Irish Inspiration: Good Craic

The Irish are known for their fellowship and friendliness. Maybe it’s a stereotype, but as stereotypes go that’s not a bad one to have. And that friendliness and sense of fun is infectious—last week I spent my nights hanging out with Aussies, Israelis, Germans, and French until the wee hours of the morning (something that did not always occur in other places I’ve hosteled). And let’s not forget the music—live performances in almost every bar with no cover every single night of the week. I was in heaven.

In D&D, the habit of pumping strangers for information in taverns and inns is so ingrained we rarely think about why most people go to bars—for fellowship, friendship, and distraction. And while many social interactions might be glossed over in the interest of pacing—“After two days of searching, you hear a rumor that the Winter Blade entered the city only yesterday”—it’s worth occasionally slowing down to actually spend some time in the characters’ favorite inn, tavern, or festhall.

Here are some tips on keeping the ale pouring freely:

Make bards the stars. Unless your bard has tragically misspent his skill points, he’s likely to have the most ranks in Performance in the joint, along with a pretty darn good Charisma. People are going to beg him to play and sing. Patrons are going to want his attention, respect, and affection (and will compete to get it). He is going to be the life of the party. So let him be.

For even more fun, you can play this for a running gag. Imagine your party’s three-foot-tall halfling being able to get a drink in any establishment, while the fighter twice her size is habitually refused service, or perhaps can’t even make it to the counter!

Similarly, some DMs like to set up rival adventuring groups as foils for the PCs. If so, make sure they have a bard—particularly if the party doesn’t have one. Watching their rivals scoop them on rumor after rumor will drive your players absolutely nuts.

Encourage—and reward—players for good performances. Whether it’s a use of the Performance skill or simply good role-playing, players who put resources into social encounters (whether skill points or time spent role-playing) will both have more fun and should benefit accordingly. If the party’s gnome evoker took the time to learn the fiddle, make that expenditure of cross-class skill points worth it.

If it’s an encounter, it can have an Encounter Level. Anyone who has survived middle school knows that social encounters can be more chill-inducing than any wight. If your party bests a foe in a conversation, a negotiation, or even a flirtation, it may be worth an experience award.

Have a night in a bar where nothing happens. It’s perfectly okay to role-play a night out at the bar and have nothing of significance happen. In fact, this is something you should do. Not too often, of course—there are orcs that need slaying—but every once in a while. This forces your players to really act in character for long periods of time rather than relying on dice rolls, and gives you insights into the characters that can be useful later on. Plus, when players and characters come to truly like and loathe certain NPCs, you know you’ve really developed a living, breathing world and not just roughly sketched a setting.

Mirror Elf Cities

To most visitors, the Plane of Mirrors reveals itself as little more than a mysterious set of hallways—each hallway linking a series of mirrors that have some relation to each other in a grouping known as a constellation (Manual of the Planes). The mirror elves have forcibly constructed cities in the largest of these constellations, turning the Mirror Plane’s hallways into gigantic, otherwordly apartment complexes (for lack of a better term).

Currently there are three major mirror elf cities. The centuries of experience that forged the Murrowfey into one people also divided them into castes based on the professional affiliation of their leaders. Each of the three most important castes—roughly translated from the Elven as the Illusionists, the Loremasters, and the Assassins—controls their own city, notably shaping the character.

Still, travel among the three cities occurs frequently, and several minor castes exist as well. Lightfarmers, for instance, for instance, are vital to every mirror elf city. The Plane of Mirrors is barren, so they capture the light of the real world in greenhouses, growing the crops upon which the Murrowfey rely.

Other castes of interest to adventurers include the Artisans, who are known for their stained glass golems (Monster Manual II) and the Mirrorward, who protect Murrowfey cities from the plane’s native inhabitants, the nerra (Fiend Folio).

Interzone & The Yuan-Ti

Yesterday I hinted at Burroughs/Cronenberg's version of Tangiers as a perfect backdrop for a yuan-ti-based campaign. So what might a D&D version of Interzone look like?...

Everything about the city of Antaeziers confounds. This coastal city is a vital port of call along the Southern trade route, yet it is controlled by no one nation. Inexplicable gaps in treaties among the interested colonizing powers left it an independent city. While it is theoretically partitioned into four territories under the control of consulates, in reality the city looks after itself.

Navigating the city is difficult. Its streets and causeways are a warren of stairs, ramps, balconies, balustrades, and arches. A thoroughfare might dead-end for no reason, while an alley might open into an elaborately tiled courtyard. Minarets in the distance seem to grow and recede independently of the viewer’s location. Bells chime at random, irrespective of the hour.

Even the very geography and climate of Antaeziers seems to work against the visitor. Hilly terrain and jungle scrub surround and encroach upon the city. The heat and humidity inspire lethargy. And underground vents in the surrounding volcanic soul, popularly said to be gateways to the Land of the Dead, release strange plumes into the air at regular intervals. These gases settle over the city in a fog that tinges the sky in sepia and seems to stretch dawn and dusk impossibly long. They also have a numbing effect on the spirit (-1 Wis for 1d6 hours, DC 10 Fortitude negates, checked every 12 hours; three checks failed consecutively leave the recipient dazed). Occasionally, these gases trigger mass hallucinations as well.

Visitors to the city may be forgiving for not noticing the difference, because the city itself seems like one giant fever dream. Nomads, beggars, and merchant princes all mingle over hookahs. Wizards’ spellbooks also serve as familiars, morphing into bad-tempered awakened beetles and clockwork abacuses without warning. Specially bred troglodytes extrude straw-like crests of ambrosia-filled flesh for addicts to suckle from. And pushcarts filled with hot coals serve giant centipedes, which are wrapped and smoked for pleasure or roasted and eaten as a delicacy. (Such carts offer poor families a risky mainstay, as those who hunt the vermin in the city’s underworld are often consumed in return.)

Perhaps the yuan-ti created this phantasmagoric city. Perhaps they did not. But they have certainly profited from it. Tainted ones manage the supply chains for the most sought-after and illicit drugs and other pleasures. A brothel madam’s robes hide the snake limbs of a half-breed. Well after midnight, in dark chapels filled with incense and pillows the size of camels, abominations lead their cultists in unholy rites. And no one leaves Antaeziers if the yuan-ti do not wish it so.

At least, not alive.