Taloon the Arms Dealer

With the Year of the Barbarian drawing to a close, I can't deny that the biggest project it's seen has been The Saga of the Ortegids - my attempt to construct a tabletop-friendly setting based on the original Dragon Quest trilogy as depicted through the grittier, sword-and-sorcery-flavored art of Katsuya Terada, as used in early Western box covers and manual art, instead of the now-iconic work of Dragon Ball's Akira Toriyama. My original intent was to have a dungeon to show for my work by now, capping off the year by revisiting my roots and adapting one of the games' dungeons to the tabletop. My work schedule has kept me from attending to that as much as I'd like to, so I won't have any of that ready to share until the beginning of next year. However, in the meantime, I did have an idle thought that refused to leave my head, and I'm making that your problem.

In my original post outlining the project, I specified that Saga would only strictly adapt the first three games in the series, which all take place in the same universe; continuity gets a lot more loose after that. That being said, Dragon Quest IV did see a Western release at the tail end of the NES's lifespan, and with similar marketing. Eagle-eyed fans will already know that a couple of references to DQ4 and beyond have slipped into Saga, though not always in their original context. Therefore, I think certain elements are still on the table, and it's one of those I'd like to discuss today.

I would consider Dragon Quest IV to be the first "traditional JRPG" in the way we understand it today. Yes, there were RPGs made in Japan before it, including the first three Dragon Quest games, but those games are almost indistinguishable from western RPGs of the era, with PCs frequently being customizable blank slates and the gameplay focusing more on player-driven open-world exploration. DQ4, meanwhile, emphasized the story first and foremost, with a more linear plot and a predefined set of characters whose struggles were told through scripted cutscenes and personal arcs. Hell, the antagonist is a brooding silver-haired twink in a black coat who wants to destroy the world because he was wronged by society, and this was almost a decade before Sephiroth made it cool.

An entire genre exists
because of this man.

It's interesting, then, that such an influential game would also introduce the character of Torneko (or Taloon if you're a Westerner, or Torneko Taloon if you're a Westerner who got into this after the 90s). Torneko is about as far from a typical playable JRPG character as you could imagine. In a cast that consists mainly of sexy teenagers with emotional baggage, Torneko is a jolly, rotund, middle-aged dad who just wants to raise money to support his family. In spite of this, or more likely because of it, he's probably the single most iconic and beloved character in the entire series. He got his entire spinoff series, which kick-started Japan's own take on the roguelike genre with the mystery dungeon, and he continues to make cameo appearances in later games to this day. If Dragon Quest has a mascot that isn't the Slime, it's Torneko.

With that context out of the way, I'd like to pivot to the much-argued dichotomy of transliteration versus localization. Stay with me, I promise we're going somewhere with this.

In adapting media produced in one language to another language, the eternal debate is this: do you translate the original material directly word-for-word to preserve the original intent, accepting that certain cultural references might not land the same way in a new context, or do you rewrite the source material to be more understandable to a new audience? There's been plenty of ink spilled on the topic of which approach is better, and it's not a subject I intend to get into in this post. I think there's a right and a wrong way to do both.

Pertinently, I'm of the opinion that the modern approach to translating the Dragon Quest games is exactly how you should not do localization - the series' current localization team takes heavy liberties with how they present dialogue and characterization, often painting things in a much more light-hearted and comedic light than what was intended in the original Japanese, to the point where the head translator had to apologize in an interview for writing horse puns into a scene where a child has his father brutally murdered in front of him. Some people like this approach, and that's fine, but it is absolutely not what the series is in Japanese, and I wrote Saga in part as a rebuttal to this very phenomenon.

However, I'd be lying if I said that the Dragon Quest series hadn't suffered from transliteration at times as well. One of my favorite examples of this is how the English NES manual of Dragon Warrior IV describes Taloon as an arms dealer.

See, if you've experienced enough Japanese fantasy media, you can figure out exactly how this happened. In Japanese RPGs, the stores where you would purchase weapons are often referred to as buki-ya, literally "weapon shop." A localization would likely render this as "blacksmith" - while that's a different word in Japanese, anyone playing an RPG would recognize a blacksmith's shop as the obvious place to upgrade your equipment (interestingly, Taloon doesn't actually appear to make the weapons he sells; rather, his operation seems to consist of going dungeon delving to loot weapons and then selling them to other adventurers). However, the NES manual directly translated buki-ya into English, and Taloon was described as an "arms merchant" - something that has a very different connotation in the English-speaking world.

Normally, this is the part where we'd all point and laugh at how ridiculous that makes this character sound. But this is an RPG blog run by a deranged autist who gets inspiration from the weirdest places. And I kind of love it.

In popular media, the stock character of the arms dealer is usually a villainous figure tied to organized crime. Think of Ulysses Klaue from Black Panther, or if you're older, Destro from GI Joe. They're usually depicted as unscrupulous cold-hearted capitalists profiteering off of senseless bloodshed, willing to prop up civil wars and tinpoint dictatorships simply to line their own pockets. With this in mind, an arms dealer turning out to be a wholesome family man is actually a very interesting subversion of expectations.

If The Saga of the Ortegids is intended to be an exploration of the implied setting of, specifically, the Western presentation of Dragon Warrior lore, resisting the urge to add context from the original Japanese, perhaps Taloon really is an arms dealer. Maybe he's not merely supplying adventurers, but covertly running weapons to different sides of an ongoing conflict to make some extra coin. It's quite thought-provoking to contemplate how someone like Taloon could have ended up in this situation. Are times so tough that he's forced to extend his trade to the black market to make ends meet, knowing that he can't fail his beloved wife and son? Is he perhaps attempting to gain favor with multiple warring factions in the hopes that they can be swayed to leave him and his family out of the conflict?

Yes, the Taloon we see in Dragon Warrior IV is very clearly not doing this, but perhaps there's an alternate universe counterpart of him that exists in the universe of The Saga of the Ortegids who is. It wouldn't be the first time a version of him showed up outside of his original context  (not even on this blog), and because the source material for Saga doesn't directly include DQ4, I feel comfortable taking more leeway on how I present him compared to how I present characters from the original trilogy. It'd make for a fun nod for any players who were familiar with the original games, as well as an opportunity to turn their expectations on their head with the true extent of his operations.

More practically, an unwilling arms dealer would also make for an interesting NPC to shake up faction dynamics. If he's supplying an ongoing conflict, does he take sides, or does he try to play both sides against each other for his own ends? The PCs could easily become involved in his schemes, perhaps running weapons for him, or bailing him out of trouble if his smuggling operations attract the wrong attention. Because Taloon's family-oriented motives are sympathetic ones, more morally-inclined PCs might be more willing to back him up than they would a stereotypical arms dealer motivated only by cold hard cash, which could open fun opportunities for faction play to parties that might not ordinarily want to get involved with the criminal underbelly of the setting. At the same time, it presents a moral dilemma - are they willing to perpetuate a bloody conflict if it means a sweet old man gets to come home to his family another night?

So, yes, this is all a very deliberate misinterpretation of a bad translation. But it's a fun one, dammit - and I can't help but feel like dropping this incarnation of Taloon into a campaign set during the Kinslayer Wars, or another conflict in a different setting, would shake things up well.

Friday Encounter: Burn the Goat!

A bit of a belated Christmas special for this week's Friday Encounter. It's designed to have the PCs come upon it while traveling on the road, but with some tweaks could work for a settlement they're stationed in already. The encounter is themed around the real-life phenomena of the Gavle goat, and thus is well-suited to coincide with Midwinter or another winter holiday, but it would work just as well as a local festival on any date.

Burn the Goat!

Background

Centuries ago, the town of Gevalia was terrorized by a ferocious demon by the name of Degdrolan, who devoured the livestock, blighted the crops, and set fire to the peoples' homes for no reason but spite for mortals. No weapon forged could harm the demon, so the people were forced to make a grim bargain in order to spare themselvs his ire. Each year, before the coming of Midwinter, the people would sacrifice a goat in the town square so that the demon's bloodlust would be sated, and they would know another year of peace.

Many years have passed since that date, and the story has been forgotten by all but the most learned of sages. But the tradition continued. At first, it was customary for the people to spill the blood of a live goat in the town square - and this continued for generations after the people forgot why they were doing such a thing. But in more recent years, a new tradition grew in its place. Inspired by the sacrifices, the town's two most prominent guilds - the Brotherhood of Merry Merchants and the League of Free Brewers - would each compete to build a massive goat sculpture from straw, striving to outdo the other in size and majesty.

Every year since this tradition began, however, one or both of the goats has been burned down before Midwinter - whether from strife between the rival guilds, mere accident, or the mischief of wayward youths. By sheer coincidence, this practice has successfully kept Degdrolan at bay even long after the people forgot about him - after all, the contract between him and the town never stated that a real goat would have to be sacrificed. However, it is precisely because of how the story has fallen into obscurity that the officials are striving to stamp out the tradition of goat-burning. And if they're successful, they may be in for a rude awakening...

The Encounter

The PCs should arrive in Gevalia around two or three days before Midwinter. If you're using this encounter in a town they're already in, you can foreshadow things by having the goats be built over time in the background, or just have them be erected overnight. In any case, anyone going to the town square will undoubtedly notice the two towering straw goats built there - the Merry Merchants' goat is 40 feet tall, while the Free Brewers' is 35 feet.

Asking around, they'll hear about how the two guilds have competed to build a bigger goat every year for Midwinter, but no one really knows why. They're traded wins from year to year, and it's always been a matter of fierce competition between them. For as long as anyone can remember, however, both goats have never survived until midnight on Midwinter's Eve; someone always burns one or both of them down. The guilds are on especially high alert this year, and they have both offered substantial sums to the town guard to stand in defense of their goat. The guards feel it's a tiresome job, and would rather be at home enjoying the festivities with their families - some even feel that there's no point in protecting the goats because burning them down has become a tradition of its own at this point.

The goats are a point of pride for their respective guilds, and the PCs will likely hear of the heated rivalry between the two of them. If they pursue this lead, they may encounter Sidsel Raskova, the guildmistress of the Merry Merchants, and Jorstein Goransson, the guildmaster of the Free Brewers. Sidsel, true to her guild's name, is a jovial woman who loves the Midwinter festivities, while Jorstein is a more dour and serious man who wants only to ensure that his guild will succeed - but both of them show no affection for their rivals, and both suspect that they are plotting to burn down each other's goat. 

They may also run into Askold, the local delinquent - a youth of about 17 who leads a gang of miscreants who enjoy commiting acts of petty theft and vandalism. The gang openly claims to have burned down several goats in the past years, and considers it a badge of honor.

Lastly, there is Erland Kravitz, the burgomaster. He was elected to his position last year under a promise to clean up the town's image by cracking down on crime, and he in particular has no love for the tradition of goat-burning, believing it a disgrace to Voltan that the people expect arson to happen every year. He has no interest in playing to politics between the guilds; he only wants to make sure no goat gets burned this year, under any circumstances.

None of these characters know anything about the town's deal with Degdrolan - the people of Gevalia have long buried this, not wanting to admit to dealing with demons even if it was for their own safety. However, there is a convent devoted to Mimir, the god of knowledge, in the town, which boasts an extensive library (and also is open to shelter any travelers who can't afford a stay at the inn). Researching the history of Gevalia or its traditions at this library will reveal a record of the story in an old dusty tome.

Further Developments

Depending on how the PCs go about this encounter, they may ally with either of the guilds, Askold's gang, or the burgomaster, or they may act independently. Both of the guilds want to burn down the other's goat, but they also both know that the other guild is sponsoring the guards to watch their own. However, they realize they may be able to pin the blame on strange adventurers and escape scrutiny. If the party gets in the good graces of either guild, they will offer to pay the PCs with 50 GP each, plus one uncommon magic item for the group (choose something suited to the party, or to a character who could use one) if they are successful at burning down the other guild's goat. They will also help them escape town should they run afoul of the law.

Askold and his gang don't care about the guilds - all they want is to amuse themselves and cause mischief. At an hour before midnight, Askold intends to hide in an alleyway facing the town square with a bow and flaming arrows, which he will then fire into the goats. If the PCs agree to help him distract the guards (and not tell anyone's parents), he promises to make them official members of his gang. While the youths are a collection of orphans and unsupervised delinquents with no experience in combat to assist the party with and will not leave the town, they have picked up a good deal of rumors and know of routes to treasure or other points of interest in the area that they will only share with fellow gang members. Askold will also offer the PCs free access to his cache of stolen mead bottles, hidden under a cornerstone at the old barn on the outskirts of town the gang uses as a clubhouse.

Finally, if the PCs side with Erland and are successful at preventing any goats from being burned, the burgomaster will thank them for their aid and invite them to an official banquet, where they will each receive 100 GP and a magic item suited to their class and character, as well as having the opportunity to meet several important figures in the town and make allies of them. However, in the middle of the banquet, Degdrolan will manifest in the town square, angry that he did not receive his tribute for the year. Degdrolan has the stats of a glabrezu; a hulking demon with a shaggy coat and a face like a horned grinning skull. Just as he did years ago, he will attempt to lay waste to the town and devour anything in his path if not stopped.

Hexmas: The Gingerbread Village

It's been a while since I posted anything on this blog. Part of that is because I haven't had the time or energy to write much, and part of it is that I've run through the material I had prepared for ongoing projects like The Saga of the Ortegids and don't have anything to fill the spots I would ordinarily be using for that content. Regrettably, this means that I've been behind the curve on the blogosphere, and that means it was only just now that I discovered Hexmas, Prismatic Wasteland's challenge to make a community-sourced Christmas-themed hexcrawl. That means that I'm jumping in far later than I would like to be doing so, and up against the deadline

But I like the idea, dammit, and I'll be damned if I'm going to let an opportunity like this pass me by. A couple years ago, I made a post about how there is a glaring lack of Christmas-themed adventures inspired by E.T.A. Hoffman's The Nutcracker and the Mouse King, and this gives me the perfect excuse. I was going to do a different post today, but that can wait.

The Gingerbread Village

North: House of the Kringles

Northwest: The Grumpus

West: Candy Cane Forest

Nestled at the foot of a snow-crested mountain, amidst a grove of pines, there lies a village of gingerbread. The modest settlement is ringed by a fence of candy canes (harvested from the forest to the west), and the buildings are made from gingerbread, decorated in peppermints and frosting. The people of this village, too, belong to a race of gingerbread folk, small in stature and similar in form to the domiciles they inhabit. The gingerbread folk are usually quiet and content to bide their time peacefully, but recently, their tranquility has been threatened by the coming of a threat from the mountain - the man-eating giant Sweettooth.

The village is a simple and self-sufficient one. Most buildings are modest family homes, but there is an inn, the Royal Icing, that will shelter travelers and offer them a stiff pint of the local specialty, ginger ale. Besides the inn, the most conspicuous building in town is the house of the mayor, Mr. Adrak, a luxurious gingerbread mansion that sits amidst a garden of candy canes and gumdrops the size of trees and bushes.

Or, at least, it was, before Sweettooth last struck about two days ago, smashing the roof under a giant rock and carrying away a few of Adrak's servants. Now, the roof of the mansion is caved in, and gingerbread men are working around the clock to clear away debris and stick the roof back together using icing. The mansion has been vacated since the attack, and Adrak is now staying at the inn while he waits for his home to be repaired. His demeanor has grown bitter since the attack (even if his flavor hasn't), and he demands that something must be done about Sweettooth before any other gingerbread men are lost!

If the PCs enquire about Sweettooth, the townspeople will direct them toward the house of the town doctor, Dr. Kolobok. The doctor is currently tending to Adrak's butler, Sir Peppercake, a well-mannered gingerbread man with a handlebar mustache made of icing who was in the mansion when Sweettooth attacked but was lucky enough to escape with his life. Alas, Dr. Kolobok only knows how to treat gingerbread folk, and has no understanding of the physiology of flesh-and-blood people. He will not be able to heal or cure any ailments the PCs face, but will find them quite interesting.

If the party seeks an audience with Sir Peppercake, he will describe his terrifying encounter with the giant, who grabbed three gingerbread men and a gingerbread maid and mercilessly devoured them in front of him! Peppercake only managed to escape the attack because one of his legs broke off in Sweettooth's grasp. The doctor managed to bake him a new leg and attached it with icing, but he's been resting it before he returns to work. Despite his master's fiery temper, Peppercake doesn't have any ill will toward Sweettooth, and believes the giant is only motivated by hunger - he just wishes he would stay away from the town in his pursuit of satiating himself.

The gingerbread folk have the stats of halflings. However, since they're made of gingerbread, they're more fragile than if they were made of flesh. Attacks made against them score critical hits on a roll to hit of 15-20.

The gingerbread folk know that Sweettooth lives in a cave at the top of the mountain. If the PCs make the ascent, they will discover that a ravenous giant indeed lives there. Sweettooth has the stats of an hill giant, and has an insatiable hunger for candy and sweets. If the PCs are openly carrying any sweets, or have any gingerbread folk or similar creatures accompanying them, he will attack on sight, trying to grab the sweets and run off with his bounty. He will not attack any creatures who do not have sweets on their person, and finds them boring and uninteresting. If he is denied sweets, he cries and pounds the walls, demanding the party share their treats with him.

What the gingerbread folk do not realize is that Sweettooth is not a full-grown giant! He is, in fact, the bratty son of a family of frost giants who dwell atop the mountain. His parents, Longtooth and Sharptooth, are disinterested in disciplining the boy and pay him no heed, focused only on decorating their cave for the coming winter festivities. They will, however, come to Sweettooth's aid if the child is harmed, throwing rocks at any intruders to try and drive them away from the cave.

If Sweettooth is dealt with, the gingerbread folk will be grateful and offer the PCs a free stay at the Royal Icing whenever they are in town, with plenty of ginger ale on the house. They will also offer the forge the PCs weapons of their choice made of candy glass - on a critical hit, the weapons explode and deal an additional die of damage to all creatures in 15 feet of the target due to the showering of candy shrapnel. If this happens, the weapons are destroyed, but the gingerbread folk will be happy to make replacements. It takes 1d4 days for a candy glass weapon to be completed.

Merry Hexmas!

Friday Encounter: Ogres' Ferry

Following up with the theme I've been on for the last few Friday Encounter posts, here's a simple puzzle I used in a recent session. I used it as a room in a dungeon, but it could easily be used in the wilderness as well.

The PCs should come across a river that is flowing too quickly to easily cross on foot, and no bridge or ford in sight. A small rowboat, big enough to hold two people at a time, is sitting on the shore closest to the PCs. Also on the shore with the PCs are a number of ogres equal to that of the party members, who are standing around grumbling and arguing with one another. At the sight of the PCs, they accost them, insisting they need their help to ferry them across the river. They note that they have been stranded here a while, and are growing hungry.

This encounter is based on an old logic puzzle known as the "missionaries and cannibals problem" or "jealous husbands problem" - to boil it down to the essentials, you have to get two parties of equal size across the river, making sure that Party A does not outnumber Party B on either bank of the river at any time.

In this case, the party must transport each ogre to the other side of the river. The boat can hold two people at any time - they can be ogres, PCs, or any combination of the two. However, the ogres are hungry enough to make a bid for the PCs if they think they can get away with it. The ogres are cowards, and they won't try to attack the PCs if there are more PCs present on their bank than ogres. But as soon as they outnumber the PCs on a given bank, they'll attack, ganging up on the PCs so they can kill and eat them.

To make sure this information is available to the players, you may wish to have one of the ogres grab for the outnumbered PC(s) as soon as the boat begins to leave the shore, so that whoever is rowing has a chance to intervene - if the ogres see them change course, they'll immediately drop what they're doing. In any case, the party will either have to take multiple trips to get all ogres and PCs on the other side of the river, or prepare for a fight.

According to Wikipedia, the missionaries and cannibals problem can be solved in a minimum of 11 moves if there are three missionaries and three cannibals (or husbands and wives, brothers and sisters, masters and valets...you get the idea). In order to add urgency to this encounter, you could have the tides slightly rise after each move - the PCs must solve the puzzle in, say, 20-30 moves (to give them leeway to make mistakes) before the tides become too high to safely cross the river. If this happens, they might be swept away, potentially requiring them to make some rolls to avoid being tossed overboard, or perhaps they'd be washed away to a new location. In my campaign, I had three party members and three ogres. If you have a larger party, you'll need to increase the number of alloted moves.

In my campaign, one of the ogres had a broken arm, preventing him from rowing the boat. This would explain why the ogres couldn't row themselves across, and forces the PCs to man the boat at least once. However, my players used this to surmise that the ogre with the broken arm wouldn't be able to fight them either, and that he wouldn't count toward the number of ogres outnumbering the party since he couldn't pose a threat. This made the puzzle significantly easier, but it was logic I couldn't argue with, so I let them have it.

Since I was using this puzzle in a dungeon, I had a door open once all the PCs and ogres were on the same side of the river. You could have this be operated by a pressure plate that will only open under the combined weight of all PCs and ogres standing on it (note that creatures would not need to be alive in order to meet the required weight). Or you could have a passage or treasure located on a higher ledge that the PCs can only access by climbing on the ogres' shoulders.

The Isle of the Sun

Our gazetteer of the world(s) of The Saga of the Ortegids is pretty much complete. Over the last few months, I've summarized every major region in the first three Dragon Quest games and explored their potential for TRPG scenarios. However, just today I started thinking about one small area I didn't pay any heed to before, but one that just might be more interesting than I thought.

In Dragon Quest III, upon crossing through the Pit of Giaga, you come out on a small island in the western gulf of Alefgard, directly across from Tantegel. This is the only location in this part of the game that has no counterpart in Dragon Quest I, likely because there's no sea travel in that game. On it is a small, unnamed port - there are no shops or inns here, so it's likely a small fishing village rather than a regional trade center. It's really just there to give you access to a ship while in Torland, and for this reason I overlooked it in my discussion of Alefgard.

However, one of the NPCs there asks the party if they've come from "the upper world," which indicates that the people of Torland are familiar with the existence of Erdland. To recap the cosmology I'm using for The Saga of the Ortegids, I have chosen - in part because it provides for more interesting gaming opportunities - to interpret Torland as literally being inside of a hollow Erdland, with the Pit of Giaga being an actual, physical pit connecting the two surfaces. Interestingly, the Western fandom tends to interpret the Pit of Giaga as being a portal and the worlds as separate universes, but the Japanese fandom is more equivocal about it. In any case, for Saga, it's a physical pit - which ties into my next point.

Torland (unlike Erdland) has no consistent day-night cycle and is shown to be in a state of constant night before the Sphere of Light is used for the first time in DQ3. Furthermore, the Dragonlord stealing the Sphere in DQ1 is sometimes said to cause an unending night, depending on what source you're reading (this could be metaphorical, but for me it's not). Under my interpretation, this implies that Torland had no natural light source until the Sphere of Light created one, being the inside of a hollow planet and all. So far, everything is interally consistent.

But then I realized that if the Pit of Giaga physically separates Erdland from Torland, if there's a big hole in the ground in Erdland, there must conversely be a big hole in the sky in Torland. And we do know that Erdland has a sun. Before the Sphere of Light was used, this island below the Pit of Giaga must have been the only place in Torland to receive natural light - that is, what was able to stream through the Pit when the sun was overhead.

Art by Vsevlod Ivanov
(Seriously, check his stuff out)

This likely wouldn't be enough light to illuminate all of Torland on a regular basis, but it would mean that this one island would receive direct sunlight for part of the day. In an otherwise lightless world, this would no doubt have a significant effect on the local culture. Perhaps the locals of this island, even if they know of the existence of an upper world, don't realize how a natural sun really works, and view this light as a divine phenomenon. This would transform the Isle of the Sun, as I've called it, into a natural choice for a holy site, with cults springing up around the light and adherents making pilgrimages to witness it.

With this in mind, perhaps the port we see in DQ3 isn't the only settlement on the island - perhaps there is another city that serves as the center of this sun cult, and we just don't see it in-game because there was nothing useful for gameplay or narrative purposes there. Given the Norse vibes of Torland in general and Alefgard in particular, let's call this city Sollenborg. While ostensibly a subject of the Alefgardic crown, it would be an autonomous power headed by a cult worshiping the sun, with the priesthood holding local positions of authority.

Art by Noah Bradley

In a campaign set in Torland before the events of DQ3, this city could be a curiosity for the party to investigate, or a regional power given its apparent blessed nature. It would also offer another religion to add to the worldbuilding of the setting. Also, one of the easiest ways to kill vampires in a pre-sun Torland. I also find it interesting to think about how even in a magical fantasy world, there would still be perfectly natural phenomena that are misinterpreted as miracles.

I also think it's interesting to consider what might happen to Sollenborg after the events of DQ3. Surely the sun cult would lose quite a bit of its authority with the Sphere of Light providing constant sunlight. This could lead to a crisis of faith for its adherents - and perhaps the more worldly of the cult's authorities, fearful of losing power, might be jealous of what the Sphere provides and covet it for themselves. You could also probably tell an interesting side-story about how the sun cult would handle the Dragonlord's theft of the Sphere. If Alefgard was suddenly deprived of its sunlight, the cult would have something unique to offer the people, who would surely grow desperate in such a time.

Friday Encounter: Stepwell Passage

Following on from my last Friday Encounter, here's another dungeon puzzle I've used in a recent session.

This encounter is designed to be used as a dungeon room. The room is dominated by a large stepwell - a pit dug into the ground, with a series of staircases leading downward along its sides to allow groundwater to be carried up. The twelth step from the bottom is covered in gold leaf, while the rest are bare stone. The pit is lined with multiple levels of archways stacked on top of each other, allowing water to be retrieved from different points. Each archway contains a door - some are closed, and some are open to chutes leading either up or down to control the flow of water. The doors have no handle, knob, or mechanism and cannot be opened manually. Furthermore, at the very bottom of the stepwell is a door inset in a golden frame.  Also in the room, there are four pillars in a line leading toward the stepwell, each of which has a wheel set into it.

When the PCs first discover the stepwell, the water is sitting at the level of the third step from the bottom. By turning the wheels attached to the pillars, they can open certain doors on the walls and allow water to flow in or out of the pit, thus raising or lowering the water level. The objective is to raise the water level to the gilded step.

Essentially, this is a simple math puzzle - each wheel raises or lowers the water level by a certain amount of steps. The wheels must be turned completely in order to work, so you can't get a partial effect. You can't have a "negative" water level - if you were to drain more steps than are present in the stepwell, the whole stepwell drains.

You can adjust the values as needed (perhaps even using more or less than four pillars if you want), but here's what I did in my game.

• Pillar 1 (furthest from the stepwell) lowers the water level by 8 steps.
• Pillar 2 raises the water level by 5 steps.
• Pillar 3 raises the water level by 10 steps.
• Pillar 4 (closest to the stepwell) lowers the water level by 3 steps.

So, if the water level starts at Step 3 and the goal is to get it to Step 12, the puzzle can be solved by draining the stepwell by turning the wheels on Pillar 1 or 4, then using the wheel on Pillar 3 to raise it to Step 10, then Pillar 2 to raise it to Step 15, then Pillar 4 to lower it to Step 12. You get the idea.

Once the water level hits Step 12, a gong sounds, and all water flushes out of the stepwell. The gold-rimmed door at the very bottom then opens. In my campaign, this door led to the next area of the dungeon, but you could have it contain treasure or a magic item or the like.

Elements of Japanese Fantasy

I've discussed the distinct phenomenon of British fantasy gaming in the 70s and 80s - a movement that had its own tropes and conventions quite different from that across the Atlantic. In fact, that was my first brush with writing on this sort of thing when I first submitted it as a long post on the OSR subreddit that garnered plenty of discussion and made me realize I'd do well with this whole blogging thing. But there's also something to be said about the distinct flavor of the fantasy subgenre across the Pacific as well. Japanese fantasy, as seen in anime and JRPG video games but also in that country's own canon of fantasy literature (there's quite a bit there, even if most of it has never been translated into English) has its own idiosyncracies, and while we're on the subject, I figured that would be a fun tangent to explore.

What's interesting about the fantasy genre in Japan is how much of it was popularized through the medium of gaming. While The Lord of the Rings was translated in Japan and was quite popular and influential there in its own right, what really made Western fantasy take off was when Dungeons & Dragons was imported, receiving a complete facelift with new illustrations from local artists. Early works in the Japanese fantasy scene, like Record of Lodoss War, were direct novelizations of the writers' D&D campaigns. This in turn created a demand for video RPGs, which resulted in Ultima and Wizardry becoming such big hits that they spurred the creation of homegrown takes on the genre like Dragon Quest and Final Fantasy, and those in turn fed back into the popular Japanese consciousness to the point where RPG-like mechanics are commonly employed in fantasy storytelling even if the story isn't based on an existing RPG - what's called the literary RPG, or LitRPG genre. This can range from game mechanics being reinterpreted as in-universe phenomena (like the concept of "monsters," as I'll discuss below) to characters outright talking about leveling up in-universe with a straight face.

This isn't really something I enjoy. As I've discussed elsewhere on this blog, I prefer my game mechanics to facilitate the worldbuilding, not the other way around. Still, it's an interesting observation when it comes to the history of fantasy gaming, and it's worth noting because it makes up a pretty big part of the genre in the Japanese consciousness.

On that note, I should clarify that, despite being based on Dragon Quest, The Saga of the Ortegids is quite pointedly not a "Japanese fantasy" setting. It's based on the older entries in the series before the tropes of Japanese fantasy fully crystalized into what they are today, and specifically on the artwork used to promote the games in Western markets back in the NES era, which downplayed the series' ties to anime in favor of emphasizing its Western fantasy roots. A big part of that exercise was trying to put what we see in the games through the lens of old-school Western fantasy, and seeing what came out on the other side. However, in researching Dragon Quest and its inspirations and derivative works, it's impossible not to come across some common threads that are worth cataloguing. I'm sure it would be of use to some DMs out there.

Slayers

Not all Japanese fantasy stories and settings tick all these boxes. The world of Japanese fantasy runs the full gamut from the silly (Konosuba) to the grimdark (Berserk), and from settings that are almost indistinguishable from a typical D&D campaign (Dungeon Meshi) to settings that have evolved a constellation of unique tropes and traditions of their own (later Final Fantasy titles). However, there's definitely a few select qualities that are particular to Japanese fantasy traditions I want to enumerate.

• To get the more famous superficial differences out of the way: elves tend to have ears that point to the side rather than straight up. Due to the persistent influence of the early D&D editions, kobolds are more likely to be dog-like rather than reptilian, and orcs are more likely to be pig-faced (often, they go as far to be straight-up anthropomorphic pig people, complete with pink skin and portly physiques). Slimes and oozes are much more common, and almost always are low-level cannon fodder, thanks to Wizardry by way of Dragon Quest.

• 

  Dungeon Meshi

  A major difference I've noted is in the nature of monsters. In Western fantasy RPGs, "monsters" are usually a game mechanic - the term encompasses a number of different, largely unrelated beings, from animals to humanoids to sometimes even archetypes of humans. A "monster" is, effectively, anything with a statblock. In Japanese fantasy, however, it's quite common for "monsters" to be a category of being that exists in-universe and are recognized as such. A goblin, a slime, and a dragon are all, metaphysically, the same class of entity, and are fundamentally different than a human or a horse. It's rare for the cultures and societies of humanoid monsters like orcs and goblins to be explored, and they're usually treated more like exceptionally smart animals. For some reason, it's quite common for monsters to uniformly be edible, and for there to be thriving culinary traditions utilizing their meat.
• If monsters are treated as a monolith, then they will usually be portrayed as servants of a "Demon King," "Dark Lord," "Archfiend," or similar entity. I discuss that some here, but to recap: this is a stock character that serves as an embodiment of evil, but one that exists on the physical plane, with their own territory and minions. They behave as something of a cross between Tolkien's Sauron and a video game final boss, and were inspired by both. Monsters tend to be uniformly or predominately aligned with this figure; in some cases, they're the source of all evil in the world.

  

  Final Fantasy

• Often, the "Demon King" is contrasted with a "Hero." If the Demon King is an archetype that grew from the final bosses of video games, the Hero represents the player character. They are usually chosen by a divine power and may be imbued with special abilities, and tasked with slaying the Demon King. I've seen multiple settings where the Demon King and Hero were both positions in a cyclical cosmic struggle - every time the Demon King is slain by a Hero, there is a period of peace until a new Demon King arises, at which point a new Hero is chosen to oppose them. The Hero is usually the protagonist of the story, but it's a very popular twist to reveal that the prophecized Hero is in fact someone else - so popular that, despite being in many ways the template of this archetype, Dragon Quest has done it twice.
• Religion and deities do not often play an important part in the setting, compared to Western fantasy. There will often be a religion, and clerics will often have D&D-like healing magic, but it's rare for that religion to be defined in a worldbuilding sense. Usually, the aesthetics and structure of this religion will be heavily based on Catholicism, and it will either be monotheistic or worship a vaguely-defined pantheon of gods, but the gods will rarely be named or have their portfolios described. If the religion is important in the setting, it will almost invariably be villainous in nature - how this manifests can be anywhere from "run by corrupt clergy only concerned with worldly power" to "front for demon worship."

Tales of Symphonia

• Japanese fantasy settings tend to be humanocentric, even more so than their Western counterparts. Human polities and settlements will almost always be uniformly human. If other races exist, they will have entirely separate societies. Often times, if there are traditional fantasy races like elves and dwarves, they will largely be present as NPCs and their societies will not receive that much attention; nonhumans are more likely to be major characters if they belong to a race invented for the setting.
• Compared to Western fantasy settings, human civilizations are less likely to be based on a specific real-world culture, and are usually a generically late medieval melange. There are often multiple kingdoms, but they tend to be outwardly similar if not identical in culture. If there are exceptions, there will almost always be a culture based on feudal Japan (for obvious reasons). Ancient Egypt is another popular choice.

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  Konosuba

  Anachronistic technology tends to be more common than in Western fantasy settings, particularly in more animesque settings that run on the rule of cool (like Final Fantasy). This tends to manifest as steampunk technology, magically-powered technology, or both. Firearms are more likely to be present in Japanese fantasy settings than Western ones. Even in more grounded settings, there are usually anachronisms that can be attributed to the skewed perception of historical Europe as an exotic foreign culture from the perspective of Japanese writers - for instance, nobles will usually live in Baroque palaces, not medieval castles, even if the domains they govern are feudal.
• Kings and emperors are either ineffectual buffoons, corrupt tyrants, or ineffectual buffoons controlled by their corrupt tyrannical advisors. Queens are usually absent or inconsequential. Princes are spoiled snobs. Princesses are clever, kind, and often secretly yearn for lives of adventure. If lesser nobles like dukes, counts, barons, or lords show up, they are usually evil. The royal family of a kingdom will often have the name of their kingdom as a surname (seriously, once you start noticing this, you see it everywhere.)
• Magic tends to be rigidly codified, even more so than in Western fantasy settings. Owing to influence from TRPGs, video games, and martial arts anime, spells will usually have distinct names, usually of the sort spoken aloud in a dramatic fashion while casting them. Their properties are well-defined and predictable, and they may have distinct "levels" of power or difficulty to master that are known in-universe.

These are just some observations I've made through consuming this sort of media. There are almost certainly more - and if I've missed anything, feel free to leave a comment below. If you're making a fantasy setting that's inspired by anime or JRPGs, using tropes like these will help it feel more authentic, while at the same time imbuing a flavor quite distinct from Western fantasy.