Friday Encounter: Star Metal

This encounter can be used anywhere outdoors, but probably has the most potential in a wilderness environment relatively close to civilization.

One way or another, the PCs should catch sight of a falling star, shortly before they hear the sound of a loud crash in the distance. If they investigate this site, they will find a large, smoking rock lying in the middle of a crater amidst flattened grass and toppled trees. A meteor has fallen here!

A DC 10 Nature check will determine that meteors often contain iron. A DC 10 Religion check will reveal that meteoric iron is considered a gift from the heavens in many cultures - and a DC 10 Arcana check will reveal that this iron, known as star metal or thunderbolt iron, is prized for having magical properties beyond that of earthly iron.

If the iron is mined from the meteor, there is about 60 pounds' worth of metal that can be obtained. Objects such as weapons and armor can be smithed from this metal, at a rate of one pound iron to one pound of the final product (for example, it could be used to make a single set of splint armor, 10 shields, 20 longswords, 60 daggers, etc.). Any weapons and armor made from the iron are treated as +1 items of that type; additionally, creatures wearing armor made of star metal have Advantage on all spell save DCs, as the iron is resistant to magical effects.

However, this equipment cannot be made without the use of a forge and a trained blacksmith. The party may need to transport the meteor to a forge if they wish to make use of its bounty. The meteor weighs 150 pounds in total and is cumbersome to carry; a bipedal creature carrying it may not use their hands for any other action while hauling the meteor. It can be carried on a cart or sled, but this may slow travel if it weighs the vehicle down. Getting the meteor to a blacksmith willing to work it may well be a quest in and of itself.

A character with proficiency in smith's tools can forge an item from the iron at a rate of one day of work per item, but they must have access to the proper tools as well as a forge and anvil in order to do so.

Keep in mind that things might not be easy even after taking the meteor to someone who knows how to work it. The blacksmith will likely demand compensation for such a task, and may even want to keep some of the iron for themselves, especially if they aren't familiar with the party and no reason to trust them. Furthermore, if word spreads about the star metal (such as if the PCs return to town to look for someone who can work it or help transport it, or if they show up in a settlement with the meteor in tow), they might attract the attention of thieves, or the feudal lord might lay claim to the iron if the meteor fell in his domain.

For that matter, the fair folk are repelled by iron, and they would have good reason to keep a source of it hidden so that it cannot be used against them. If the meteor is not collected in 1d4 days, a fey lord in the area will place a spell over it to make it invisible to mortal eyes, while fairies will try to waylay anyone who goes near the site - or accost them, if they must.

The Spell of Embodiment

Art by Lindsey Crummet

Once again, we're discussing the nature of the divine in the Dragon Quest series. There are two separate occasions in the Erdrick Trilogy where we see a ritual performed to summon a divine entity into the physical plane. The first of these occurs at the climax of Dragon Quest II, in which the high priest Hargon performs a ritual to summon Malroth, the god of destruction, and ends up offering his own life in a ritual suicide to complete the ceremony when the party attempts to cut it short. Going next by release order but not chronological order, in Dragon Quest III we see a similar ritual being performed by gathering six magical orbs at the temple of Leiamland to summon the god-bird Ramia.

I don't think that the developers intended for a connection to be drawn between these two rituals. Summoning rituals have always been a trope in fantasy literature, and they make good climactic setpieces, offering both spectacle and a chance to race against time to stop a villain from unleashing a greater threat. But my pattern recognition can't help but find it rather curious that both these rituals are used to summon gods, not demons or other lesser spirits. As such, for The Saga of the Ortegids, I've chosen to interpret these two instances as examples of the same sort of magic, something I'm calling the Spell of Embodiment. This spell is a very powerful one, and may even be the most powerful in existence - through it, a god can be summoned into the mortal plane, and incarnated in physical form.

There's a few implications this has on worldbuilding. I'd like to point out that the existence of spells like these confirm that ritual magic does exist in the world of the original Dragon Quest trilogy. None of the games have ever let the players use similar spells - unlike in Final Fantasy, "summon magic" isn't really something that factors into the Dragon Quest games' mechanics - but we still see them being used in the backstory and by NPCs. We can assume, then, that the spells that exist in this world are not limited to those that can be used by playable characters. This fits with my goal in this project to investigate what setting the Erdrick Trilogy implies when game mechanics are taken out of the equation - we can assume that the spells available to the player are merely a representation of the in-universe magic system, and not what it's limited to. That's how I prefer my magic systems anyway - nothing kills the vibe of magic and mysticism more than locking it to a prescribed list of consistent fixed effects. There are clearly more spells in this world than those an adventurer might cast on the fly, and they may have different effects or means of being cast.

Secondly, the Spell of Embodiment is clearly more demanding than other spells in the setting - which one would hope would be the case if you're summoning something as powerful as a god. Malroth needs a long ritual in order to summon, and is ultimately invoked via human sacrifice, while Ramia is summoned using a set of powerful artifacts. If we are to interpret these rituals as different expressions of the same power, it seems that summoning a god requires a great expenditure of power. Sacrifice might be one way to harness that power, but the orbs might provide an alternative source of the same mystic energy in the right quantities. It does raise the question of where the orbs came from, and why they possess this much power. Given that they're only found in Erdland, I'd like to assume that they were created by the ancient Aliahanian Empire to harness its advanced magics.

Third, as I've discussed before, there seems to be a difference between lesser gods like Aurhea and the priestesses of Leiamland, who can exist on the mortal realm without issue but seem to have much more localized spheres of influence, and greater gods like Malroth and Ramia that must be summoned through complex rituals. Rubiss is a bit of an outlier - in DQ3, you encounter her imprisoned in a tower in Alefgard, apparently fully corporeal - but she was imprisoned there by Zoma, who appears to be a deity of equal power to her. In fact, I'd argue that, under this theory, Zoma was likely summoned through a similar Spell of Embodiment. We know that he isn't originally from Alefgard because one of the dungeons there is said to be where he clawed his way into the physical realm. This could be the result of the Spell, or it could be something that occurred in an earlier war between gods that led to him overcoming and imprisoning Rubiss. If we assume an event like this took place in the setting's past, it might explain why powerful gods are more limited in their ability to directly interface with the mortal plane of existence. They were more liberal with it in the past, but the results were catastrophic.

Having the Spell of Embodiment in a setting could provide some compelling adventure hooks. Perhaps the most obvious is to have a villain who wants to use the Spell to summon their dark master, or maybe a god that they foolishly believe they can control to further their aims. But it could be just as interesting if the PCs have to perform the Spell in order to combat a threat so great that only a god could possibly deal with it. Either way, gathering items powerful enough for the ritual - either so they don't fall into the wrong hands, or to use them onesself - could provide a good structure for a campaign, giving the party a good reason to scour the world and collect treasure. And if you're looking for a tense encounter, you can't go wrong with the party having to defeat the villain before they can unleash a terrible force of destruction on the world.

Friday Encounter: The Curse of Feebleness

This encounter could be used in a variety of situations, including in a town, on the road, in the wilderness, or in a dungeon. The idea is to use it wherever the PCs could be impacted by a curse. The simplest way to do this would be for the party to accidentally bump into a witch (perhaps knocking into her from a carriage while on the road and injuring her, or bumping into her on the street in town and causing her to spill what she's carrying) who, feeling vindictive, decides to place a curse on them. But it could just as easily be the result of a cursed treasure in a dungeon, or inflicted upon the party by a recurring villain. Feel free to use it wherever and however you think it would be enjoyable.

Some way or another, the PCs are all stricken with a curse that penalizes them in a fashion that is detrimental to their class and general play style, making it hard for them to fit their typical role in the party. For example:

• Martial classes have Disadvantage on all Strength checks, to-hit rolls, and damage rolls, and their carrying capacity is halved.
• Magic-users have Disadvantage on Knowledge checks, any checks to successfully cast spells, and saves against magical effects.
• Rogues have Disadvantage on all Dexterity checks, and their footsteps become loud and conspicuous, making it harder for them to sneak around silently.
• Bards become tone-deaf and have Disadvantage on Performance checks. They also lose proficiency in any musical instruments until the effects of the curse wear off.

You get the idea. Feel free to tailor these to your party - if any of the PCs wouldn't be affected much by these penalties (for instance, if you have a Finesse fighter), come up with an alternative effect that would negatively affect them.

The idea is to make it harder to play the PCs the way the players normally would, forcing them to act outside of their comfort zone. This could present a fun opportunity to challenge players to think outside the box if their typical strategies wouldn't work, or to give them a chance to experiment with play styles they aren't used to. If you have a player who always plays one class, this might be a way to force them to branch out.

For maximum fun, don't have the curse take effect right away. Instead, the effects should start to become apparent 1d4 days after the inciting incident. Don't tell the players that the curse takes effect, either - just start asking them to reroll their rolls and take the lower result, without elaborating. Eventually, they'll figure out something's wrong, and this could kick off an investigation of what might have placed the curse on them. If you have the curse placed on them by an NPC, it's probably best if it's obvious that some sort of spell was cast even if it doesn't take effect immediately. The players will be a lot more likely to draw a connection between the little old lady they knocked over and the fact they can't hit the broad side of a barn if that old lady started waving her hands at them and speaking in tongues before they saw a bright flash. Otherwise, they might end up on a wild goose chase that leads nowhere.

Because I've left things open-ended as to what triggers the curse, I'll also leave it open-ended as to what breaks it. If the PCs attracted the ire of a magician, for example, they may need to find them and right their wrongdoing. Or potentially kill the mage that cursed them, but that might not be possible if they're in polite society. If they picked up a cursed artifact, it may simply be a matter of disposing of it - but cursed artifacts have a habit of turning up again, unless the curse is passed on to someone else. One fun option would be to have the curse be broken for a given PC when that character performs a great deed or overcomes a great challenge without having to fall back on their area of expertise, proving that they can thrive on their own merits even if their greatest assets are taken away from them.

Friday Encounter: Lost Spellbook

Here's a simple encounter that can fuel further developments in the campaign, and potentially give rise to a recurring adversary for the PCs. It is suited to any environment - in a dungeon, the wilderness, on the road, or possibly even in a town (such as in an alleyway somewhere). To best make use of this encounter, there should be at least one wizard in the party.

One way or another, the party should come across a discarded spellbook somewhere - either cast aside haphazardly, or guarded by some sort of trap or guardian. If a wizard can retrieve the book, and possesses the necessary spell slots and components, they will have access to whatever spells were recorded in its pages and can prepare and cast them.

To make this encounter the most fun, you should plan it in advance so the book contains spells that the wizard in the party does not already know, but that would benefit their character or play style (use your judgment here). This will expand the list of spells at their disposal. Incidentally, this is something I think DMs should do more of to tie PC advancement into the world - why have your players just pick new spells on leveling up when they can find them in books, or learn them from mentors? To make things really fun, include some spells that require spell slots the wizard doesn't have access to at their current level - this will provide an incentive to the player to pursue advancement so they can use their new spells, and gives them something to look forward to.

However, there is always a catch - and the spellbooks of unfamiliar wizards are not things to meddle with so lightly. The spellbook is attuned to its original user - although they may have misplaced it once, as soon as a different mage begins to draw power from the pages, the enchantments written into the book will alert its original owner to its current whereabouts, and that owner will surely be unhappy with something as priceless as a well-crafted spellbook containing years of study falling into the wrong hands.

This is a great way to introduce an rival magic-user to the campaign - ideally, one more learned and powerful than the PC wizard in order to provide some tension (and to explain the presence of higher-level spells - and again, to give the player something to aspire to!). I've deliberately left this open-ended so you can develop an antagonist suited to the PC in question. Their pursuit of the book can easily provide fodder for multiple adventures. They might send their servants after the party to try and retrieve the book, or inflict the PCs with curses or other obstacles. Sooner or later, though, they'll inevitably want to seek the thief out face-to-face for a battle of magical prowess!

Magic Items of the Tennurhaf

The Northmen possess an extensive series of mystic traditions, and in the Tennurhaf, those traditions have been perfected through the years. The people of the Sea of Teeth are renowned as some of the greatest magicians among the Northmen, and many Northern grimoires come from this region. Magicians in the Tennurhaf have developed and recorded many sigils, or staves, in order to imbue objects with magical power. By inscribing these symbols on paper talismans and sewing or placing them into items, a consistent magical effect can reliably be reproduced. Here are a few of such items documented in the mystic tomes of the Tennurhaf.

Art by Caitlin Fitzgerald

Corpse Breeches

Wondrous Item, very rare, requires attunement

Among the more well-known rituals of Tennurhaf mysticism is that to create a set of corpse breeches - a set of enchanted trousers made from the skin of a dead man. Although the process of creating them is morbid, the breeches are surprisingly pedestrian in their use, for they are usually used by magicians to create an ready supply of money. However, they carry a curse. The art of making corpse breeches was taught to mortals by a demon known as Orkku the Bloated Prince, and as part of the pact that imparted the world with this knowledge, anyone who uses them will condemn their soul to Hell, unless they can pass on the curse before they die.

Corpse breeches are made from the entire skin of a corpse, which must have an intact scrotum, from the waist down, and are worn over the wearer's skin. Contained in a pocket made from the corpse's scrotum are 1d4 coins (roll 1d10: 1-3. copper; 4-6. silver, 7. electrum, 8-9. gold, 10. platinum) and a piece of paper with a sigil inscribed on it. When one is attuned to the breeches, the amount of coins in the pocket doubles each day, as long as it contains at least one of the same denomination it started with. If coins are placed in the pocket after the fact, they are not doubled. The coins will always be of the same denomination and disappear from the possession of others nearby, instantaneously transporting to the breeches. This means that as the breeches accrue money, it will disappear from the possession of others - who may begin to suspect something is afoot, if this continues.

Once one attunes to a set of corpse breeches, they cannot be removed unless by breaking the spell on them (either by emptying the scrotum completely of coins or removing the sigil), causing them to permanently become an ordinary (if disturbing) pair of leather pants. The only other way to remove the breeches is by passing on the curse. The only way to attain a set, then, is to either make them through a ritual or to have them passed to you.

Corpse breeches may only be made from someone who has given consent while alive for their skin to be used to make the breeches upon death. Many magicians make pacts with one another that if one of them dies before the other, the other will make corpse breeches from his body. They must be worn immediately after flaying them from the corpse, and then a coin that was stolen from a widow during one of the days of the Wheel of the Year must be deposited into the scrotum along with the sigil. Once this is complete, the pants attune to the creator and begin to summon money to them.

If someone attuned to a pair of corpse breeches is on their deathbed, they may pass the curse on to another, in which case they lose attunement with the breeches and can remove them; the breeches will then become attuned to another humanoid designated by their previous wearer as soon as they are donned. If a creature dies while still attuned to corpse breeches, their soul is immediately condemned to Hell. They do not make death saves, may not cheat Death, and cannot be revived or communed with (via speak with dead or similar effects) by any means short of retrieving their soul from Hell directly.

Nithing Pole

Wondrous Item, uncommon

In the Northern tongues, the term nithingr - often translated as "outlaw," but this doesn't capture all the intricacies of the term - refers to a person marked for dishonorable conduct. A person can be pronounced a nithingr for a number of reasons, such as breaking an oath, showing cowardice, committing murder, or failing to show up to a holmgang. The Northmen take this punishment quite seriously, for there is more at stake than merely one's social status. To be declared a nithingr involves a ritual in which a nithing pole is used, which often (but not always) marks the target with a supernatural curse to punish them for their dishonor.

To construct a nithing pole, one must sacrifice an animal (usually a horse, but a calf, sheep, or goat may be used if one is unavailable) and attach its head to a wooden pole. When the pole is directed so that the head is facing the target, and the end of the pole is beat against the ground three times with the word "Nithingr!" called out each time, the user can cast bestow curse regardless of how far away the target is. If the user does not have any levels in a spellcasting class, the DC to save against this curse is 10.

Glima Boots

Wondrous Item, uncommon

A popular sport among the Northmen is a form of wrestling known as glima, in which participants grab one another by the belt or shoulders and attempt to throw their opponents off their feet. Wrestling contests can be found at many a feast and assembly, especially in the Tennurhaf. It was rather inevitable, then, that enchantments and charms would be developed to ensure good luck in these contests. Some contests ban this, while others consider the use of magic to be a valid tactic, as one is using everything at their disposal to win.

Several Tennurhaf grimoires describe the use of a set of sigils that are woven into the inside of the wearer's boots - one under the heel of the right boot, and one under the toe of the left boot. While one wears these boots, they have Advantage on any checks made to grapple an opponent, and any grapple attacks made against them are made at Disadvantage.

Tilberi

Among hedge witches in the Lunar Lands, there are innumerable spells to steal milk from the teats of cows and deliver it straight to the caster - it allows one to have a steady source of food without needing to invest in land to keep livestock oneself. In the Tennurhaf, most witches accomplish this by creating a particular kind of magical construct known as a tilberi.

A tilberi can only be created by a woman. To do this, she must exhume a recently buried body and take a rib from the corpse, then wind it around a sheaf of stolen grey wool and keep the bundle between her breasts for three weeks. At the end of each week, she must spit wine into the bundle. After the third time this is done, the bundle develops a face at each end, and must be placed against the creator's thigh, which it will suckle blood from, leaving a wart. At this point, the tilberi is complete.

The tilberi will loyally obey the wishes of its master, who it regards as its mother. Although the first tilberis were created to contain milk, they are capable of storing any fluid substance and expelling it from their mouths on command. Some inventive witches have experimented with other uses for the tilberi, such as using them as ambulatory potion bottles, or as guardians, spitting acid at intruders or sucking blood from their wounds. It should be noted, however, that tilberis are cowardly creatures and will run back to their "mother" if threatened.

For more on tilberis, see this article from A.C. Luke.

Click to enlarge

Halfling Magic

Strictly speaking, the halflings of the Green Downs are not ones for magic. Mastery of the mystic arts involves hours upon hours of careful study, hours that most halflings would rather devote to honest farm work. So too, in such an insular society, halflings are reluctant to entertain the scholarly traditions of magic from outside the Green Downs.

However, it cannot be denied that the Hinnisch folk often encounter situations in which magic is useful. They too suffer ailments and need protection against robbers and the elements. They too lose tools that no one can find, and they too may be bedeviled by spirits. To that extent, the halflings have their own traditions of spellcraft that exist within their own communities.

In the Hinnisch tongue, magic is known as braucherei, and a practitioner is dubbed a braucher (pl. braucheri). There are only a select few families in the Green Downs that practice braucherei; it is a gift passed down through generations, and most halflings do not bother to study the mystic arts unless they are born into them. The braucher families keep meticulous records of their traditions, sharing their knowledge with their children from a young age to carry on their craft. All braucherei consider themselves members of the same extended family, united by craft if not by blood; as such, they do not intermarry, though any child with at least one braucher parent may have the gift. When a child is born to a braucher family, all braucheri in the nearby villages gather to celebrate the occasion. At these meetings, a ritual is performed to confirm whether or not the child has an innate skill for magic - if they do, they are taught the craft, trained from childhood to carry on the family business.

Braucheri deal strictly in white magic - that is, protective and healing spells. They consider offensive magic and curses - black magic - to be dangerous and unholy, and fear it. In game terms, they are best represented by clerics of the Life or Peace domains. Halfling magic, like the traditions of the cunning folk in human lands, is influenced heavily by religion, and incorporates prayers and the invocation of deities and saints, but braucheri are not ordained members of the Pantheonist cults.

The braucheri collect their wisdom in grimoires - which, in halfling tradition, do not consist solely of spells; a typical Hinnisch grimoire will also contain prayers, mundane remedies, and even recipes for food and drink. These tomes can be considered a collection of all information the braucheri consider useful to have at hand, which, for halflings, includes the more victual pleasures of life. The most prized grimoires of all, however, are the missives of heaven - texts held to have been miraculously delivered from the gods themselves. These texts are magic in and of themselves, and protect anyone who carries them from harm, be it from demonic powers or the hands of men. However, in order for such protection to apply, the user must abide by a code of conduct outlined in the text. Failure to live by its tenets means the spells will be undone.

Braucheri enjoy a position of status within halfling communities, revered as healers, teachers, and religious leaders. Many villagers will turn to them for help that only they can work. However, though it is unusual for halflings in general to stray far from their burrows, and braucheri specifically even more so, there are some that may be found plying their craft in other lands, or along the roads.

Art by Caterina Capogrossi

Background: Braucher

Prerequisites: Must be a halfling. Optionally, a DM may allow PCs of other races to take this background if they have, for whatever reason, been raised among halflings, but this is rare.

Suggested Names: Pennsylvania Dutch names, or classically Tolkienian hobbit names.

Skill Proficiencies: Arcana, Religion

Tool Proficiencies: Herbalism kits, one set of artisan's tools or musical instrument of your choice.

Languages: Hinnisch, Celestial.

Equipment: A healer's kit or a herbalism kit, a grimoire, a set of common clothes, and a pouch containing 50 GP.

Feature: Hex Sign. You have been taught several apotropaic sigils, and can imbue them with power; halflings use these to decorate their barns and homes, and they are often of fine craftsmanship, featuring bold colors and artistic designs. You may spend an hour to paint a sign on a building no larger than a barn; all creatures within that building are under the effects of a protection from evil and good spell. This effect ends if the sign is damaged or the wall it is on is destroyed.

Three Demons

If I'm going to use demons - especially big, important, named demons - in my games, they aren't going to be something as simple as bosses to be defeated, with lots of HP and powerful attacks. That's boring. Demons are far more interesting if you stop thinking of them as enemies and think of them more as patrons - forces that could grant the PCs great power if they so wish to seek out their attention, but at a great price. Drawing on their depictions in folklore and mysticism, they're unique beings with their own agendas, exploiting the foolishness and temptations of mortals to corrupt them into acts of cruelty and chaos, and no PC who consults them should do so without it coming back to bite them in the end.

Here are three demons inspired by Goetic traditions and The Book of Ebon Bindings. Their summoning rituals are intended to be handled through narrative tasks and requirements, as described in this post on ritual magic.

Sifunoth, the Great Black Goat of Nowaub

Sifunoth is a Mighty Great President of Hell with forty-four legions of demons under her command. She is known as a patron of witches and is called upon at sabbaths and black masses to teach the secrets of magic to those who beseech her. Her cult is believed to have arisen in the last days of the ancient Nuwapian empire, but the rituals to summon her, and the secrets she is said to teach, have been passed down for generations, and cults to her now exist throughout the known world.

Appearance: Sifunoth typically appears as a large black nanny goat, and can assume the form of a normal goat in order to disguise herself. However, she prefers to manifest as a goat with a thousand writhing, spindly legs like those of a centipede.

Personality: Sifunoth addresses her mortal followers in an perversely grandmotherly tone, showing them cloying displays of affection and offering personal investment in their concerns. However, she is not wont to give good advice, and will always suggest acts of violence and cruelty as the solution to problems.

Summoning Ritual: Sifunoth may only be summoned under a full moon, beneath a clear sky, and when the moon appears directly above the summoning site. A scaffold of wood, eight feet tall, must be constructed, and atop it, three braziers must be lit with six juniper twigs and six aspen twigs each, before an incantation is read in Ancient Nuwapian. Then, the summoner throws themselves backwards off the platform; they may not look behind them to make sure it is safe. If the ritual is performed correctly, they will land atop Sifunoth's back, as she has miraculously manifested just beneath them, and expresses concern for her disciple risking themselves in such a fashion. The ritual takes three days to prepare and twenty minutes to perform.

Blessing: When summoned, Sifunoth will teach her disciple the secrets of magic. She will offer to impart the secrets of a random first or second-level spell from the Warlock spell list; ideally, this should be a spell that would be of use to the summoner and fit their personality and tactics. If the summoner does not think this spell would be useful, she will propose another until they approve of her offer. Then, she will press her forehead against the summoner's chest, and the summoner will instinctively know how to cast the spell. They may cast it three times per day (if first level) or once per day (if second level), using Charisma as their spellcasting ability. They can cast the spell even if they are not ordinarily a spellcasting class.

Price: Those who learn magic from Sifunoth are marked by her favor. They grow coarse black hair like that of a goat all over their bodies over the course of the next week; if they attempt to shave this hair, it grows back the next day. Others will likely regard affected PCs with suspicion and fear if they do not hide this effect.

Ritzenfauer, the King of the Labyrinth

Ritzenfauer is a King of Hell with seven legions of demons under his command. He rules from the center of the Labyrinth of a Thousand Torments, a seemingly infinite maze of corridors, pits, and deathtraps. He is known for his power over life and death, and teaches the secrets of transcending the limits of bodily mortality. Previously, he was imprisoned by an order of Torvaldic monks in the Silver Chains Priory in Togarmah, but was released by a ritual gone awry. Though he will still respond to summoning rituals, he has taken to his freedom and wanders the Mortal Realm looking for those he can lead astray. As a result of his imprisonment, he is resentful of Torvald and his faithful.

Appearance: Ritzenfauer takes the form of a shriveled, withered figure wrapped in a blue or red shroud, his face always obscured by shadow save for a pair of piercing red eyes. When in the guise of a mortal, he always walks with a hunch.

Personality: Ritzenfauer conducts himself in a stuffy, formal fashion, speaking to mortals from a place of power and dignity. He is not afraid to use mortals as pawns to accomplish his goals, and often makes offers to them that he has no intentions of holding up his end of the bargain on.

Summoning Ritual: Ritzenfauer may only be summoned on the Tenth of Winemoon (equivalent to October 10th, or the tenth day of the tenth month in the world's lunar calendar). A sigil must be drawn in black chalk with five candles made from human fat placed equidistant to one another around its radius. Each candle must be lit in sequence after an incantation is spoken in Old Golniri, and the center of the sigil must then be anointed with the blood of three different people mixed in a brass bowl. The ritual takes half an hour to set up, an hour to perform from start to finish, and must end at the stroke of midnight. If the ritual is completed successfully, Ritzenfauer will appear at the center of the sigil and offer his blessing.

Blessing: Ritzenfauer's blessing will allow his disciple to defy the laws of mortality. If accepted, the next time the disciple dies, they do not start making death saves. Instead, they will begin slowly regenerating, their mortal wounds knitting themselves back together over a period of three days. This will work even if the disciple's body was completely destroyed, such as through a disintegrate spell; their body and all equipment will regenerate from nothing. The period of regeneration is painful and the disciple remains conscious throughout the entire process; they cannot do anything more than lying around and moaning in agony until the three days are up.

Price: Ritzenfauer is amused by the fact that mortals are so afraid of their own mortality that they would not consider the greater picture. Although his blessing will work once, should the disciple die for any reason after regenerating, they do not regenerate a second time, and their soul is condemned instantly to the Labyrinth of a Thousand Torments. They do not make death saves, may not cheat Death, and cannot be revived by any means short of retrieving their soul from the Labyrinth directly.

Art by getsugadante

Lagaaz the Festering

Lagaaz is a Prince of Hell with two hundred legions of demons under his command. Like many demons, he is a bringer of pestilence and affliction, and his minions carry it forth unto the mortal realm. However, Lagaaz does not see disease as merely a way to inflict harm on mortals, but also as an incentive to further his own aims. He has the power to heal mortals of disease by taking it on himself, and he delights at inflicting mortals with plagues so that they will sell their souls to him for relief from their misery.

Appearance: In his true form, Lagaaz appears as a horrendously bloated decaying corpse covered in boils and weeping sores. His right leg is the foot of a crow, and his left leg is unnaturally short. He also sometimes appears riding a donkey. If disguised as a mortal, his face is always hideously disfigured with scars and boils.

Personality: Despite his grotesque appearance, Lagaaz does not behave as an afflicted person would - he is, in fact, incredibly spry and full of energy, and his lesions do not seem to bother him. He is a fast talker and a slick con artist, akin to a carnival barker or a used car salesman, attempting to dupe his disciples into selling their souls before they can realize the price of his offer.

Summoning Ritual: To summon Lagaaz, one must exhume four bodies that have died of the same plague after they have been buried in the ground for exactly three days. Their hearts must be cut out with a bronze knife and burned on a pyre with the four bodies arranged around it pointing in the four cardinal directions. As the fire burns, the summoner must walk in a continuous circle around the bodies, sprinkling their feet with water mixed with the dirt from the exhumed graves, until the flames begin to dim, at which point the summoner must stop at the feet of the closest body and hurl it into the fire. As smoke rises from the pyre, Lagaaz will appear inside and offer his disciple to come to him. This ritual takes five hours to prepare, and two hours to perform.

Blessing: When summoned, Lagaaz will invite his disciple to step forward and place their hands upon his corpulent, decaying body. If they do so, they will find themselves gripped by a surge of vigorous energy. They gain Inspiration, and any diseases or other conditions they are subject to are immediately removed as Lagaaz absorbs their affliction into his body. They permanently gain immunity to any diseases and poisons thereafter.

Price: Lagaaz has removed his disciple's afflictions and taken them into himself - however, the ritual must be continued in order to maintain that state. Once a month, Lagaaz's disciple must murder a person who is innocent of any crimes and who does not hold any antipathy toward them and hang their body from a tree as a sacrifice to the demon prince. In addition to compromising the moral fiber of the disciple, this often necessitates they keep moving, as the disappearance of the sacrificial victim will surely be noticed, particularly when their body must be displayed in so conspicuous a fashion. If a month goes by without such an offering, the disciple is stricken by every disease that Lagaaz has absorbed into his body; they have Disadvantage on all attack rolls and ability checks; automatically fail all saves (including death saves); and will die in three days. If they commit a murder within these three days, the effect is immediately revoked.

Friday Encounter: Wishing Well

This encounter may be used anywhere. It may be found in the wilderness, on the side of a road, at the center of a town, or in a dungeon. Ideally, the party should hear rumors of the wishing well before they come across it so that they know its properties and how to use it.

The party will come across a well or spring beside a large hawthorn tree, the branches of which are laden with many-colored ribbons and strips of paper (if this encounter is used in a dungeon, you could have them tied to rafters, pillars, or stalactites around the well instead). On the ribbons are inscriptions that all describe a wish, left there by previous travelers.

If a PC writes down their wish on a ribbon and hangs it from the tree, the next time they take a long rest, they will receive a vision of a beautiful woman bathed in light. This is the fey spirit who guards the well, and who works its magic. In a soft and soothing voice, she will describe the payment needed to grant the PC's wish.

Any number of wishes may be made in this fashion, and they will always be executed to the PC's desire, without being twisted or deliberately misinterpreted. However, the wish will not be granted unless an appropriate offering is brought to the well. This offering should fit the principles of equivalent exchange, approximating the metaphysical value of the wish. For instance, if one wishes for wealth or power, they must give up something worth the blessing, such as an eye. If one wishes for a magic item, they may be told they must obtain a rare object that proves their worthiness of using it, such as a dragon's scale. If a PC wishes to bring someone back from the dead, they will be told they must drown someone else in the well so their soul can take their place in the Land of the Dead. Use your judgment as a DM to come up with an appropriate sacrifice or challenge for the reward - and keep in mind that the fair folk find our notions of ethics and morality amusing at best.

You could think of this encounter as something of a quest dispenser for PCs to be able to initiate quests for the rewards they seek. I've heard of some DMs having players write "wish lists" of magic items they want to obtain over the course of a campaign. I find this idea utterly ridiculous - it takes away from the impact of obtaining such a reward if you knew in advance you were going to get it anyway. However, this way, if a player really is set on a particular item, you can make sure they have a way to get it - with an appropriate price they can decide whether or not is worth paying. Alternatively, it could be used as a way to give the PCs bonuses at a price. You may wish to mark the hex or point this encounter was obtained on, if using such mapping schemes, in case the players want to return to the well, or if whatever quest it sends them on would take them elsewhere.

Once whatever payment the spirit demanded is thrown into the well, the PC who made the wish will find that it is miraculously granted - any blessings they wished for are granted to them, items will appear in their possession suddenly, and any changes they wish to be made upon the world are enacted. If they climb into the well, there is no sign of the offering(s) anywhere. Alternatively, you might have the offerings stick around, but removing them from the well would condemn anyone to a curse...

Friday Encounter: The Genie's Lamp

Of all the D&D horror stories out there, I'm sure that a solid chunk of them (if we filter out the ones that involve the words "it's what my character would do," anyway) involve the wish spell. The fun thing about such a spell is that it can do anything. It's a feature that truly shows the infinite potential of a TRPG if what a player can do with it is only limited by their imagination, and encourages the sort of creative thinking and problem solving that make TRPGs truly shine for me. The downside of wish is that giving a player access to infinite potential is very easy to abuse...unless the DM decides to have some fun with it, anyway.

Here's an encounter that plays on an old trope to get players thinking of how well they use their wishes. Perhaps it's a bit trite. Practically everyone has seen a genie someone had to throttle in a bottle, right? (Is my theater kid self showing?) But the reason cliches like this exist is because there's something about them that appeals to us, and a lot of them could very easily make for some fun scenarios at the table. Part of what appealed to me about D&D growing up was the idea of stepping into the same kinds of stories I loved and getting to make the decisions for the protagonist(s), and I think there's something to be said about presenting players with recognizable scenarios that have been the plot of many a TV episode or thought experiment to see how they would approach them.

The Genie's Lamp

This encounter can be used anywhere. It could be in a dungeon, in the wilderness, after defeating a major opponent, or perhaps even in a town. It doesn't even have to be in Quel'Ahma (or wherever genies come from in your setting); captive genies fetch a high price on the black market, and the sorcerers who control them may spread far and wide. Whatever the case may be, the PCs should come across a brass lamp carved with elaborate designs - it might be abandoned, pawned off at a market, or looted off a defeated foe.

If the lamp is rubbed, a cascade of sparkling smoke pours from the spout - and from that smoke manifests Tahir Avram Majdi abd al-Malik, a noble djinn who has been held prisoner in the lamp for centuries, bound under the spell of a cruel magician who wished to harness the genie's powers for his own gain. Recognizing the PCs are unfamiliar to him, Tahir introduces himself and expresses his gratitude for being freed from his prison. As is customary among his people, he agrees to grant them a taste of his power as a reward for their generosity, promising three wishes, with no rules or restrictions applying (other than that they cannot wish for more wishes), before he returns to the flying city of Tasshen.

The twist is that the long years of confinement and servitude have caused Tahir to grow resentful of all mortals, and he sees the PCs as no different than the wizard who bound him in the first place. He still offers his services to them - it's tradition, after all - but secretly, he only intends to pay lip service to the idea. In reality, Tahir wants revenge, and he will go through whatever means necessary to twist the PCs' wishes against them, in a scheme to teach them that they cannot hope to control such great and powerful entities and get away unscathed.

Whatever the PCs wish for, Tahir will execute it in way that will harm, inconvenience, or negatively impact them the most while still falling under the parameters of what they wished for. He will never refuse a wish or produce something other than what was wished for, but his definition of "what was wished for" is a broad one, and he weighs his interpretation heavily against the PCs. Use your judgment on how to best twist a wish. For instance, if a PC wishes for a magical sword, Tahir will give them one that is cursed (it's still magical; they never asked for a good enchantment). If they wish for an adversary to be dead, Tahir might ensure that their death creates a power vacuum that an even greater foe could occupy - or even turn that enemy undead, but still very much active and against the party, and quite possibly stronger than before!

If the PCs call Tahir out on his tricks, he will not lie or make excuses, simply pointing out that he still gave the PCs what they wished for. If they attempt to harm him, he will jump back into the lamp and hide there, refusing to emerge until it is rubbed when the PCs have no harmful intentions. If the PCs try to get rid of the lamp, it will keep mysteriously turning up in their possession, though Tahir himself will never appear unless summoned by rubbing the lamp.

This is, effectively, a way to challenge the PCs into thinking creatively to try to outsmart the genie. They might twist their wishes to be as specific as possible, for instance - though Tahir will still try to find whatever loopholes he can. A truly creative PC might be able to weaponize Tahir's wishes into creating cataclysms that will be as harmful to enemies as they are to the party themselves!

Once three wishes have been made, Tahir keeps to his word and vanishes off to Tasshen, glad to finally be rid of those pesky mortals. The lamp then becomes an ordinary lamp, worth 80 GP.

Shamans of Ukiah

In a harsh land like Ukiah, no one can expect to survive on their own. The communal structure of Ukian life, built around family ties, is a testament to that fact. But there are still reasons for Ukians to live alone. One might commit a grave enough crime to warrant exile from their tribe, forcing them into a lonely existence. As the Ukians do not believe in spilling blood against their kin, this is effectively their equivalent of a death sentence, leaving the condemned to the elements - but occasionally, an exile may eke out a life for themselves, sometimes even journeying west and south and finding work among outsiders.

The other reason a Ukian may live alone: if they are a shaman.

Though it isn't uncommon for Ukians to know a few simple spells here - usually those who are naturally talented, as the Ukians are largely illiterate people with no time to study grimoires - it is the shamans who truly carry on the magical traditions of the land, and who are regarded as masters in their craft. They are revered for their abilities to project their spirits from their bodies and into other realms, where they confront, negotiate with, and at times do battle with higher powers. Ukian shamanism displays a syncretism of traits from Pantheonism and the Old Faith, with a hierarchy of revered spirits - the most honored are the gods, who are greater than any other and who are recognized by all the tribes, but each tribe has its own pantheon of domestic spirits of the land and of their ancestors. Khans, generals, and elders of past generations may be called upon by a shaman, whose spirit may take a journey to the Land of the Dead to consult them in matters that ail the tribe.

In Ukiah, shamans are born, not made. No one becomes a shaman who has not been marked for such a fate from birth. Odd physical features, such as birthmarks, extra fingers, or being born with teeth or a caul, are considered signs that a baby will grow up to be a shaman, but other times, it is simply that they carry an aura of power that may be felt by those who know how to attune themselves to it. In the Lunar Lands, some people are simply born with more magical aptitude than others, just like how one can be gifted at a particular craft - in Ukiah, however, this means much more.

When one who is destined to become a shaman comes of age, they are sent away from their yurt to live with another shaman as an apprentice. A shaman may have a number of apprentices at one time, and their duties may include mundane tasks such as gathering firewood and looking after the herds so that the shaman may devote their time toward more spiritual pursuits, but these apprentices also undergo training in the arts of magic, mastering the same spells and rituals that their mentors did. Once the master has taught their apprentice all there is to know, the apprentice goes off into the wilderness to establish a yurt or hut of their own as a shaman.

Ukian shamans do not belong to a clan or tribe. Actually, it would be more accurate to say that their tribe is that of all shamans, and their clan is that of the spirits of the land and of the dead. A shaman may inhabit the same lands as a tribe, and in some cases they may even travel along with a clan, but they are not considered part of the clan, nor are their spouses or children, and their livestock and property is not considered to be owned by the rest of the clan (woe betide the fool who borrowed a shaman's tools or slaughtered one of their goats without permission). Shamans are allowed to marry and have children, and indeed some Ukian clans claim descent from shamans, though many choose not to in order to focus on their arts, living in the wilderness as hermits along with their apprentices.

Shamans enjoy a place of honor in Ukian society; Jahken Khan, the first to unite the tribes of Ukiah, was himself a shaman, and his magic proved a great asset in his wars of unification. Because shamans have great powers beyond the ken of most Ukians, they are often sought out to lend their aid in matters such as telling the future, healing the sick, finding lost items, or dealing with magical threats (or sometimes becoming magical threats to one's enemies). They do not perform such services for free, however, not even to their own parents or siblings - after all, they are not part of the same clan; indeed, a member of any clan can seek the aid of any shaman, even if that shaman was born to a rival clan, and it is considered rude for a shaman to refuse services for such reasons. A shaman may demand tribute in the form of animals, trade goods, or tokens of metal, bone, or gemstone used to focus magical energies, the latter of which are often hung from the shaman's drum as a display. Cheating a shaman, or otherwise drawing their offense, is definitely not advisable.

Music plays an important role in Ukian shamanism, and many spells are cast in the form of songs, not unlike traditions of bardic magic. However, not all Ukian songs are magical in nature, and shamans make use of the same motifs and instruments as more mundane songs. This music is characterized by a form of animalistic chanting called joiking and the beating of a reindeer-hide drum. Shamans often work such performances into rituals, in which they work themselves up into a trance, during which they pursue audiences with spirits or allow them to possess their bodies so that they may work their skills.

In fact, a Ukian shaman drum has many uses, and they are not limited to the use of shamans. Every yurt has one, each of them one of a kind and passed down from generation to generation; when a new yurt is built, a new drum is made and consecrated in a special ritual to imbue it with power. These drums are inscribed with runes and diagrams so that when a pointer made of metal or bone is placed on the drum's surface and the drum is tapped with a hammer, the movement of the pointer can be interpreted as an oracle. For instance, if the pointer points to an image of cattle, and then an image of arrows, it may be interpreted as a sign that disease will strike the herds. Ukians use shaman drums in such a fashion to plan journeys, predict the future, and guide them through difficult decisions. Though anyone can use shaman drums in such a fashion, Ukian families are fiercely protective of their drums, and refuse to let them fall into the hands of enemies. Many carry powerful curses that afflict those who would steal them...

Ukian Shaman Drum

Wondrous Item, common

Art by Kati and Teemu Paananen

If a pointer is placed on the surface of this drum and it is hit with a hammer, the motions it takes and the images it point to can be used to tell the future. Once per day, a Ukian shaman drum can be used in a ritual that takes one hour to perform in order to cast Divination. Alternatively, a user who is attuned to the drum can use it as a spell focus or to cast Foresight, Contact Other Plane, or Scrying once per day using a ritual that takes one hour to perform. Only one spell can be cast using the drum per day. Only Ukian shamans can attune to the drum.

Friday Encounter: Ghost Town

This encounter is best used when the PCs are traveling by road. There are two very different ways to kick things off, which will depend on whether the party triggers it by day or by night. As we all know, you cannot have a meaningful campaign if strict time records are not kept, so it may be helpful to keep in mind what time of day the party comes upon this encounter to play things accordingly. Or just fudge things so that the party happens upon it at the right time of day for the scenario that most interests you.

You may want to mark the location of this encounter on a hex or point map, if using one, to keep note of it in case the PCs revisit it. They may find new developments if they do so by both day and night!

Background

The village of Tedansk has a problem - everyone is dead. An alchemist by the name of Teodosija once lived a few miles away from town, where - like many of her kind - she devoted her studies to decoding the secrets of life itself. She sought the ultimate goal of any alchemist - the fabled Elixir of Life, which could grant her immortality. As part of the process or creating this elixir, Teodosija managed to create a Philosopher's Stone, and with that, she began a ritual that would allow the elixir to be distilled from a bit of the Stone mixed in wine.

The only problem was, Teodosija discovered a little too late that her Philosopher's Stone was unstable, and the ritual did not go as planned. When she dissolved the Stone, it set off a magical reaction that vaporized her instantly and sent a wave of force through the land, affecting Tedansk. No physical structures were damaged, but everyone in town immediately dropped dead on the spot. Teodosija did, however, manage to imbue the Stone with the power of life - but not quite as she intended.

Now, the entire town of Tedansk is cursed with undeath. By day, their bones lay moldering wherever they fell, but at night, the ghosts of the villagers arise, going about their lives as though nothing ever happened.

To further complicate matters, Teodosija had previously constructed a shield guardian to guard her tower against intruders, but shortly before the event, she came to town to announce her "successful" creation of a Philosopher's Stone - and in the process, the village's resident ne'er-do-well, Milenko, pickpocketed the amulet she used to control it, believing it to be nothing more than a gold necklace. He was later caught for an unrelated crime and placed in the town lock-up, but before the town council could figure out what to do with him, the wave struck. Teodosija never figured out what happened to her amulet before her death, either - and, as she never reported it missing, it went unnoticed when he was apprehended.

The Encounter

If the PCs come upon Tedansk during the day, they will find it eerily still and quiet, with no signs of life. The buildings are undamaged, but no one walks the streets; everyone, from shopkeepers at their desks to the children gathered around a hopscotch track in the town square to even the animals in the fields, have fallen dead and long since rotten away to skeletons, and everything is covered in dust and cobwebs. Even the trees surrounding the village are dead.

As soon as the sun sets, however, the skeletons and dead plants disappear, and in their place the spirits of the townspeople, their livestock, and the vegetation arise, with the people going about their day-to-day business as normal. They do not acknowledge the fact that it is night, or the amount of dust on everything, and they will interact with the PCs as any living person would. If the PCs say anything to them that references them being dead or ghosts, the townspeople will be confused and likely offended; pressing this line of questioning will make them run the party out of town as lunatics.

Tedansk consists of a few houses, a shrine to Solenna, a blacksmith's shop, and an inn. All of them operate as normal, though any food served by the inn will have long since gone rotten and withered away (the villagers do not notice this). In addition, there is a lock-up where Milenko is being kept. A guard stands outside and will explain that he is being held for the crime of theft (he stole a cask of ale from the inn). Milenko will deny having stolen Teodosija's amulet, but if coerced, will eventually admit that he did pickpocket a necklace from the alchemist, which he gave to his fiance, Savitza, two months ago. Savitza is also a ghost in the town; she does not know that Milenko stole the amulet, and will be alarmed (though not entirely surprised) if she learns the truth. Neither of them know of the amulet's true nature, and Savitza will be unwilling to part with the amulet - it was a gift from Milenko, after all, and even if he is a thief and a cad, she remains loyal to him nonetheless, as their love is true.

Rumors in town may lead the PCs in the direction of Teodosija's tower, which sits further back in the dead woods to the southwest, about half an hour from town by foot. The townspeople know her as an alchemist of great power. Many of them respect her knowledge, and even more fear it; about two months ago she came to announce her success in creating a Philosopher's Stone, but she hasn't been heard from since. Some suspect that she was destroyed by her creation, while others wonder if she's up to something more nefarious.

Further Developments

If the party decides to investigate Teodosija's tower, they will find it to be a squat two-story stone construction deep in the woods. The first floor is guarded by Teodosija's stone guardian, which will attack anyone it is unfamiliar with; however, it will not attack anyone wearing the amulet, and will respond to their commands. This floor also contains Teodosija's living quarters; nothing of value is to be found there.

A flight of stairs leads up to the second floor. The shield guardian will not let anyone up the stairs without a fight. However, a DC 15 Investigation check outside the tower will determine that there are enough loose stones and patches of moss along its walls to allow someone to climb up to the second floor and enter through a window. A DC 20 Athletics or Acrobatics check, or the use of rope, pitons, or other tools, is required to do this.

The second floor serves as Teodosija's laboratory and office, with many tools for brewing and distilling, jars of ingredients and reagents, the obligatory taxidermied alligator, and so on. On a table in the center of the room is set a large red stone - this is Teodosija's Philosopher's Stone. Nearby is a hammer and chisel and a mixing bowl in which some wine is placed, left over from her failed experiment. Teodosija does not have a ghost, as she was consumed in the center of the reaction; all that is left of her is some dust scattered about the floor.

Also placed here is Teodosija's journal, where she has recorded her notes and a log of her experiments. In it, she notes that she has mastered the Philosopher's Stone, and intends to use it to create the Elixir of Life by dissolving a piece of it in wine. She also discusses coming to town recently to reveal the news. In the next entry, she notes that she can't find the amulet for her shield guardian anywhere, but won't let it distract her from her progress. It is evident from a glance at her notes that Teodosija was a passionate and perhaps exuberant woman, but one who let herself get carried away in the pursuit of knowledge and didn't take proper precautions, and was easily distracted. Looking through previous entries will reveal that she often boasted of making a breakthrough on an experiment, only to curse her lack of foresight on some important matter the next day (for example, one report describes her brewing a potion, only for it to quickly evaporate because she left the burner under the flask running while she was doing something else).

In particular, a DC 15 Arcana check will be able to determine that according to what her notes describe, Teodosija did not properly perform the phase of multiplication. The crucible that would form the Philosopher's Stone should have been continuously fed with quicksilver; instead, she describes adding quicksilver at intermittent intervals, apparently feeling the proper procedure was too much work. This indicates that the Stone was not properly stabilized. A character with a background in alchemy will know this automatically upon reading this report.

Teodosija has enough alchemical equipment to comprise a set of alchemist's supplies, if one wishes to take them. However, there is too much in the laboratory for any one person to carry in a single trip. If one uses the complete set of equipment (which cannot easily be moved from the room) to perform alchemy, they will receive Advantage on all applicable rolls. Proficiency bonuses still apply.

Of course, the bold might be willing to take Teodosija's Philosopher's Stone. Any alchemist would be willing to pay a hefty price for such a treasure - though if they realize how volatile it is, they will not be happy, and may seek retribution against the PCs.

If the PCs wish to use it themselves, it can turn lead into gold if applied to it using a ritual that takes five hours to set up and perform, but due to the instability of the stone, there is a 75% chance that it will instead cause the lead to combust, destroying it. If a chunk of the stone is broken off and dissolved in wine, roll 1d100 for the effects: 

1-10: The combination sets off another violent reaction. All living creatures in a 10-foot radius must make a DC 25 Constitution save or suffer the effects of a disintegrate spell. Constructs, undead, and inanimate objects aren't affected - this is specifically a reversal (as above, so below) of the Stone's effects on life. In addition, all living beings in a 90-foot radius around that must make a DC 25 Constitution save or drop dead instantly. They will rise as ghosts at nightfall, and will have no memories of dying.

11-50: The reaction produces a potion of poison.

51-90: Nothing happens. 

91-100: The reaction produces the Elixir of Life, which will remove all disease and other negative status effects from anyone who drinks it, in addition to healing any injuries (including regrowing lost limbs or other body parts) and cause the person consuming it to become 1d6 years younger.

On the Origins of Magic Items

In the Lunar Lands, the creation of a magic item isn't as simple as spending a bunch of gold and time to enchant something. Sure, items can be deliberately enchanted. But so too can they become magical.

My setting is a low magic one - I like to treat magic as something rare and unknown, not something that everyone sees every day. To do that would be to strip it of everything that makes it out of the ordinary, beyond the mundane - everything that makes it magical, really. But just because it's rare to see someone work magic doesn't mean that magic itself is unseen. In fact, there is magic in everything. Every rock, every tree, every blade of grass has its own life force, and that force permeates the physical world - sometimes imbuing objects with its power, and making them something more.

The details of how, exactly, this works are difficult to describe, or ascribe any consistent patterns to - such is magic. But items don't just become magical for no reason; they gain power over time, carrying the memories of every hand that used them and every use they provided their masters. Every time one uses, or so much as touches, an object, a little bit of their soul is imprinted on that object. And with enough use, that can force can build up in that object - and begin to alter its properties.

It is for this reason that magic items tend to be ancient. They might not always have been magic, but over many long centuries of use, they accumulate more and more life force. Often, this leads to them becoming especially good at the tasks they perform. If a sword has cut off a thousand heads, perhaps it will be guided toward the necks of its foes. If a ring has been passed down for generations of thieves, who always held onto it while sneaking around unseen, perhaps it will make its users' footsteps quieter - perhaps it may even evolve again to make them invisible.

Other times, an item may be imbued with a great amount of magical energy all at once. Those items that were used in great heroic deeds, for instance - those events that only happen once or twice a century - remember the heroics they were used in, and as the weave of fate is altered, so too does the item feel that, and seek to recapture its glory. Suppose, then, that that sword was used to slay an ancient dragon, one no warrior could hope to overcome - then it may develop a taste for dragons' blood, and hit those creatures harder. Or suppose that one of the line of thieves that hold that ring clutched it tight to their chest as they prepared a grand escape from an impenetrable fortress that none had ever escaped from before - then, perhaps, the ring might develop the ability to always guide its wearer toward the way out of a tricky situation.

There is a downside to the empowering of items that acquire life force, of course. The more the item grows in power, the more it may begin to develop a mind of its own. The memories and personality traits of past wielders may be imprinted upon it, and it may in turn pass those on to those who use the item next. An item with a particularly strong force of will may begin to influence the thoughts of its user, using them to achieve its own goals. They may subtly guide their thoughts to what will suit the agenda of the spirit inhabiting the item, or they may cause the user's personality to resemble the previous owner of the item. Magic, after all, is not something to be trifled with lightly.

Orphys, the Blade of Kings

Artifact

One such example of how magic items work in the Lunar Lands can be seen in the sword Orphys - the sword wielded by Matto the Great in the many battles and conquests that forged the kingdom of Lescatie, and which he used to slay the dragon on the site of the city's founding. Though it was forged as nothing more than ordinary steel, the great deeds the sword has performed wrote a record that caused its power to swell - and that power would only grow with time, as the sword was passed down from one king to another, remembering the actions and deeds of each.

Currently, the sword belongs to the Matriarch, as a symbol of her office as Grandmaster of the Order of the Lily. It is used to knight new inductees to the Order, and in her days as a paladin she used it to fell many a foe. It is held at the Citadel of Salvarisonnes, the headquarters of this knightly order, for safekeeping - but its power is legendary, and if one was to brave the castle's defenses to claim it for themselves, it would prove a mighty weapon indeed.

In its normal state, Orphys has the stats of a +2 longsword. It can be used without attunement in such a state. However, if attuned, the sword instead gives +3 to attack and damage rolls, does an extra 2d10 radiant damage against fiends, undead, and dragons, and can grant Advantage on saving throws against spells to all friendly creatures in a 10-foot radius if held aloft as an action. At the same time, one who is attuned to the blade also becomes under the influence of its life force - a life force composed of every great king and hero of Lescatie who has used the sword, many of them sworn to the Cult of Voltan and to the values of righteous rule and protection of those in one's charge.

When attuned, Orphys behaves as a sentient item with the ability scores INT 15 (+2), WIS 14 (+2), CHA 17 (+3). Each day the user is attuned to the blade, or if they act in a self-interested or dishonorable fashion unbefitting of an ideal king, they must make a Charisma check opposed to a Charisma check from the blade. If they fail the save, they must then make a DC 15 CHA save or fall under the sword's control.

While this happens, their INT, WIS, and CHA saves are replaced by those of the sword, and they are incapable of acting selfishly or dishonorably; the DM may veto any player actions that they feel do not fit that of a great ruler of men (if you've read Beowulf you should have a good idea) and force the player to pick an alternate course of action. This effect ends if the user drops the sword (they will not do so voluntarily if under its control) or until the next dawn; the user does not get to reroll the save if they take damage.