Happy Happy

Go eat some candy.

Also, listen to Hawkwind.

To the Lagoons

I am not one to take many trips to the far-most southern parts of Greyhawk. I can't say as I love the Lords of the Isles; I mean, I don't like lords in general, and I certainly don't want a bunch of self-appointed lords to tell me where I can and can't sail a ship. Although, to be fair, I can't sail a ship, but hey, that is my business, not some gussied-up pirate's business. If I want to sail a ship directly in wind and have it sink because I have no idea what I am doing or even if a ship can sail into the wind, by Rudd's luck card, I will. 

Also, I don't like ships that much. Aquatic combat is uncertain at best and having to protect three dimensions instead of two is not that great. It is one thing if the other tactical plane is above, and it is another, worse thing when it is below. First, there is the problem of breathing, which is not generally a concern when fighting something in the air. Second, everything is slowed down when fighting on, or in, the water. Ever shoot a crossbow from a skiff? Let me tell you, it sucks. Even worse is combat in the water. The water is never warm; cuts, parries, and all the rest of sword craft is gone; and good luck if you prepared for the adventure by putting metal armor on. Sure, sometimes it is fine to have leather or padded armor: in the business, it is called second level. Unless that boiled leather is magical, look for an upgrade as soon as possible. I can't count the times my chainmail +2 has saved my hide, and I can count pretty high since someone has to count all my treasure.

Anyway, leave the sailing to the merfolk or, really, whomever else want to do it. As long as it isn't me, have at it.

"City of Lagoons" is the end of side A.

    

Half Wolf, Half Half Wolf

Not to be confused with a werewolf, the wolfwere is, at least according to the Monster Manual II, hated and feared by human and demihuman alike. To me, this says two things. First, that someone out there is okay with werewolves. Second, that humanoids don't have a problem with wolfweres. Now, I can see how a person might be okay with a werewolf: they can be tragic figures. It might be a familial curse that they transform every month from Duke Suchandsuch to the countryside mangler. For 28 days of the month, you are a regular merchant or wheelwright or cobbler and for the other days, you are ripping through bodices and jerkins. There isn't much anyone can do for these werewolves outside of hitting them with a remove curse. To be fair, there is a bunch of stuff that can be done to a werewolf, but remove curse is the only one that usually leaves them alive. Hitting a werewolf with an eight hit die fireball, for example, will eliminate the werewolf problem, but it also might make the three-year old son of Duke Suchandsuch the new Duke quite quickly.

No, the thing I really have a problem with is the assumption that humanoids wouldn't have a problem with wolfweres. I am half-humanoid, and these guys sound terrible. Not only are they pretty tough and sneaky, their howling song causes lethargy in people who hear it. I have been afflicted with many things in my time: several forms of disease, sexually transmitted and otherwise; mania and monomania thanks to magic-user I once angered; memory loss after too much of a good time. But never lethargy. I would have a serious problem with some fake human trying to get me to slow down. I don't usually consider myself a spokesperson for my race, but this time I will: humanoids also have a problem with wolfweres.

"Steppenwolf" turned out to be better than I remembered it. These Halloween postings keep paying off.

Grin Reefer

Fun facts from the Dungeon Masters Guide

• I get a +15% on my morale when I am greatly intoxicated. I have a feeling this is more for the "alcohol" than "narcotics" because during my narcotic experiences, I would not necessarily say that I more likely to continue the fight than I am to continue the narcotic. 
• Somehow, I get +3 hit points when I am 15 pipe loads into Garwin Treefather's super stash of crimson widow weed. Almost makes the loss of dexterity and attack dice worthwhile. Plus I am a half-orc; what do I care about charisma?
• I must say, I like the idea of finding the stage beyond great that allows me to go comatose and sleep for 10 hours. Frankly, I see this as a benefit, not a drawback.    

• Far be it from me to argue with the DMG; it has been part of my prime material plane life for almost 40 solar cycles, but time is not the only cure for intoxication. There are many spells that will handle it, and I bet a potion of super healing can take the edge right off that hangover or drug-fiend lean. Also, what about a brew that the local shaman puts together? I am sure that more than one tribal priest has a darn fine recipe for shaking off the shakes. 

"Reefer Madness" is the opening song on Hawkwind's 1976 album, Astounding Sounds, Amazing Music. Can't say this is my favorite Hawkwind LP, but it, like every other Hawkwind recording, will have weird bits.

Wrong Side of Another Day

I think every adventurer has had this experience, with the exception of monks and clerics who follow some of those boring lawful religions: you have recently split the profits of an extremely successful dungeon crawl and are out looking for somewhere to spend part of your earnings. By Boccob, you did just face a group of trolls, a particularly smelly grey ooze, several ogres, and two surprisingly well-organized hobgoblin tribes, capped off by a upper-level magic-user who tried to fry the whole party with lighting bolts. I mean, you earned that loot.

Out you go, with a couple of the other more fun-loving party members, one thing leads to another, and the next thing you know, you are dancing around a open fire pit with a half-giantess and several other women of various reputations. Everyone is having a real good time drinking Willip Widowmakers and inhaling various herbs and spices. Things start to get a little blurry, various stages of alertness are visited, and then everyone needs to find a place to rest weary heads.

At some point, the blinding sun comes piercing through whatever hovel, tent, or room you have managed to stumble into. The half-giantess is gone, along with several of your gold pieces. You stumble around, looking for a pitcher of water or, if that isn't available, a trough to stick your head in. After a while, you start to feel a little better. Gathering up your clothes and whatever is left of your purse, you head back to wherever you stashed the rest of your loot and gear. By the time you get back, the sun is going down, your head hurts less, and the night calls again. The whole point of killing those trolls is to get their money, and there isn't much good in saving it. What, are you going to bring it with you when you head to Avernus? 

"Motorhead"--minus the umlaut--is the last song Lemmy wrote before Hawkwind booted him out for liking speed more than acid.

Speedy Kings of Speed

Here are some random facts about speed from the Dungeon Masters Guide:

• Two of the ingredients for a potion of speed are a pegasus heart and giant weasel blood. Now that would be a fun little quest for three or four lower-level PCs to go on. A local magic-user, based out of Enstad, hires the group to get a heart and find some weasels. Along the way, they battle goblins, gnolls, a gargoyle, and one angry ogre, only to find it was all a set up. There wasn't a pegasus at all: the magic-user was luring the party to their doom so he could drain their blood. 
• Getting a potion of speed is well worth it. Movement speed is doubled, and a character can attack at twice their normal amount. Essentially, an 9th-level assassin could fire 4 poison-tipped arrows a melee round, as she scoots around the room as a blur. It is worth the 1 year of a life for each drink. Elves can live 500 years: that is a lot of potions.  
• Speaking of fast, mixing boots of speed with a potion of speed would be quite impressive. The boots have a base movement of a fast horse [24" a round]. Slip on the boots, slip a little of the fine weasel blood, and run around the battlefield faster than pretty much anything. Well worth having to rest every eight hours and being one year older.
• There also is a lot about weapon speed factors, which I surprisingly never used. I guess it is because it wasn't on a graph or chart I could memorize.

"Kings of Speed" is also the A-side to the "Motorhead" single. I should probably spend some prime material dollars and buy that record.

Warriors

I have never had the pleasure of encountering a skeleton warrior, to which I am not altogether sad. Don't get me wrong, getting a hold of one of their gold circlets would be outstanding. Getting to see through the eyes of one of these name-level-fear-inspiring monstrosities has to be fun. Pretty much any person, semi-person, demi-person, or personoid who sees you is going to flee in panic, hopefully dropping their wallets as a result. Granted, as a half-orc, I am not exactly blessed with an astronomical comeliness score and most other races already treat me with antipathy, but the local inhabitants of Crockport aren't going to drop everything in terror when they see me. But show up as a skeletal warrior, and all the footpads, tricksters, conjurers, scouts, gallants, swordsmen, and curates are going to hit the skids.

Also, skeletal warriors only exist to find out who has their gold circlet and kill them. Apparently, they can get their souls back once they have possession of their circlet, and, although the Fiend Folio is fairly vague on this part, I assume they de-animinate and head off to the Beastlands or The Grey Waste or wherever they were headed before an evil demi-god gave them the old soul trap. I guess getting the circlet is a mixed blessing. On one paw, there is the ability to scare the dung out of local yokels; on the other, wearing the headpiece draws a quite powerful and extremely focused undead fighter towards you with pretty much one thing on its exceptionally intelligent mind.

"Warriors" is far-out material. Easy to see that Moorcock helped with this one.