Tuesday, 25 April 2023

Magical Consciousness: A Variant Rule For Spellcasters

Subtitle: The Firmament Is Within

Sub-Subtitle: How To Be In Two Places At Once

 
The Flammarion Engraving, from Camille Flammarion's 1888 book L'atmosphère : météorologie populaire

 I had this idea a long time ago, and thought I'd write it up. I've imagined the rules as compatible with D&D, but it would probably work quite well with another d20 system, or any game with ability scores and spells. The idea is to allow spellcasters to have a more interesting experience of using and interacting with magic, rather than just, 'Hey I cast a spell,' in the same way a swordsman might swing their blade. Dabbling in the unseen arts comes with a host of corrolary effects far deeper than a mere callused sword hand.
 
 Using the state of magical consciousness, a spellcaster sees through the veil, across the firmament that separates us from the transmundane, the barrier between sacred and the profane. In Jungian archetypes, the magician goes places that others do not. The magician makes journeys and brings back knowledge otherwise inaccessible to others.
 
 A spellcaster using this ability would immediately be able to identify another spellcaster. Magic knows magic. Depending on their individual abilities, they might give off an aura or have some kind of additional ... things. A wizard might be surrounded by wisps of luminous, mucus-like ectoplasm, hanging in the air and trailing them like a comet. They might be radiating ethereal tentacles, crowned in pale flames, or have vines writhing beneath their skin. It's up to the caster to determine how it manifests for themselves. Only spellcasters in this magical state would be able to see it, though.

There are all kind of interesting implications for this state. Would a spellcaster be able to see across the planes? Interact with the ethereal, the shadow? Would they be able to see invisible creatures? They might realise that the idea of being 'alone' isnt quite what they thought. How would ordinary spells manifest? A magically locked chest might appear normal to everyone else, but to a wizard it might be swathed in ethereal chains or held shut by a demonic guardian.

This post is mainly inspired by the kind of weirdness that spellcasters bring to a game. Spells and magic are inherently otherworldly, and I think that the game should reflect that. You're using forces that you can't ordinarily see using rules that you probably don't fully understand, and there are a lot of things peripheral to the everyday use of magic that should be ... largely ignored, if only for the sake of one's own peace of mind. Don't focus on the host of spirits leering over your shoulder from across the veil. They can't get you if you don't do anything stupid, so it's best just not to think about it. Unless you want to. Unless you're that kind of curious-slash-deranged.

By Natesquatch on Deviantart

 

The Rules

 Beginning at first, level, spellcasters designate a passive spell that they know—one for detection, comprehension, or communication (for example, a wizard might choose Detect Magic, a druid might choose Speak With Animals). After concentrating for an hour, the spellcaster may enter their state of magical consciousness. In this state, their chosen spell is continuous and does not require concentration to maintain. This rule reflects the state of the spellcaster when they are attuned to the magic in their surroundings, able to perceive and tap into this world, manifesting it in a way that makes sense to their spellcasting class.
 
Spend too long in this state, and people will start to think you've a screw loose.
A druid might stop participating in the civilised world altogether, preferring to vibe with the squirrels. They're fun, I guess. But don't they always look like they're up to something?


 
 But to reflect the difficulty of maintaining this state and the toll it takes on the psyche, the caster takes 1d4 Wisdom, Charisma, or Intellegence damage (caster chooses and has to stick with their choice) when entering the state, as the cognitive dissonance of maintaining two different modes of being affects their ability to perceive their surroundings, use their reason, or relate to other people. They become more distant or alien the longer they maintain their state, taking a further 1d4 ability damage for each day (or hour if you're feeling mean) they remain in the state of magical consiousness. Ability damage sustained in this way may be healed only after they end their state, for which the player must spend an hour in concentration. They have to come back, but that's a journey in itself.
 
 As a character sustains ability damage, the effects of their magical consciousness become narratively more intense and difficult to deal with. A character with low Wisdom becomes unable to distinguish between the internal and external worlds, between magic and reality. A character with low Charisma would lose the ability to articulate words coherently. A character with low intelligence loses their sense of self and agency, becoming an unthinking vessel.


The Ice King's crazy wizard eyes may or may not have inspired this entire post.

I think this rule could work well in a game where spellcasters were the mainstay of the party. Or one in which a mystery needed solving, specifically a mystery of a magical kind. What could be really interesting is if you decide that spellcaster must be in this state to cast any spell which is of higher level than a cantrip. That would make things interesting. Hmmm...


I think Adventure Time is perfect for illustrating the kind of wacky shit wizards might see if they look too hard for too long. Its art direction is kind of genius and it's been living in my head since 2011.



 

Seriously.

 

That's all for now.

Shhhh, go to sleep.

Sunday, 1 January 2023

#Dungeon23

A nice #dungeon23 graphic from Rise Up Comus right here on blogspot

 A new TTRPG craze is sweeping the twitterverse, and I decided to throw my lot in and have a go. I'll post weekly updates here to consolidate my work and begin drawing it all together into a more cohesive reading experience. Twitter's bitty; I prefer a longer read. Also, with the daily nature of the work, I'll want to tweak and revise bits as I go along.

 So what is #dungeon23?

 First suggested (I think) in early December 2022 by Sean McCoy on Twitter, #dungeon23 is a challenge which entails writing a single dungeon room per day for the whole year, with the idea to create a 365-room megadungeon by the end. But there are no hard-and-fast rules about the challenge. Do a dungeon, a city, a world, a hexcrawl. No pressure to create beautifully crafted, print-ready play experiences. Keep it scrappy and rough. The point is to just do it. Just one room per day. Simple, neat, and a great way to encourage a new creative habit. I love the idea, so I'm going to give it my best shot. I think this will help me to curb my habit of making everything too big right from the beginning so that I start feeling a lot of pressure to keep up the bigness of it all, something that often makes me feel disillusioned or daunted by the projects I begin. I've even started my own page on the blue bird website so that I can join in with all the talented people on there and pretend that's where I belong too.

 There are loads of resources out there to help generate dungeons, loads of really excellent tools to draw isometric maps and whatnot, but I think I'd like to keep it simple and just use my own imagination and my own writing/drawing. Like so:


 
I didn't even finish this dungeon properly- it was just a bit of practice on new year's eve before starting the challenge the next day. It was fun though. It helped me to get some ideas down that I'd just had clogging my head for a while. And I managed to try a few new drawing tips from Map Crow on YouTube- one of my recent favourite channels.

 
To get myself started, I just grabbed this list of weekly prompts and started with number 1:


 I don't know if I'm going to make a single megadungeon, or a series of smaller dungeons. Perhaps they'll be connected- a series of adventures leading from one to the next. So far, all I've done is a page or two of practice, one 'room' and a sketch of the next one. I have a vague idea of where it might go, but that's it. I'm going to take it one step at a time and see how it evolves over time. Here's what I've got so far:

It's not even a whole page of writing. Not even a room, strictly speaking. Just an old piece of paper, a hook to draw players to the dungeon in the first place. We'll see where it leads...


Peace,

O