That is a Dragon

I recently watched Jonathan Pageau and Richard Rohlin discuss dragons on their Universal History video series. It is a fascinating look at dragons from symbolic, pre-modern, and Orthodox Christian points of view (which in some ways can be understood to all be the same). I wanted to share here because Dungeons and Dragons is specifically referenced. This whole discussion is contrasted with what we old gognards might call Gygaxian Naturalism — if we narrow our view to that of the modern, as expressed by the naturalistic categorization of monsters found in the various Monster Manuals of DnD, we might not completely grok what Johnathan and Richard are talking about. This is an interesting parallel to the move I was made to make when exploring how Scripture might inform the megadungeon.    

 

For those who don't want to sit and listen to these two geek out for over an hour, here is a short summary of the general characteristics of dragons:

1. They are serpents.
2. They are hybrids — the serpent aspect is mixed with pieces and parts of other animals.
3. As hybrids, they occupy a symbolic space of flux and can be understood as harbingers of change.
4. They function as guardians (mostly of water). This guardianship can be understood as hoarding and water needs to be understood as an essential material for civilization to function.
5. They have an enemy, often a thunder god symbolized by a trident (which is originally a symbol for lightening, not for a sea god/creature).

The aspect of this I find most useful and interesting is the fact that not all dragons exhibit all five characteristics. Thus, from this perspective, an owlbear is a type of dragon (as are many of the hybrid creatures found in the Monster Manual). From the perspective of a DnD campaign, the appearance of such a creature could signify a major event for the campaign world as a harbinger of change.

Personally, I would be tempted to leave all hybrids out of my placed encounter areas and only have them appear as Wandering Monsters. Once one appears, this could mean a roll on a major campaign event table with various types of catastrophes both natural (such an earthquake that reveals a subterranean civilization) and man-made (such as war).

This view also reinforces the mechanics of treasure from early DnD: the gold hoarded by dragons (monsters, especially hybrids) is the main means by which the PCs (both the enemies of the dragons and the defenders of Civilization) level up to become more capable of defending Civilization.

I highly recommend taking the time watching this episode. It is a fascinating (and I would say useful) discussion even for those of you who are not of the Christian persuasion. Enjoy.

Azoth

Gleefully taking my own advice, one of the many ideas I have stolen from James’ Dwimmermount campaign is azoth, known to my players as liquid magic. As I have worked this week to prepare a Brain Lasher city, azoth and its origin in quintessence have played a very large role.

The first question that I asked of myself when detailing the city was: to what purpose was this city built? What was the reason Brain Lashers wanted to live here en masse? (Thus, despite the weirdness of the environment, my own tendency toward Gygaxian naturalism rears its head). The answer: azoth.

Unlike in Dwimmermount, where azoth mysteriously rained down on various planets at some point in the past, the existence of azoth in my campaign is quite deliberate. The Brain Lashers “mine” it from various suitable dimensions. It is a very laborious and slow process, but, given the powerful qualities of the end product, (especially since it is almost entirely accomplished by slave labor) they see it as quite worth their while.

I am also putting a subtle Christian spin on the story. Since Brain Lashers have a visage not unlike Cthulhu it should come as no surprise that they (knowingly or unknowingly) serve the demonic outer gods. Thus, their efforts to mine azoth from the quintessence has the negative consequence of literally tearing holes in creation — thus speeding it on its way back to the nothing from whence it came (a little Christian dogma, there).

These holes are the myriad portals my players have found in various parts of my campaign world (though they have yet to voluntarily step through one). Thus, the portal that the party expects to find in the city is actually the very place the Brain Lashers are mining azoth.

The Ecology of Yellow Mold

I have been putting together a level for my version of the Chateau des Faussesflammes, and in process came up with another interesting ecology based upon the monsters that occupy that level. Since folks seem to enjoy my musings on such things, I thought I'd share.

The key organism in this ecology is yellow mold. It is central to two diverse groups — giant ants and troglodytes.

One of those wonderfully tantalizing monster descriptions that set my imagination on fire can be found in LL's entry on giant ants:

They will tend to only have a small amount of treasure around, from past opponents, but in some rare instances giant ants will inexplicably mine precious metals.

I've fiddled with this idea before but have never tried to explain the behavior. Carpenter ants harvest leaves in order to grow fungi that they then use to feed the colony. If some giant ants had a similar behavior there is plenty of potential for explaining this inexplicable mining instinct.

In this particular case, the giant ants harvest the leaves from the yellow musk creeper. This vicious plant has no real defense to protect itself from the giant ants, whose central nervous systems are not developed enough for the creeper to take full advantage of. However, the chemicals that would normally result in a yellow musk zombie do alter the behavior of the giant ants. In addition to the leaves from the creeper, they also begin to mine for precious metals. This, in turn attracts humanoids which can fall victim to the yellow musk creeper.

After harvesting the leaves, giant ants dust them in yellow mold spores. The combination creates a very fertile ground for the growth of yellow mold. The giant ants then feed on the mold, its spore and a liquid that they create by combining the mold with giant ant feces. This liquid is mostly used to feed giant ant pupa, but is also used by the ants to prevent the yellow mold from releasing its spores and protects flesh from the acidic touch of the mold.

Troglodytes are a subterranean sub-species of lizardmen, who all have organs that produce smell to communicate tribal affiliation, willingness to mate, anger, etc. Due to their oft dark environment, this gland came to grow all over the body of the trog, increasing the distance from which these odorous communications could be detected.

What these glands did not do however, was develop the infamous stench that causes humans and demi-humans to save vs. poison or suffer a -2 on attack rolls. This ability is the result of purposely ingesting yellow mold as part of the troglodyte diet. The ingested spores from the yellow mold alter the chemicals produced by the glands, producing a toxic mix for humans and demi-humans.

As a result, troglodytes like to live in proximity to both giant ants and yellow musk creepers. They collect the giant ant liquid to protect themselves from the yellow mold that they harvest for producing their infamous odor.

Ecology of the Rot Grub

This is an example of what happens when random rolls, Gygaxian naturalism and OSR goodness get mixed within the recesses of my imagination. Awhile back, a simple random wilderness encounter turned into the Blighted Fist orc tribe (itself a randomly generated name). Playing off this name, I decided to give these orcs a special weapon — clay pots full of Rot Grub. In prepping for my players' most recent foray into the wilderness, I rolled up an encounter with a dragon in the same territory occupied by the Blighted Fist. In my mind, these two random encounters ought to be related somehow. . . it's that fuzzy warm place in my mind where I actualize my own distorted version of Gygaxian naturalism.

When I get a series of random encounters that share the same space, I like to try and link them via an ecology that makes sense — somehow, whether biologically or socially, these creatures have a relationship. Contemplating the disparate encounters of orcs and dragons, two things formed the foundation for this relational ecology. The first was a nice little post by Dyson Logos over at A Character for Every Game where he re-skinned some dragons with a variety of cool concepts. The second was a comment on a post at Grognardia musing on purple worms that postulated the cool factor of purple worms being the larval stage of dragons. The link between these two was the lowly Rot Grub.

I decided to steal Dyson's idea of the Carrion Dragon since it fit nicely with the Rot Grub theme. Imagining that the Rot Grub is a kind of (very nasty) egg, I added this wrinkle: 1 in 6 Rot Grubs won't go for the heart, but rather for the stomach. When they come into contact with the stomach acid, they start to produce a chemical that serves two purposes: 1) it starts a metamorphic process that will result in the larval stage 2) it causes the adrenal gland in the victim to go into overdrive.The result is the victim is driven mad/transformed into a berserker. Riffing off the Carrion Dragon, the larval stage is the Carrion Crawler. The overactive adrenal gland serves two purposes — it protects the egg in its initial metamorphosis, and it eventually leads to the death of the host giving the small Carrion Crawler its first meal.

The Blighted Fist enters the picture as willing hosts to the Carrion Dragon's eggs. The orcs see the dragon as a kind of avatar bearing divine gifts that transforms worthy recipients into uber-orcs. As such, they have become a bunch of zealous fanatics dedicated to the care, feeding and harvesting of the Rot Grub eggs and their Carrion Crawler hatchlings. These uber-orcs are created during ceremonies in which Rot Grubs that are most likely to go to the stomach instead of the heart are chosen and placed onto the stomach of those orcs undergoing the "transformation." If the wrong Rot Grub is chosen, the victim orc was "not worthy." Those who receive the eggs successfully are transformed into a berserker class of orcs. Upon their death a small 1HD version of the carrion crawler will eat its way out of the corpse in 1d12 hours. The Blighted Fists shower their enemies with Rot Grubs in order to feed enough so that they are ready to go into the stomach of a willing orc.

In turn, when the carrion crawlers have engorged themselves enough on rotting flesh, they will form a cocoon. Eventually, a young carrion dragon will emerge. Upon reaching adulthood, these dragons will start producing Rot Grub and the whole process begins again.