what you do, though some historian of magic has surely traced the relationship between your schools and who it was that first dispensed with spirit-calling in favor of necro-engineering.
Nowadays, re-animators are more common than necromancers, at least in the Lake Countries. In Quillsylvania, their art is distrusted but not outright banned (the necromancers cannot claim as much), and they occupy a place of prestige in Buckeye, which has long been sympathetic to those whose clever minds are called by others “mad.” As yet, there has been no ‘mortechnological revolution,’ but the re-animators are continuing to refine their art and some of them see, however distant it may be, the glimmer of a day when their work has revolutionized the world.
Up till now I’ve been content to use Arnold K.’s Alchemy and Oozes PDF as is, because it’s got an even hundred potions and that’s enough for most purposes, but I’m working on a “junkie alchemist” class and need a set of potions whose effects can not just be made shorter or longer but stronger or weaker, and which have withdrawal effects to boot.
Potency: Some potions are stronger than others. If a potion grants a flat numerical effect, then lesser potency will halve the effect and greater potency will double the effect. If the potion involves a die roll, then lesser potency will downgrade the die (e.g. 1d6 to 1d4) and greater potency will upgrade the die (e.g. 1d6 to 1d8).
Downgrading and upgrading: If a die is downgraded from 1d2 then it becomes 1, and if it is downgraded from 1 then it becomes 0. If a die is upgraded from 1d12 then it becomes 1d12+1d2, then 1d12+1d4, and so on.
Variants: For the sake of being condensed, a lot of potions have just been listed as a variant rather than given their own entry. Assume that they work the same as the base potion except where specified otherwise.
You have a knack for hitting people with things. It takes only a moment for the newest, most unfamiliar weapon to feel like an old friend, and you pick up fighting styles like some people pick up languages.
Some say that the pen is mightier than the sword. While this is not strictly true, it serves well as a metaphor. With a pen, you can make as many swords as you want, because swords are songs and vice versa. Given time, tunes will harden to blades and poorly-crafted blades may evaporate into a droning hum. In a pinch, you can whistle yourself a dagger if you know what you’re doing.
It is accepted by most swordsingers that their art was taught, not invented, but it is unclear who is responsible. Some say that it was a tool of the gods, granted so that their chosen warriors would always have a weapon on hand. Others believe that it was bequeathed to mortals by Hell, whose devils stole the secret before their fall (or that they were cast out from the presence of the gods because they stole it).
In any case, swordsingers aren’t wizards. This is just the way things are.
This class was originally called “Scholar,” and the rename should express something important about what it represents: you don’t need to have formal training, much less formal book learning, to take the Sage class. Poet-nomads and horror dungeon guides can be sages as easily as a learned professor.
I’m trying to revise the GLOG classes so that each is (1) defined more broadly/loosely, in a way that makes them interpretable in many ways and (2) has something to do both in and out of combat. Point #1 is probably best illustrated by the barbarian, so that’s where I’m starting.
The prototypical barbarian is a wild, unrestrained warrior from Foreign Parts, but the class covers much more than this: warrior monks, fleshy Terminators, dedicated assassins whose laser focus on the mission just won’t let them die, and maybe even Inigo Montoya could all be represented as barbarians. Continue reading