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  1. - Top - End - #1
    Firbolg in the Playground
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    Default Demigod's demigods

    Some of you know the game Demigod. Those of you that don't, should. Considering it's kept me glued to my computer for the past week, I think it's about time I blur the lines of my hobbies and get crackin' on homebrewing these bad boys. Heroes, villains, creators, corruptors, saviors and tyrants, these guys practically ooze flavor.

    So, the project is: To come up with CR 20 creatures representing the various semi-divine beings of Demigod. We (probably just I) need to do:

    Rook Status: Initial draft posted.

    Unclean beast Status: Initial draft Posted.

    Torchbearer Status: Initial draft posted

    Lord Erebus Status: Initial draft posted

    Regulus Status: Initial draft posted

    Sedna Status: Literature posted

    Oak Status: Literature posted

    Queen of Thorns Status: Literature posted

    Oculus Status: N/A

    Demon Assasin Status: N/A
    Last edited by Admiral Squish; 2010-01-23 at 04:55 PM.
    My Homebrew
    Five-time champion of the GITP monster competition!

    Current Projects:
    Crossroads: the New World: A pathfinder campaign setting about an alternate history of North America, where five empire collide in a magical land full of potential. On the road to publication!

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  2. - Top - End - #2
    Firbolg in the Playground
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Rook, The Greymount Fortress



    Colossal Construct
    Hit Dice: 40d10+80 (900HP)
    Initiative: +0
    Speed: 40 ft (8 squares)
    Armor Class: 42 (10 +40 natural, -8 size), touch, flat-footed
    Base Attack/Grapple: +30 / +66
    Attack: colossal adamantine warhammer +43 (6d6+20) or Slam +42 (8d6+20)
    Full Attack: +43/+38/+33/+28 colossal adamantine warhammer and Slam +42 (8d6+20)
    Space/Reach: 30 ft./30 ft.
    Special Attacks: Settle, Rubble Rebuilt, Shockwave, Warp the Battlefield
    Special Qualities: The Army Within, Spiritual Reinforcement, Immunity to Magic, DR 20/adamantine
    Saves: Fort -, Ref +14, Will +22
    Abilities: Str 50, Dex 10, Con -, Int 10, Wis 20, Cha 20
    Skills: Intimidate +48, Spot +48
    Feats: Cleave, Great cleave, Power attack, Leadership, Point blank shot, Far Shot, Precise Shot, Improved Bull Rush, Combat Expertise, Dodge, Mobility, Lightning Reflexes, Powerful Charge, Awesome Blow
    Environment: Any
    Organization: Solitary
    Challenge Rating: 20
    Treasure:
    Alignment: Neutral Good
    Advancement:-
    Level Adjustment:-

    Atop a tall hill rests the Greymount Fortress, a three-tower structure of immense size, fabled for it's defensive might. Suddenly the ground shakes. Towers begin to rise, bastions uproot themselves from the ground, and the keep reshapes itself into something taller. Where side towers had once stood, now resolve stony arms, and in the center of the main tower now sprouted something like a head. It bears powerful, trunk-like legs and hands the size of haylofts. With one of these titanic hands, it reaches into the ground and uproots a monolithic slab of stone. With the other, it uproots a stand of trees and jams their trunks clean through the great rock in a single violent motion. The stony titan lowers it's gaze to the ground level, and raises it's hammer silently, the only sound it makes the groaning of wood and stone supports as it moves.

    Combat

    The Rook fights rather simply. Little strategy is usually involved, though it's incredible might often makes such things largely irrelevant. It simply wades in with great, sweeping swings of it's titanic hammer until there aren't any enemies left.

    Settle: (Ex)
    The Greymount fortress spends most of it's time as a fortress, solidly rooted in the earth. When it is settled, it takes a DC 20 Knowledge (Architecture and engineering) check to realize something is amiss with the construction.

    Rubble Rebuild (Su)
    As a full round action, the rook can make a touch attack against a nearby structure at least partially comprised of stone. If this attack is successful, the Rook makes a strength check. The rook automatically deals damage equal to the result times 20 to the structure. In addition, the rook repairs himself the amount dealt. The rook cannot gain more than his maximum HP this way.

    Shockwave (Ex)
    The rook Slams his hammer to the earth as a full round action, the sheer force of the blow dealing twice his strength modifier in damage to all creatures within thirty feet of the strike. He deals an additional half his strength modifier in damage to all creatures within sixty feet of the blow.

    The Army Within (Ex)
    The Rook is a fortress, and as such, his interior is not truly empty. Instead, hundreds of soldiers within him man various weapons installed in his towers. These weapons fire on the rook's initiative and use the rooks staistics and feats. There are ten arrow slits on his body, two ballista, and one heavy catapult. The ballista and catapult fire every other turn, the ballista dealing 3d8 damage and the catapult dealing 6d6 damage, both using the rook's base attack bonus. Each arrow slit fires twice each turn, dealing 1d10 damage and using the rook's base attack bonus.

    Spiritual reinforcement: (Su)
    The spirit of Mard Hammerhand animates the greymount fortress, and his partially-divine might grants the titanic structure additional support. The Rook has three times the HP it otherwise would.

    Warp the Battlefield: (Su)
    The rook has a supernatural connection with stone. As a full round action, it can create the effects of a Wall of Stone, Stone shape, Transmute Rock to Mud or Transmute Mud to Rock spell cast by a 20th level caster at will.

    Immunity to Magic (Ex)
    The Rook is immune to any spell or spell-like ability that allows spell resistance. In addition, certain spells and effects function differently against the Rook, as noted below.

    A transmute rock to mud spell forces the Rook to stop, unable to move from the spot for 2d6 rounds, with no saving throw.

    A stone to flesh spell does not actually change the Rook's structure but negates its damage reduction and immunity to magic for 1 full round.

    -------------------------------------------
    Story:
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    Three generations of open war between the Vlemish in the south and the Plenor in the north had wrecked the once-fertile hills of Belrond. Battle-lines waxed and waned like sea-waves, wiping clean the landscape and driving its inhabitants to seek furtive shelter in cracks and dark places. Nobody could remember how the war had started, nor could anyone imagine that it would ever end. There was no question of allegiance -- neither army attempted to ally with the hill people, who seemed to exist only to raise stunted crops to be eaten, half-grown, by pillagers from one army or another. Food was not all they took -- if the brigands fell upon a Son of Belrond, he was killed for sport. Belrond's captive daughters came to worse fates.

    It was in this climate of despair that a man came to offer his services to the Fathers of Belrond. Fifteen hands across at the shoulders, tall enough to fill the garrison's archway, and carrying a mallet the size of a birthday breadloaf, he called himself Mard Hammerhand. He was not a native of Belrond, nor were his features familiar to anyone who had traveled abroad, but his ready smile and booming laugh dissolved all barriers of mistrust. The Fathers were quick to offer the warrior the few things they still possessed in return for his protection. Mard roared with amusement, slapping the nearest Father on the shoulder and nearly bowling him over. "Aye, this whacker will knock helmets into slop-bowls easy enough, but I'd prefer to see something made for once! I'm a quarry-man and a builder by trade, and you're sitting on enough granite to bung up Thrond's ********!"

    The Fathers were doubtful, but a lull in the fighting had left the younger men and women of the hills in a comparatively energetic mood. Above all, Mard Hammerhand had a plan -- something novel to the Belronders, who had forgotten the future existed. Even better, the plan leveraged the two things Belrond had in abundance: granite and topography.

    The entire kingdom (if the tattered remnants of Belrond could still be called such a thing) set to work quarrying stone and constructing a keep upon Greymount, its tallest hill. The keep's bastions rose quickly, not least because of Mard's impressive (some would say impossible) physical strength: in the time it took the strongest man to drag a granite half-stone to the foot of the keep, Mard would sail past five or six times, a whole stone tucked under each arm, hallooing cheerfully or making a ribald joke on each pass. He tossed the stones into place as though they were pillows and kept working into the night, long after the others had dragged themselves home for their thin evening gruel.

    By Spring, Greymount Keep was complete. It was a handsome thing, with three crenelated towers, the tallest topped with a trebuchet that had been cobbled together from river-lumber. The fastness was finished just in time for campaigning season, as watches had been set for only a few days when the first army appeared on the horizon. The Belronders retreated to their keep and many wept, for though they were willing to die, they had few illusions about their fighting skills.

    Mard looked on them with a raised eyebrow, then hefted his hammer onto his shoulder. "Come on, lads! Think on all the busted thumbs and sprung groins you suffered putting this little castle together last Winter! Surely you won't suffer those pissants to dismantle it so quickly!" The words meant little to the ragged band, but Mard's tone filled them with an otherworldly confidence, and they took up their swords and bows with a shout.

    The battle ended quickly, and not in the way the Belronders had expected. Many felt as though it had been a dream. First came the advancing ranks of pikemen, then the boom of war trumpets, and then Mard surging forward with his whirling hammer, mowing his enemies down like wheat. Every son of Belrond was filled with battle-rage, and they made quick work of their enemies (this time, Vlemish), who had grown accustomed to easy prey on the hills of Belrond.

    During the celebration that followed, all present called for Mard to be made King of Belrond (which had never before had a king). Mard blushed and declined. "You lot think that was the end of your woes? They'll soon be back with bigger armies and siege engines. No, I'm a captain at best, or maybe a colonel, if you're feeling charitable." The Fathers, visibly relieved at having avoided demotion, insisted on making Mard a general, to which he grudgingly assented, on the condition that if anyone saluted to him, they'd get a hammer-handle up their arse.

    In mid-Summer, the armies of Plenor fell upon Greymount Keep. Apparently, no word of the earlier battle had reached them, for in their surprise they were routed even more quickly than the Vlemish. Mard furnished the battle's most memorable feature, throwing his hammer from nearly a league behind the retreating cavalry and completely destroying the enemy general, along with his horse.

    Mard Hammerhand had never been officially made a peer of Belrond, but by now every Belronder saw him as their brother, their father, or their son. When harvest time came and the store-rooms were filled with wheat and barley for the first time in human memory, Belronders wept at the plenty and approached Mard at random to hug him and shake his hand.

    Meanwhile, the Vlemish and Plenor met under a banner of truce, having each lost an army in Belrond. All agreed that it was necessary to annihilate Belrond's new captain and keep so that they could get back to the business of fighting each other. Plans were drawn up for an allied army to attack Belrond in the following Spring, and special squads were trained to target and kill Mard Hammerhand.

    When the battle came, Mard once again marched at the head of his small army. His eyes gave no hint that he was worried by the long rows of advancing siege towers, or the rumbling columns of dragon-faced artillery. He waded into the enemy throng like a child into a pool, towering above his scattering enemies. His companions showed no fear either, and the sight of the Belronder army tearing through ranks of crack soldiers struck fear into the hearts of Vlem and Plenor.

    The sun sank low in the sky, and until the last moment, it looked like the day would belong to Belrond. Preparing to crush a supply train, Mard was caught off guard when one shabby wagon shed its skin to reveal a ballista, crewed by strange men wearing black armor. Mard's brothers screamed for him as the machine fired a salvo of iron missiles into his chest, hurling him to the ground. As his seconds dragged him back to the keep, he spoke his final words: "Let me rest for a while in the highest tower. I want to see the sun rise once more."

    During the night, while the invading army made camp beyond the walls of the keep, all of Belrond despaired. A bed was brought up to the tower, and Mard's body was laid upon it and covered with flowers. Families held one another and wept, for they knew that without Mard Hammerhand, the next day would bring oblivion. The Fathers gathered around his deathbed and prayed to the All-Father to intervene in the coming battle. In their exhaustion, they fell asleep at the foot of the bed, covered in tears.

    When they awoke, they found that Mard had vanished. Only his bloody armor remained upon the bed. "He has been stolen in the night," they cried. "He has been defiled!" But their lamentations were cut short when they saw that their sons had already taken to the battlefield below, and in the soldiers' shuffling gait was foreshadowed the total defeat of Belrond. The opposing ranks of Vlemish archers unhurriedly nocked their arrows, preparing for a final death-salvo.

    Then a deep rumble shuddered the ground. The Belronders within the keep stumbled and fell, for the building had begun to collapse around them. Outside, a cheer went up among the Vlemish and Plenor for the success of their sappers, who had apparently tunneled beneath the Belronders' wall during the night.

    Somehow, the keep did not fall. Towers began to rise, bastions uprooted themselves from the ground, and the keep reshaped itself into something taller. Where side towers had once stood, now resolved stony arms, and in the center of the main tower, where Mard Hammerhand's deathbed still lay, now sprouted something like a head. The keep had become a living thing, with trunk-like legs and hands the size of haylofts. With one of these, it reached into the ground and uprooted a monolithic slab of stone. With the other, it uprooted a stand of trees and jammed their trunks clean through the great rock in a single violent motion. Standing behind the bewildered army of Belrond was a stone giant, and in its hand was a hammer.

    When the last remnants of the invading army had been stamped out on the other side of the river, the stone goliath strode back to Greymount, turned to face the still-rising sun, and settled back into place. Every stone returned to its proper spot, and all within the keep were safe in their rooms, uninjured.

    When the Fathers of Belrond returned to Mard's deathbead, his body once again lay among the heaps of daffodils. On his face, however, there was a wry smile.

    In all the years that followed, Mard's body was never moved, and his smile never faded.
    Last edited by Admiral Squish; 2010-01-18 at 06:59 PM.
    My Homebrew
    Five-time champion of the GITP monster competition!

    Current Projects:
    Crossroads: the New World: A pathfinder campaign setting about an alternate history of North America, where five empire collide in a magical land full of potential. On the road to publication!

    Epic Avatar and Sigitar by AlterForm
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  3. - Top - End - #3
    Firbolg in the Playground
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Unclean Beast



    Large Magical Beast
    Hit Dice: 30d10+300 465
    Initiative: +10
    Speed: 60 (12 squares)
    Armor Class: 27 (-1 size, +8 natural, +10 dex),19 touch, 17 flat-footed
    Base Attack/Grapple: +30/+44
    Attack: Claw +40 melee (2d6+10) or bite +40 melee (3d6+15) or Spines +40 melee (1d8+10)
    Full Attack: 2 claws +40 melee (2d6+10) And bite +40 melee (3d6+15) and spines +40 melee (1d8+10)
    Space/Reach: 15/10
    Special Attacks: Corrosive Bile, Bestial Wrath, Rend
    Special Qualities: Horrid Plague, Festering Wounds, Spines, Darkvision 60
    Saves: Fort +22, Ref +22, Will +6
    Abilities: Str 30, Dex 30, Con 30, Int 5, Wis 10, Cha 4
    Skills: Jump +33
    Feats: Multiattack, Improved multiattack, Combat Reflexes, Power Attack, Cleave, Dodge, Mobility, Spring attack, Great cleave, Iron Will
    Environment: Any
    Organization: Solitary
    Challenge Rating: 20
    Treasure: Standard
    Alignment: Chaotic Evil
    Advancement: -
    Level Adjustment: -

    Hunched in the darkness sits a thing that looks a like a demon hedgehog with razors for quills. The creature seems to be inside-out -- its black skeleton loosely embracing organs that pulse and ooze beneath the cage of its ribs. Its face is nothing but teeth. It looks at you and howls, flecks of viscous spittle spraying from it's black jaws.

    Combat

    Corrosive Bile (Ex):
    The Unclean Beast spews a spray of vile, corrosive spittle onto his foes. 3/day, as a standard action that provokes attacks of opportunity, the Unclean beast makes a ranged touch attack against any target within 60 feet. Corrosive acids deal 5d6 acid damage to the target, and another 3d6 acid/turn for five rounds. In addition, the bile pools at the victim's feet, creating a 10-foot-radius puddle that deals 3d6 acid damage to any creature entering it or beginning their turn in it. The pool last for five rounds. The bile may be cleaned off with one round of scrubbing with clean water. Any victim damaged by this ability must begin making saves or contract the plague.

    Horrid Plague (Su)
    The beast's claws and teeth carry a particularly vile plague. This plague incubates for one round before dealing 2d6 damage/round for three rounds. Any time the plague deals damage, everyone within ten feet of the victim has a chance of aquiring the plague. A DC 35 fortitude save is required to resist the plague, or fight it off once infected. Anyone who saves against the plague is immune to the effects for 30 minutes. The plague has a nasty side-effect. Even once a body fights off the plague, or it has run it's course, the plague remains dormant in a corpse. However, when anyone who has ever contracted the plague dies, one round after their death, the virus goes super-active, exploding the courpse in a shower of gore. anyone within 20 feet of the body when it explodes takes 2d6 damage and must begin to make saves to avoid contracting the plague.

    Bestial Wrath (Ex)

    The Unclean Beast floods his systems with a stimulant for five rounds. Treat this as a haste spell. In addition, the beast gains +5 to damage rolls as long as the effect is active.

    Festering Wounds
    The Monster's claws and bile are particularly resistant to curative magic. Any damage dealt by the unclean beast's claws, bite, spines, or corrosive bile cannot be cured unless a remove disease spell is applied beforehand.

    Spines
    The Unclean beast is covered in spines in spines of bone. Any creature attacking the unclean beast in melee takes 1d8 damage from the spines, and 1d10 acid damage from the spray of corrosive blood if they actually deal damage.

    Shred
    Any creature hit by bothe the Unclean Beast's claws takes an additional 2d6+20 points of damage as the unclean beast rends the foe's flesh. In addition, any creature hit by the Unclean Beast's bite attack and at least one claw attack takes an additional 2d6+10 damage as the monster worries the victim in it's steely jaws.

    Spoiler
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    It was after a sandstorm, while the survivors of the caravan searched the dunes for signs of their camp, that Saam-el Harra came upon a strange book in the sand. Nothing was written upon its black cover, and when he knelt to pick it up, it felt many times heavier than it looked. The book's pages were brittle with age and bore a strange hand-written script in a language he had never before seen. He wondered if it might be worth some gold or barter at the bazaar, and then asked himself how much he would pay for a book full of gibberish. Whatever its worth, it certainly didn't merit the waste of water-strength needed to get it to the next oasis on foot.

    He walked away from the spot, only realizing after several steps that he had not discarded the tome. What a strange thing! Looking again upon it, he decided that it might be wise to take it at least as far as Men-Solond, the home of his newest wife. Stuffing the book into the lining of his wind-robe, he staggered onward in pursuit of the departing caravan.

    When he showed the book to his wife, Hem-Shal, she slapped him twice. Between slaps, she begged to know how he had lost his dowry-chest, the reason for his trip, and wondered aloud if her father would instead accept a moldy book as delayed payment for her hand in marriage. Saam-el Harra slunk away to the spring and washed his hands, shaking his head at his own reflection and cursing himself for a fool. When he returned home, the book still lay on the table, untouched. His wife had already retreated to her bed, and he followed, giving the troublesome tome a departing sneer.

    In the night, the book spoke to him. It spoke in a thousand voices as one, and in a thousand languages, none known to him. Still, he understood the words, and understood the offering it made. He looked over at his wife, who still slept at his side. The book told him Names of Power, Names which could invoke and banish servants from beyond the Veil. Names that unmade living things and other Names that summoned the Oldest and Deepest. The book offered him dominion over all, over the twenty-four tribes, even over places beyond the shores of the desert sea. It told of a Way, and it offered him a Minion. Without thinking, he assented.

    Some weeks later, his wife told him she was pregnant. This made her livid, as the couple had not been with one another since his return. She assumed her husband had taken liberties while she slept, and threatened to tell her father. "Tell him what?" asked Saam-el. "That you have got yourself with child, without the participation of your husband?" Hem-Shal ran away, crying. She returned home during the night, and neither spoke again of the matter. As time went on, her belly swelled.

    Hem-Shal died during the birth. The midwives fled from her tent, shrieking, covered in blood. Saam-el, who had been waiting outside, stumbled forward, numbly drawing open the curtain and blinking at the darkness within. The child had not exited Hem-Shal's body in the usual way. The interior of the tent was drenched with blood, and the air was acrid with a stench that made Saam-el gag. There was a wet, ragged sound from the back of the tent, and he moved forward to see what it was. Hunched in the darkness was a thing that looked a like a demon hedgehog with razors for quills. The creature seemed to be inside-out -- its black skeleton loosely embraced organs that pulsed and oozed beneath the cage of its ribs. Its face was nothing but teeth. It looked at him. He screamed and ran. Bursting from the tent, he was briefly pursued by the loping monster. It stopped, gave him a final stare, and then galloped beyond the edge of the tent-circle and over the top of the nearest dune. It was gone.

    Saam-el went home, seized the book, and tossed it onto the fire. It did not burn. He fished it from the dying embers with a stick, then took it to the edge of the camp and buried it as deep as he could. As he shoveled sand over it, it whispered Names to him. He shouted to block out the noise, but still the Names rang clear in his mind, as though a mouth had grown in the center of his brain. He ran home and drank wine until he passed out.

    The next morning, Saam-el awoke to shouts from outside his tent. The entire clan had assembled to confront him, with Hem-Shal's father at the rabble's head. Many of those present had heard the midwives' description of the unholy terror that had sprung out of the poor girl, and all suspected that Saam-el was somehow to blame. Rough hands seized him by his wrists and pinned him to the ground on all fours. His father-in-law kicked him in the teeth. His mouth quickly filled with hot, salty fluid. Another man, one of his own cousins, stepped forward and hefted a great rock above his head. Saam-el curled into a ball and squeezed his eyes shut, awaiting the blow. Instead, there was a loud, wet crunch above him. Peeking upward, he saw only the bottom half of his cousin, teetering backward with a tuft of bone sprouting from its waist.

    Rolling onto his feet, Saam-el stood at the center of a whirlwind of screaming commotion. The creature had returned, but it was much bigger now. Big enough to swallow large chunks of his clan-mates, which it did with savage abandon. It did horrible, disgusting things to its prey, vomiting acid upon a man who had climbed up the only palm in the clearing, then slurping up the parts of him that dribbled back down the trunk. It belched poison gases, ripped spines from torsos, tore bodies in half, lengthwise. Its movement was so furious that it took minutes for the dust to settle upon the gory scene. Saam-el still shivered there, blood dribbling from his broken mouth, and before him crouched the Beast, staring benignly into his face. The camp was a charnel-house. Nothing moved.

    Saam-el waited to die, but the Beast only squatted there. He then remembered something: the book had spoken of a Minion. The whole massacre suddenly made sense. The creature had not come to kill him at all -- this Unclean Beast was his servant! The Voice began to whisper once more inside him.

    Over the next year, it became clear to the traders at the edge of the Desert Sea that the Eastern Caravans had ceased to wind their way out of the dunelands. No-one came, nor were there rumors of what had caused their disappearance. Many speculated that a great sandstorm must have buried all twenty-four tribes.

    Emperor Saam-el Harra the Merciless stood atop a dune and looked across the white wastes, toward the distant trees at the edge of his domain. The Unclean Beast crouched obediently by his side, slavering at the coming feast. It had been months since the last of Master's conquests, and it was hungry. Saam-el was now King of All the Dunelands -- self proclaimed, as no living thing remained to crown him. It was the Voice, of course. He had gained a Minion, but he had also become an Instrument. Sometimes he wondered if the Unclean Beast was his Master, if the Night Whispers issued from the jagged grill of the creature's mouth or if both of them obeyed some distant Master.

    "I am spent," Saam-el said at last. "Let us go back into the desert." The Beast looked to its master, then devoured him. Turning back to the distant green land, the creature sped onward, leaving a trail of effluent in its path.
    Last edited by Admiral Squish; 2010-01-18 at 07:00 PM.
    My Homebrew
    Five-time champion of the GITP monster competition!

    Current Projects:
    Crossroads: the New World: A pathfinder campaign setting about an alternate history of North America, where five empire collide in a magical land full of potential. On the road to publication!

    Epic Avatar and Sigitar by AlterForm
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  4. - Top - End - #4
    Firbolg in the Playground
    Join Date
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Torchbearer



    Medium Undead
    Hit Dice: 20d12+200 (330 HP)
    Initiative: +5
    Speed: 30 ft. (6 squares)
    Armor Class: 23 (+8 (+3 Mithral breastplate), +5 Dex), 15 touch, 18 flat-footed
    Base Attack/Grapple: +10/ +10
    Attack: +3 Staff +13 melee (1d6+3) Or +3 Staff Ranged Touch +18 (3d6+13)
    Full Attack: +3 Staff +13/+8 melee Or +3 Staff Ranged Touch +18/+13 (3d6+13)
    Space/Reach: 5 ft./5 ft.
    Special Attacks: Flame Blast, Ice Rain, Burn the World, Freeze the soul, Staff of the Prince
    Special Qualities: Heart of Flame, Heart of Ice, Undead Toughness
    Saves: Fort -, Ref +11, Will +17
    Abilities: Str 10, Dex 20, Con -, Int 20, Wis 20, Cha 30
    Skills: Concentration +23, Intimidate +23, Knowledge (History) +23 Knowledge (Nobility and Royalty) +23
    Feats: Combat Casting, Combat Expertise, |||||
    Environment: Any
    Organization: Solitary
    Challenge Rating: 20
    Treasure: Standard plus +3 mithral breastplate
    Alignment: Chaotic Neutral
    Advancement: -
    Level Adjustment: -

    A horrible humanoid being of charred flesh and bone stands before you. It wears a jade-and-gold breastplate and a matching helm with a pair of massive horns, and in one bony hand, it holds a long staff of blackened wood. Through the mouthpeice you can see where lips used to be, it's blackened teeth a jarring and disturbing sight. Suddenly those teeth part and a terrifying, dry, humorless laugh comes forth, growing louder and louder into a maddening cackle as flame erupts from the monster's flesh.

    Combat

    Staff of the Prince:
    The staff the torchbearer wields is carved from the charred remains of the building his mortal life was extinguished in. The staff serves as a channel to the Torchbearer's arcane powers. As an attack action, the Torchbearer may fire a bolt of energy from his staff which deals 3d6 force damage, modified by his charisma modifier. If the torchbearer has his Heart of Flame ability activated, this deals fire damage instead. If he has his Heart of Ice ability activated, this deals frost damage instead. In addition, it is treated as having the frost or flaming property if he has heart of Flame or Heart of Ice active. The staff itself is not magical, but it is treated as +3 while the torchbearer wields it. If it leaves his possession, it is no longer magical, nor does it have any of the properties described above.

    Heart of Flame: (Su)
    The Torchbearer turns his fury into strength arcane, channeling the might of fire through himself. As a move action, the Torchbearer wreathes himself in flames. Any creature coming in contact with the torchbearer or striking him in melee takes 1d6 fire damage. While this is active, the torchbearer has fire resistance 20. In addition, the torchbearer and all allies within thirty feet gain the benefits of the haste spell as long as they remain within range. Activating this ability deactivates Heart of Ice. The Torchbearer cannot use his Ice Rain or Freeze the Soul abilities while Heart of Flame is active.

    Heart of Ice: (Su)
    The Torchbearer turns his mind inward, killing his emotions and channeling the powers of frost through himself. As a move action, the Torchbearer wreathes himself in icy mist. Any creature coming in contact with the torchbearer or striking him in melee takes 1d6 frost damage. While this is active, the torchbearer gains cold resistance 20. In addition, all enemies within thirty feet are effected as though by a slow spell for as long as they remain within range. Activating this ability deactivates Heart of Flame. The Torchbearer cannot use his Flame Blast or Burn the World abilities while Heart of Ice is active.

    Flame Blast: (Su)
    3/day as a standard action that provokes attacks of opportunity, the torchbearer conjures a ball of fire and hurls it, making a ranged touch attack to deal 20d6 fire damage to any target within 100 feet.

    Burn the World: (Su)
    The torchbearer ignites the very air around himself with his fury. 2/day, As a standard action that provokes attacks of opportunity, the Torchbearer creates a 30 ft. radius field of fire centered on himself. All creatures that move into or begin their turns in this area take 5d6 fire damage. This field last for 5 rounds before it goes out. The effect remains in place, even if the torchbearer moves out of the area. While the torchbearer is inside this effect, he gains fast healing 10.

    Ice Rain: (Su)
    The torchbearer calls down a rain of icy shards to pummel and freeze his enemies. 3/day as a standard action that provokes attacks of opportunity, the torchbearer rains hail on a 20-foot radius cylinder centered within 60 feet of him. This does 15d6 frost damage to all inside the area, Reflex DC 30 half. The area affected by this ability is considered difficult terrain for three rounds after the casting.

    Freeze the soul: (Su)
    The Torchbearer amplifies his freezing aura into a burst of cold as a standard action that provokes attacks of opportunity 2/day. All creatures within 30 feet of the torchbearer take 2d6 cold damage as the air around them freezes. In addition, they must make a DC30 fortitude save or have their very flesh stiffen and resist them. All creatures that fail the save may take only a single move or standard action on their next turn.


    Undead Toughness:

    Torchbearer adds his charisma modifier in place of his constitution modifier to HP.

    Spoiler
    Show

    In the Winter realm of the Vinlings, Hrundel Lightbearer was born to Queen Frythia Fair Frost. Messengers brought word of the birth to King Hungarling, who had been away from his hearth for seven years, adventuring with his army beyond the Northern Frontier. Returning to his kingdom, he drowned his wife in her bath and put the men of her coterie to the sword. The infant, however, was a creature of such purity and beauty that he could not bring himself to kill it, and resolved instead to raise the boy as his own.

    As he grew, it became clear that Hrundel Lightbearer was not an ordinary child. His exceeding beauty was itself a sign of his strangeness, but he also showed unnatural proclivities that were seen by some in the Vinling Halls as portents of dark times. Both fire and ice seemed to obey the boy, who could make the flames of the hearth take human shape and dance around the hall or bring a snow-filled wind through his window, to settle on the floor in the shape of a pretty girl's face -- this to impress Thendrya, a particular pretty girl whom Hrundel hoped one day to make his bride.

    Hrundel's father looked on him with increasing unease. Though he needed a strong successor, he sometimes wondered if he saw in the boy's eyes the first machinations of a usurper. The boy asked too many questions about his mother (about whom nothing could be related on pain of death), and demonstrated a particular curiosity in the matter of the source of his powers -- a curiosity that could only lead to doubt about his true patrimony. The Priests of the Hall, frightened by the boy's abilities, warned their king that these transgressions would bring evil upon his house if left unpunished.

    On his eighteenth birthday, Hrundel was summoned by his father to a special party in his honor, to be held inside a new wooden hall that had been erected to commemorate the occasion. All of Hrundel's friends awaited him there, including Thendrya, blushing in a special dress that she had made for the party. Taking her hand, Hrundel exulted, "Everyone I love has gathered here today to share in my joy! But where is my father, first among my family?"

    There was an answering crash as the hall's wooden doors slammed shut and were locked from the outside. Bewildered pleading turned to screams as a distant crackling gave way to the roar of a fast-kindled fire -- the hall had been set aflame with the party-goers inside. Hrundel, clinging to his beloved, tried in vain to keep the flames at bay. At last he could not tame the mounting firestorm, and Hrundel wailed as Thendrya turned to ashes in his arms. As the flames engulfed him, he swore a foul oath.

    King Hungarling looked grimly on the column of fire that raged on the Hall Pyre. "So the travesty has ended," he said, and turned to his priests and consorts for comfort. But they looked back on the inferno with terror in their faces, and the king turned to see a blazing figure rising from the collapsing hall. Black within a halo of fire, its flesh burnt completely away, rose a charred corpse, its hollow eyes alight with wordless pain and fury. It seized from the crumbling wreck one of the hall's still-guttering torches and turned to the assembled royal cadre.

    Few Vinlings survived the night.

    The Torch Bearer's screams, like tearing metal, echoed across the vale. The creature rode on a spreading carpet of unquenchable fire and gutted every town from the foot of the Skalendar Range to the frozen Harbors of the Green Sea. Wearing the king's crest and horned helmet, the monster vomited fire in waves that spread across the ground, summoned it in avalanches from the sky, spat searing bolts from the head of its staff. All things burned.

    When the Halls of the Vinlings were no more and every field was razed to dust, the creature moved on to colder places.
    Last edited by Admiral Squish; 2010-01-18 at 07:02 PM.
    My Homebrew
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  5. - Top - End - #5
    Firbolg in the Playground
    Join Date
    Dec 2007
    Location
    On my back, in my heart
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    Male

    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Lord Erebus



    Medium Undead
    Hit Dice 20d12+200 (330 HP)
    Speed 40 ft. (8 squares)
    Initiative: +9
    Armor Class 24 (+11 (+3 mithral fullplate) +3 dex); touch 13; flat-footed 21
    Base Attack/Grapple +10/+15
    Attack Standard attack +3 wounding staff +18 melee (1d6+7)
    Full-Attack +3 wounding staff +18/+12 melee(1d6+7)
    Space/Reach 5 ft./5 ft.
    Special Attacks Hungry Mist, Bite
    Special Qualities The Fallen Will Serve, Borrowed Vitality, Dignified Travel
    Saves Fort - Ref +11 Will +14
    Abilities Str 20, Dex 20, Con -, Int 20, Wis 10, Cha 30
    Skills Appraise +28, Bluff +35, Diplomacy +33, Intimidate +35, Knowledge (Nobility and Royalty) +28, Knowledge (History) +28, Perform (Poetry) +33.
    Feats Combat Expertise, Improved feint, Improved Initiative, Dodge, Mobility, Iron Will, Persuasive
    Environment Any
    Organization Coven (One Lord Erebus and 10 Night Walkers)
    Challenge Rating 20
    Treasure Standard
    Alignment Lawful Evil
    Advancement -
    Level Adjustment-

    A towering, bald figure hovers in front of you, looking down it's nose. It wears a suit of supple plates that hug it's slender limbs, with a pair of large, ornate shoulders sporting a number of glass tubes. The only skin visible is his pale, delicate face, with blood-red eyes and large, pointed ears. He carries himself with great dignity and grace. Then, from the darkness comes a small army of creatures like him, but much more monstrous, swarming on all fours, blade-like fingers and pointed fangs gnashing as they charge past him.

    Combat:

    Hungry Mist (Su):
    For a total of thirty rounds/day, divided as he wishes, lord Erebus may disperse himself into a a dark cloud of draining mist as a move action. The cloud fills a fifty-foot sphere. Any creature entering or beginning their turn in this area takes 3d6 damage. While Lord Erebus is dispersed, he cannot be the target of spells or attacks. Visibility within the cloud is limited to five feet. Targets beyond this range have total concealment.

    Alternately, Lord Erebus may use this ability to duplicate a gaseous form spell. However, his gas form has a fly speed of 100 feet, and deals 3d6 damage to any creature whose space it travels through. Activating or deactivating this ability is a swift action. The amount of time spent in this form comes from the same pool of turns as the main usage of this ability.

    Bite (Ex):
    3/day, lord Erebus' insatiable hunger can be unleashed in a single bite. Lord Erebus makes a melee touch attack. If successful, the target takes 1d8 damaged from his fangs. In addition, Lord Erebus sucks his target's blood, dealing 3d6 constitution damage. For every point of constitution damage, Lord Erebus heals by 20 HP.

    The Fallen Will Serve (Su):
    Any creature that dies within 30 feet of Lord Erebus has a 75% chance of rising as a Night Walker under the control of Lord Erebus the following round. Lord Erebus may control up to fifteen night walkers at a time.

    Borrowed Vitality (Su):
    Lord Erebus uses his charisma modifier in place of his constitution modifier to determine his HP.

    Dignified Travel (Su):
    Lord Erebus is too refined to travel like the plebeians. Instead, he floats elegantly a foot above the ground wherever he goes. He is immune to ground-affecting spells and abilities such as Spike Stones or Earthquake, and is permanently under the effects of Feather Fall.


    Night Walker
    Medium Undead
    Hit Dice 10d12 +100 (165 HP)
    Speed 30 ft. (6 squares)
    Initiative: +5
    Armor Class 20 (+6 Natural +4 dex); touch 14; flat-footed 16
    Base Attack/Grapple +5/+10
    Attack Claw +10 (1d6+4) or Bite +10 (1d6+6)
    Full-Attack Two Claws +10 (1d6+4) and bite +10 (1d6+6)
    Space/Reach5 ft./5 ft.
    Special Attacks
    Special Qualities Bleed the Living, Master's Influence
    Saves Fort - Ref +7 Will +6
    Abilities Str 18, Dex 18, Con -, Int 8, Wis 8, Cha 6
    Skills Jump +23
    Feats Multiattack, Improved Multiattack, Dodge, Mobility
    Environment Any
    Organization Coven (one Lord Erebus, ten Night Walkers)
    Challenge Rating 10
    Treasure Standard
    Alignment Lawful Evil
    Advancement -
    Level Adjustment -

    The creature before you looks like an emaciated, pale human, completely devoid of hair. It's ears are extremely large and pointed, and it's eyes are pools of red. I looks at you with an obvious hunger and lunges, baring pointed incisors and brandishing blade-like claws.

    Combat

    Bleed the Living (Ex):
    All natural attacks of Night Walkers are treated as having the wounding special property. In addition, every time a night walker deals constitution damage, it heals itself for 20 HP.

    Master's Influence:
    The power of Lord Erebus affects those who have risen in his service. Night Walkers created by Lord Erebus use his charisma modifier in place of constitution for determining their HP.

    Spoiler
    Show

    Among his fellow Night Walkers, Erebus was called "the Insatiable One." To his servants, he was known as "Erebus the Decadent." His victims called him "Monster," which, though accurate, seemed to him to lack a certain flair. To Lord Erebus, there was something unseemly about forgetting the delicious poetry in things, and he dealt with all matters -- eating, partying, torture (often, the three were the same) -- with an experimental, even artistic, joie de vivre.

    The Night Walkers drank blood and moved only in darkness. Erebus was different from the start, and for this he was celebrated: he could move in daylight, he could move about without touching the ground, and he could kill from a distance. All these powers came at a price, however. He was from the beginning possessed by a deep and unappeasable hunger. His mother offered the infant Erebus her jugular, as was customary among Night Walkers, but he nursed beyond her capacity to give, killing her only minutes after his birth. For a time, he was held in a separate cave from the others and fed whole cattle. It was only after he had ranged beyond the buried labyrinth of the Night Walkers and seen the machines of humans that he devised a means of controlling, if not curbing, his appetites.

    Lord Erebus built for himself a special suit, its interior lined with syringes, like an iron maiden. These fed his veins continuously, and the suit could be recharged with new blood through valves in its shoulders. Freed from his never-ending preoccupation with eating, the teen-aged Erebus looked on the savage, instinct-driven creature that he had been and was filled with embarrassment. After he had established himself as the uncontested Lord of the Night Walkers, he vowed to refine himself, to learn to appreciate subtleties, to become, as much as it was possible for a blood-drinking creature of the night to be, cultured.

    Now that he could drink it for pleasure only, he cultivated a nuanced taste for different kinds of blood. He categorized them not only by species -- even the crudest Night Walker could tell the difference between, say, wolf's blood and fox's blood -- but by the mood of the donor during extraction. "This bottle, for example," he explained to an uncomprehending servant, "was drawn from a girl who was told her parents had just died. Here, taste." The servant detected only that the fluid was, in fact, blood. Erebus continued: "Can you detect the bitter notes of despair, just beneath that slightly fructiform innocence? Ah, magnificent! A jewel of my collection!" His blood cellar was a thing to behold, with thousands of casks of every vintage lining its walls.

    Still, Erebus was unsatisfied. He had no peer among his people, no-one with whom to share his aesthetic triumphs. On many nights, he would dissipate himself and travel in mist form to faraway Nordolath, where human aristocrats had raised great halls. He looked upon their paintings, heard the music they played at their great balls, saw their splendid clothing, and was seduced by their sophistication.

    As might have been predicted, this longing found its most vivid expression in an obsession with a radiantly beautiful black-haired girl. The awe and desire that he felt while watching her from the shadows of her boudoir were all the keener because he knew he must not touch her. Not because he couldn't -- he could easily have taken her and sucked her dry -- but because her delicacy and intelligence were the things that moved him, and these things would vanish in the tasting. She wrote and recited poems of such beauty that he found himself weeping blood. He dreamed of touching her long black hair, just once.

    One evening, while taking his usual bath in a vat of sheep's blood, Erebus realized that he loved the girl. He decided to reveal himself to her, to prove to her that he was capable of appreciating her, and to woo her with poetry of his own. He decided he would wait until after they were married to tell her about the blood cellar.

    The following night, he stepped from the shadows of her bedroom and introduced himself. She immediately screamed, which for some reason he hadn't anticipated. He went ahead with the plan, producing a piece of paper.

    "Wait, please. I wrote you a poem."

    She was still screaming.

    "'Look upon the sparrows...'"

    Now there was pounding at her door, shouting guards beyond. Also, more screaming from the girl.

    "'Alloted few tomorrows...'"

    A crash as the guards hit the door with something heavy.

    "Wait, I lost my place."

    The girl drew in a great, ragged breath, and then went back to screaming.

    When the guards finally broke through, they found the girl cowering beneath her bedsheets. A towering, bald-headed creature stood at the foot of her bed, looking confusedly at a piece of paper. They immediately thrust their halberds at Erebus, who easily parried them. Not wishing to unduly frighten the girl, he did not kill the guards, but continued to beseech open-mindedness on her part while swerving and dancing to avoid his attackers.

    "I see the beauty that you see, my darling," he said, yanking the weapon of one guard out of his hands and tossing it out the window. "I believe we are meant for each other." She was hoarse from screaming, but still made a hearty go of it. He pleaded with her. "Would you please stop yelling for a moment? Think of your singing voice!"

    One guard finally got close to Erebus -- not near enough to harm him, but the blade sliced through one of the exposed hoses on the Night Walker's suit. Blood spilled out onto the floor for a few sickening seconds, and then tapered off as the suit emptied. Erebus looked down with horror. "You have no idea what you've done!"

    He turned to the girl. "Run! Run away, my darling!"

    Even as he said the words, his red eyes began to whiten. The girl remained where she sat, frozen with fear.

    "You... must go...," said Erebus, struggling with his quickly-rising hunger. He could feel his conscious mind shrink beneath an expanding, wordless bloodlust.

    "No, wait. Come here, my darling."

    After repairing his suit and wasting many months on a period of unseemly mourning, Erebus finally acknowledged that eternal boredom was likely to be his lot in life. Perhaps he could write a poem about the whole thing.

    He had to admit, even as he despised himself for it, that the girl had been delicious.
    Last edited by Admiral Squish; 2010-01-22 at 04:19 AM.
    My Homebrew
    Five-time champion of the GITP monster competition!

    Current Projects:
    Crossroads: the New World: A pathfinder campaign setting about an alternate history of North America, where five empire collide in a magical land full of potential. On the road to publication!

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  6. - Top - End - #6
    Firbolg in the Playground
    Join Date
    Dec 2007
    Location
    On my back, in my heart
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Regulus



    Medium Monstrous Humanoid
    Hit Dice 25d8+125
    Speed 30 ft. (6 squares)
    Initiative: +15
    Armor Class 30 (+5 armor, +15 Dex); touch 25; flat-footed 15
    Base Attack/Grapple +25/+30
    Attack +6 Axiomic Holy Large repeating great crossbow, +51 ranged (3d8+13, 18-20/x2 130 ft.)
    Full-Attack +6 Axiomic Holy Large repeating great crossbow, +51/+46/+41/+36 (3d8+13, 18-20/x2 130 ft.)
    Space/Reach 5 ft./5 ft.
    Special Attacks Ascend, Snipe, Tracker Shot, Justice Mark, Minefield
    Special Qualities Farseer Goggles, Practiced Ease
    Saves Fort +X Ref +X Will +X
    Abilities Str 20, Dex 40, Con 20, Int 30, Wis 10, Cha 30
    Skills Craft, (Weaponsmith) +38, Craft (Armorsmith) +38, Disable device +38, Escape Artist +43, Listen +28, Open Lock +43, Spot +28
    Feats (B)EWP (Great Crossbow), (B)EWP (Repeating Crossbow), (B)Monkey grip (Great Crossbow), Point Blank Shot, Far Shot, Precise Shot, Rapid Shot, Manyshot, Improved Precise Shot, Crossbow Sniper, Ranged Pin, Ranged Disarm
    Environment Any
    Organization Solitary
    Challenge Rating 20
    Treasure Standard
    Alignment Lawful Good
    Advancement -
    Level Adjustment -

    The man standing before you is incredibly tall and muscular. His Sun-tanned skin and long, golden hair adorn a frame rippling with muscle. He wears a suit of armor so finely-crafted it hardly seems like he's wearing nothing more than cloth. In one hand he holds a crossbow of tremendous size, easily larger than himself. All over his body rest clips of harpoon-sized ammunition, and his eyes are covered by a pair of silvery lenses. On his back twitch a pair of feathered stumps, their tips nothing but masses of scar tissue.

    Combat

    Ascend (Su):
    Channeling his latent divinity, Regulus temporarily restores his destroyed wings. By using a full-round action, for one minute, 5/day, Regulus gains a fly speed of 60 feet with good maneuverability. While airborne, he gains +2d6 holy damage to all attacks with his crossbow.

    Snipe: (Ex)
    3/day, Regulus can fire a single shot at any target within five range increments at no penalty as a full-round action. This shot deal 5d6 damage, +2d6 for every fifty feet the shot travels before striking it's target. resolve this as a normal attack roll.

    Tracker Shot: (Ex)
    3/day, Regulus can fire a bolt with a tracker bug embedded in the arrowhead. As a move action, Regulus can determine the exact location of the target as long as it is on the same plane as him. Resolve attack this as a normal attack roll.

    Justice Mark: (Su)
    Regulus can place an arcane rune onto any target within 50 feet 3/day. The next time that target activates a special ability, makes an attack roll, or casts a spell, the mark consumes itself, dealing 5d6 damage to the target. Only one mark may be active at a time. The mark lasts for seven days in not removed, dispelled, or triggered.

    Minefield: (Ex)
    Regulus carries a wide variety of gadgets and tools on him at all times, including a number of explosives. As a standard action, Regulus lays down and arms up to three mines at a time in adjacent squares. these mines explode when a target approaches within five feet of them, dealing 5d6 fire damage to all targets within ten feet of the mine. One mine detonating does not set off others within the radius. Regulus carries 3d6 mines at any given point.

    Farseer Goggles: (Ex)
    regulus always wears his trusty goggles. These devices grant him a constant See Invisibility effect, as well as a +5 competence bonus to ranged attack rolls.

    Practiced Ease: (Ex)
    Regulus' experience, dexterity, and easy access to clips allows him to reload the clip of his crossbow as a standard action, instead of a full-round one. In addition, Regulus may fire his crossbow into melee without provoking attacks of opportunity.

    Spoiler
    Show

    If ever a place existed where the birth of a half-god might go unnoticed, it was among the aeries of the Thelara. Amorous liasons were commonplace among the frolicsome air-nymphs -- if a child should ever wonder about the identity of her father (which never happened), she would have dozens of candidates from whom to choose. And in the matter of divinity, a part-god would contrast little with her nest-mates, since the winged Thelara were angelic by default.

    Regulus, therefore, stood out only in the degree of his perfection: he flew higher and faster than the others, was more voracious in his appetites, and had a keen, curious mind. This last quality was perhaps the most conspicuous, and the most inexplicable to his fellows, as he showed an odd preoccupation with the conditions of his existence. While the others gamboled among the clouds, Regulus flew as high as he could, to the edge of space, and strained to make out patterns among the stars.

    More distressingly to his friends, he also descended to low dirty places and observed the motions and machinations of the earth-bound Grofflings. The Thelara never, ever touched the ground -- even when they died, they were carried to high places. The only time they came into contact with groundfolk was when naughty nestlings flew down to within hailing distance and teased the hapless cripples below.

    Regulus was disinclined to dismiss the Grofflings so easily. He saw that they compensated for their physical shortcomings with complicated devices that they made with their hands (the Thelara made nothing because they required nothing, not even clothing). Some of the Grofflings' machines helped them to move about, or to see invisible things. Many more of them were used for killing, which was a thing that the unsavory ground dwellers seemed to do to one another with some relish. It was all very grotesque, but also fascinating. He wondered if with their tools the Grofflings had discovered things unknown to his own people.

    Regulus somehow failed to notice that the Grofflings had taken a particular interest in him, as well. He also did not know how deeply despised his people were, for all their care-free sporting among the clouds, and for all their mockery of the Grofflings, who had long memories. One of these, called Skel, conspired to lure Regulus closer by offering to share what he had learned about the history of the world and its place in the cosmos. When Regulus dipped lower to hear what Skel had to say, he fell into a trap.

    Harpoons shot from hidden places and pierced his wings. Great gears turned, chains tightened, and Regulus was pulled to the ground, where a cage was lowered around him. Helpless, still reasoning with his captor, he could not grasp that he had passed from a world of play into a world of dark consequences. Skel's underlings closed around the Thelaran, jeering, laughing. Regulus was ill-equipped to withstand the trial, as he had never before felt pain -- and this was a pain that beggared what passed for pain among mortals. He pleaded, he screamed, he screamed louder, and still Skel cut. First one wing, then the other fell in a bloody heap, to be hung as trophies in the depths of Skel's grotto.

    Regulus' disfigurement was more than just physical. He heard the helpless sobs of his nest-mates, far above, but knew they would not come down to rescue him. Nor would he have been able to return home had they broken him free, since he would never fly again. Held as a living trophy in the market square, he was for a time the subject of much gawking and ridicule. Soon, however, even the Grofflings lost interest in the pathetic figure. He was left to rot in his cage, alone in a field of mud. He was forgotten.

    The Grofflings had not yet shown all the things of which they were capable, however. On a rainy night, when the market was empty, an elderly Groffling, more wrinkled than the others of his kind, came to the cage. "Unsavory, unconscionable," mumbled the Groffling, producing a hinged set of steel cutters. Bending back the bars of the cage, he put his arm around Regulus and dragged him to the back of his dog-cart. From there, Regulus was carried, jouncing along a rutted road, to the old Groffling's home. This Groffling was called Kerrott.

    Kerrott nursed Regulus back to health, even when in lucid moments Regulus begged for death. Kerrott was also an outcast, too pacifistic to amount to anything in the violent world of the Grofflings. Instead of weapons, Kerrott busied himself making trinkets -- among them, tiny figurines of flying Thelara. Regulus and Kerrott had loneliness in common, and Kerrott did his best to teach Regulus what he knew about making things with his hands. Kerrott was an average fabricator by Groffling standards, but he had the usual metalworking equipment and Regulus proved to be at first an able student, then a savant. As he came to befriend Kerrott, so his strength returned and continued to grow.

    Working night and day, with an intensity that Kerrott could not fathom, Regulus forged armor of an uncommon strength and strange beauty. Then he set to work constructing an elaborate device of such size that when Kerrott found it leaned upon his prized trinket-shelf, he could not budge it with all his might. When complete, its terrible purpose became clear: it was a crossbow of absurd dimensions, longer than two Grofflings end-to-end. In its notch was placed a javelin half again as long as the weapon itself.

    Though Kerrott hoped beyond hope that his new companion would stay with him, the inevitable moment of departure came even before the anvil had cooled. "These were the last of my living days, Kerrott. You have shown me a world of love, but I cannot seem to touch it. I see now that my path leads to a place of death. Please forgive me." Without looking back, Regulus donned his armor and stalked into the night.

    Much of Skel's body was later found in and around the cage in which Regulus had been held. The bodies of his henchmen turned up in improbable places, pinned to rafters, hung from arches, impaled upon statuary in the marketplace. Not a single Groffling had heard any commotion during the night. Being Grofflings, the deaths went unmourned, though some added that there was probably a lesson here about angering the Thelara.

    Regulus was never again seen by Groffling or Thelaran.
    Last edited by Admiral Squish; 2010-01-23 at 04:56 PM.
    My Homebrew
    Five-time champion of the GITP monster competition!

    Current Projects:
    Crossroads: the New World: A pathfinder campaign setting about an alternate history of North America, where five empire collide in a magical land full of potential. On the road to publication!

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  7. - Top - End - #7
    Firbolg in the Playground
    Join Date
    Dec 2007
    Location
    On my back, in my heart
    Gender
    Male

    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Sedna

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    When Asatchaq held her daughter for the first time, she saw in the infant's blue eyes a calm and endless sea, brimming with life. She named her Sedna, after the old woman of the sea, and told her sisters that the child would one day become the tribe's angakkuq -- its spiritual caretaker. Koomuk, the current angakkuq, smiled outwardly at the suggestion, but was troubled. He, too, saw in the child's face a strange abundance of vitality. Coveting his singular position among the Elders, he resolved to keep an eye on the girl, in case she should one day attempt to take his place.

    Koomuk's anxieties fell away almost as soon as Sedna could walk and talk, as the girl quickly proved both mischievous and aloof. Her mother and aunts made every effort to contain her, but inevitable moments of distraction always ended with the frenzied dispatch of a search party, followed some hours later by the return of the girl (on her own, usually from the opposite direction) and lots of lectures about the dangers of the world outside the snow shelter. "Girl, you'll be eaten by a polar bear before you've seen ten summers!"

    "No, I won't," she replied calmly. "Polar bear is my friend."

    That kind of strange talk, and the girl's increasingly frequent forays beyond the frozen hills, set her completely apart from the rest of the tribe. She would have been a total outcast, were she not also the most beautiful and generous creature in human memory. Nobody, not even the frostbitten searchers who came back to camp to find her sitting happily by the fire, could stay angry at her. She was a pure thing, perfect and blameless, like the fox or the killer whale.

    One night, Sedna warmed herself by the cooking-fire and hummed while her mother prepared dinner. Asatchaq skinned a hare and tossed it into the pot to boil. Wiping off her hands, she saw that Sedna's attention was transfixed by the pot and its contents. "Mother, isn't the snow-hare filled with the same anirniq that gives us breath? It seems wrong to preserve our own lives by robbing the snow-people of theirs."

    "Snow-people?" Sedna's mother laughed. "Girl, they're animals. They're different from us."

    "They're not all that different from us. Some are much nicer, really." Sedna looked thoughtful for a moment. Then she extended her hand above the boiling pot and closed her eyes. Suddenly, a live, fur-covered hare sprung from the vessel and bounded out of the snow shelter. When she was done screaming, Sedna's mother begged her to explain how she had done it. "I don't know," Sedna said, as though her mother were the weird one. "I just gave it some of my extra breath."

    Sedna was immediately dragged before Koomuk, the angakkuq, who silently cursed himself and wondered what new trouble the girl had gotten into. Explaining what Sedna had done to the hare, Asatchaq insisted that Koomuk take Sedna under his wing, to teach her the rites and to help her learn some of his great wisdom. Flattered, Koomuk remained hesitant: "Well, the girl may not have the requisite discipline. After all, she--"

    "I like Koomuk, but I have nothing to learn from him," interjected Sedna. There was a moment of shocked silence.

    "How could you say such a thing before a holy man," cried her mother. "Oh, Koomuk! I am so sorry that I brought this ungrateful--"

    "Koomuk isn't holy at all. He wouldn't sacrifice so many of the snow-people if he could really see the anirniit within them." And then Sedna wandered away, following some new thought.

    Koomuk's heart filled with undying hatred for the girl.

    The years passed, and Sedna grew into a beautiful woman. Able to take care of herself, she sometimes spent weeks in the faraway lands under the Aurorae, beyond the white horizon where monsters were said to dwell. Hunters sometimes crossed paths with her, and they told stories of how she had been seen talking to wolves, walking among the caribou, and once riding upon the back of a great leopard (this last story was universally dismissed as the result of imprudent mushroom sampling on the part of the teller).

    Returning from one of her wandering journeys, Sedna came upon one of Koomuk's sacrifices, the great gutted hulk of a killer whale. She wept, for the whale had been dead too long to be revived. Koomuk cut big slices of blubber out of the carcass with a long, curved spear, and looked on Sedna with a contemptuous sneer. "It has been a poor hunting season. The gods demanded a special sacrifice," he explained. The other tribal elders, standing around the angakkuq, nodded in agreement.

    "What do you know of the gods?" Sedna could barely contain her grief. "It's one thing to act as if you can hear them, but to say that they demand murder is blasphemous!"

    "Blasphemous?" cried Koomuk. "You speak of blasphemy? You, who question the holy rites and practice sorcery?" Looking around at the other elders, his voice rose. "Perhaps the hunt has thinned because of this evil girl's presence among us! Perhaps it is she who should be offered to the gods!"

    Koomuk had orchestrated the moment perfectly, having poisoned the elders against Sedna with years of small, dark lies. The elders looked on passively as Koomuk approached Sedna, still brandishing his ceremonial spear. Sedna stared at him with disbelief, shaking her head. "This is beyond even you, Koomuk. You know I have no desire to take your place."

    Koomuk reddened at the insinuation, and shouted as he thrust his spear into her breast. The girl made no sound. She dropped to her knees.

    A growl came from the snow-fog behind her, and from it burst a gigantic leopard. Twice the size of a bull caribou, it fell upon Koomuk, who shrieked as it clamped its jaws around his skull. The scream ended suddenly with a sound of crunching bone, and the leopard released the shaman, his broken body flopping over in the snow. The elders tried to get behind one another in a mad scramble to escape the great cat, but the beast turned to Sedna, who kneeled in a circle of red snow with the spear still inside her.

    She raised her head to look with kindness upon her friend. "Sila, you should not have done that. I will be fine." Wincing, she clutched the handle of the spear and pushed it through her body. When the weapon finally dropped into the snow, her cat approached and licked the gaping wound. A blue aurora-light surrounded her, and waves of warmth radiated from her kneeling form to wash over the elders and the dead angakkuq. When the light finally faded, she stood up slowly. There was no mark on her chest.

    She walked over to Koomuk's prone form and held her hand above him. With a start, he breathed once more. Seeing the giant leopard, he squealed and scrambled into the nearest snow shelter. Sedna turned to the elders, who still quaked together in a terrified pile. "When he returns to his senses, tell Koomuk I will not return."

    Picking up the spear, Sedna mounted Sila. They never looked back.
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    Oak

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    Thanos the Immortal was King Nimoth XII's favorite captain, as he had been for his father and his father's father. Thanos was renowned for his loyalty, his leadership, his skill with an axe, and above all his very great age. Leading several generations of soldiers in the wars of the Nimoth Dynasties, Thanos had received countless death-blows, but none had killed him. His men had rallied many times at the sight of Thanos rising again after being stricken down by his enemy.

    Thanos, who wore his armor and helm at all times, was rumored to have been horribly disfigured by the centuries of battle-scars he had received in the service of the Nimoth Kings. At court, he was a stoic, monolithic presence, only speaking when addressed.

    It was therefore a great shock when Thanos refused his Lord's command to fight at the Battle of Rond. The usually-noisy court fell immediately silent when Thanos' voice boomed from within his helmet: "this cannot rightly be called 'a battle,' my Lord. The Rondish folk may be resistant to taxation, some may even be treacherous, but they are not warriors. Most of their men are away at harvest. Our army will only find women and children at Rond."

    "All the better," replied the king. "Let us purge these undesirables now and never again suffer their insolence."

    Thanos' helmet turned toward the king. "Your fathers were also vexed by the proud Rondish, but they used other methods. They would never have ordered a massacre of innocents."

    The king stood, his cheeks crimson with rage. "I am not my father, and you will do as I say! Disobey me now, and I will banish you for a thousand years!"

    Thanos' black visor looked for a moment upon the king, and then he spoke. "As you wish. I will go."

    It was thus that Thanos and the five hundred vassals of his house found themselves in exile among the Writh-tal, the Canyons of the Dead. The Canyons cut through a blighted, broken land, and were inhabited by terrible Dead Things. These would not abide the living, and the king's proclamation had almost certainly meant death for Thanos' servants.

    Nevertheless, the remnants of the House of Thanos survived long enough to build a fortress upon a great, tortured rock. When the walls were complete, Thanos stood watch at the gate, guarding the stronghold's only approach. Undead things sometimes made attempts upon the fortress, but he vanquished them all. As gatekeeper to a sumptuous island of life amidst a hungry sea of death, he came into contact with many Dead Things from the other side, some of which had once also been alive. The Undead Things saw that they shared with Thanos both exile and lonely immortality, and some did not hate him.

    Nine hundred years later, Thanos still kept his station, rooted to the spot like a great dark tree. As generations passed and Thanos' vassals looked down upon his unmoving figure beneath the parapet, they gave him a new name: The Oak.

    Attacks by Dead Things had abated in recent times, and some of the youngest children had never seen the Oak move. They doubted the stories told to them by their parents, suspecting instead that the great armored statue beyond the gate was some kind of scarecrow for ghosts.

    Then one grey morning a new and dreadful Dead Thing, a Dark Servant from beyond the Veil, fell upon the stronghold. The Oak took up his axe and rushed out to meet the abomination. Though he landed many blows upon the thing, the Oak could not bring it down. The giant attacker had many arms and many weapons, and the Oak could not break through its defenses. In the end, the Dark Servant raised a great hooked club above its head and brought the weapon down upon the Oak, shattering him. His horrified vassals saw his armor scatter, and also saw that it contained no body.

    Satisfied that the Oak was no more, The Dark Servant turned to the undefended stronghold, licking its many lips in anticipation of the succulent souls within.

    Wisps of blue fog formed among the scattered remnants of the Oak's armor, and slowly each part moved across the ground, reconnecting to its neighbors. When at last the Oak's form was restored, he rose to his feet and took up his axe. For the first time in centuries, he spoke aloud:

    "Warrior spirits, fellow exiles, hear me! Remember the fragility of those you loved, remember the noble causes for which you fought! Here is a worthy battle and a formidable foe! Rise with me now!"

    From the ground around the Oak rose floating, spectral forms, growing in number until they flew in great swarms towards the Dark Servant. Screaming, the many-armed demon lashed out in all directions, but could not repel the clouds of angry spirits that engulfed it. Distracted by the onslaught, the Dark Servant did not see the Oak running towards him, picking up speed and raising his axe. The Oak leaped into the air and sank his weapon into the demon's chest, revealing its withered black heart. He reached inside and ripped it free, throwing it over the precipice. The Dark Servant bellowed one last time, then sank to the ground and moved no more.

    The swirling spirits circled the Oak, then faded away as dawn broke. The Oak then dragged the demon's corpse to the edge of the canyon and pushed it into the abyss. His vassals cheered from the stronghold, calling out his name.

    He gave them neither sign nor word. Once again taking his place by the gate, he planted his axe-handle in the ground and set his shield before him, looking out over the hostile wastes of the Writh-tal.

    He did not move.
    Last edited by Admiral Squish; 2010-01-18 at 03:43 PM.
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    Queen of Thorns

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    The faeries of the forest were invisible to men, but were as plain as the sun to small creatures and growing things. They helped maintain order in myriad ways -- by gently reminding the lilies to bloom, by mediating disputes between the mushrooms and beetles, by politely asking the birches if they might move their branches a little so a walnut sapling could have some light. They did not rule the forest, but influenced it in countless ways to help maintain a perfect, delicate balance. They always asked nicely, and were thus always obeyed.

    One April morning, a strange faerie-child was born. She had bright red hair, which had never been seen before. She also seemed heavier, more substantial than other faeries. As she grew older, she found that when she walked in the field, her feet crushed the grass while other fairies lilted along without moving a single blade. When her sisters tried to teach her how to waft dandelion seeds to open soil, she blew too hard and sent them tumbling. They tried to show her how to warm a sparrow egg in her hands, but its warmth seemed to flow out of it and it cracked and crumbled before her eyes.

    The oldest faeries, in their consternation, finally assigned her to insect duty -- the durable carapaces of centipedes and ladybugs withstood her harsh treatment, and for her part she seemed to have a special affection for things that skittered and stung. Other faeries looked on her ungainliness with pity, but were content that she seemed to have found her place in the order of things. She did her duty and in time became an adult.

    She was on her way to meet the Ant Queen when she happened across a man in the forest. She had never seen a human before, and looked at him with great curiosity. He was about her height, but wingless and covered with clothing, which looked terribly uncomfortable. It took her a moment to realize that he was staring at her, as well.

    "Who... who are you?" the man stammered.

    "You can see me?" The faerie looked confused, but not frightened.

    The man indeed saw her nakedness and her wings and could not look away. Faeries are particularly sensitive to subtle signs, and for her part, she could clearly see that she had some particular influence over this man. After only a few minutes with her, he pledged his undying love and swore to bring her anything she wanted. She could not think of anything she could possibly need, but invited him to visit again the next time he happened through the forest. She giggled as he stumbled away and she found, upon reflection, that she enjoyed the sensation of controlling another living thing.

    When she told her sisters about the encounter, they flew into an exasperated tizzy. "This is unnatural," they cried. "How is it that you are visible to men? You cannot bring them here, sister! They will destroy the forest!"

    Regardless, the man came back to the same spot a day later, and she was there to greet him. Again were his eyes transfixed upon her (less upon her face than on her other parts, she noted), and his breathing became uneven. At last he could not control himself and took her in his arms, pressing his mouth against hers. She had little time to resist, since the color quickly went out of his face and he dropped to the ground, dead. She felt his life force flowing inside her like some drug, and was exhilarated. This was a new and unusual power, and she wanted to explore its limits. She now saw that she had special gifts.

    Moving through the forest, she barked commands at everything. She told ferns to turn pink. She told mushrooms to dance. She demanded that the stag-beetles grow as big as wild boars. All obeyed her. She was flushed with the possibilities -- no faerie had ever thought to make demands of the forest-dwellers, and she was suddenly angered by her sisters' naiveté and condescension. Thenceforth, she never moved through the forest on her own feet, riding instead upon a rose-chariot that stood upon the backs of four great beetles. She was also the first faerie to give herself a name: The Queen of Thorns.

    Over the following weeks, more men came to the forest in search of their lost comrade. She was able to deal with the first dozen or so in the same way she had managed the first, but they eventually grew wise and started showing up in small, well-armed groups. Faced with a party of archers, she commanded the elm trees to uproot themselves and savage the band of humans. This they did, even though by these exertions they brought about their own deaths, for they could not get their roots back into the ground.

    Coming upon the piles of dead men and trees, her sisters saw that a monster had grown in their midst. They gave her a choice: she could take her own life or leave the forest forever.

    The Queen of Thorns laughed. "If you can't manage to kill me yourselves, I can't think why I should do your dirty work for you!" She snorted. "Besides, there is a greater world -- a world of power -- beyond the forest. I wish you all long winters!"

    With that, her insect-chariot carried her away, leaving a crushed swath of fallen flowers in its wake.
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    Reserved for Oculus
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    Reserved for Demon Assassin
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    When you're done with the critters, i have a request: Could you figure out some way of turning the Rook into a good aligned Elder Evil for the purposes of thwarting evil aligned PCs?

    I just can't shake the feeling that that would be the strangest and yet best campaign ever...
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    Quote Originally Posted by Mulletmanalive View Post
    When you're done with the critters, i have a request: Could you figure out some way of turning the Rook into a good aligned Elder Evil for the purposes of thwarting evil aligned PCs?

    I just can't shake the feeling that that would be the strangest and yet best campaign ever...
    How do you get an elder evil out of a castle? It's not exactly all that elder.
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    I meant more on the lines of the Elder Evils from the book in that they're sort of a looming thing on the horizon of the campaign. In fairness, it's not all that different from the Hulks of Zoretha, it's just that you could have an entire adventure INSIDE the damn thing during the escalation phase without realising...
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    You mean, you want me to come up with the sort of quest chain thing that leads up to an encounter with him? Hmmm... Maybe you could have the PCs be the ones to kill Mard Hammerhand. Read up on the story.

    Either way, this is going to take a good long while, so you're probably better off coming up with it on your own.
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    Torchbearer's attacks need a little tweaking.

    Attack: +3 Staff +13 melee (1d6+3) Or +3 Staff Ranged Touch +18 (3d6+3)

    Full Attack: +3 Staff +13/+8 melee Or +3 Staff Ranged Touch +18/+13 (3d6+3)

    How often can a torchbearer use his special abilities? Some are too powerful to be used more than once per day.

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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Quote Originally Posted by Debihuman View Post
    Torchbearer's attacks need a little tweaking.

    Attack: +3 Staff +13 melee (1d6+3) Or +3 Staff Ranged Touch +18 (3d6+3)

    Full Attack: +3 Staff +13/+8 melee Or +3 Staff Ranged Touch +18/+13 (3d6+3)

    How often can a torchbearer use his special abilities? Some are too powerful to be used more than once per day.

    Debby
    Point made. I will go fix those. The extra damage on the staff's ranged is accounted for in Staff of the Prince. It's his charisma modifier.

    They were unlimited, but I think I might have to throw some limits on them now that you bring it up. 2-3/day would work. If you think that's too powerful, consider a psion can do 20d6 with one spell, with a variety of different shapes and added effects.
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    Torchbearer is very weak for a CR20 monster... he can't do anything but throw a handfull of dice at you, and even that doesn't hit that hard.

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    Quote Originally Posted by Milskidasith View Post
    Torchbearer is very weak for a CR20 monster... he can't do anything but throw a handfull of dice at you, and even that doesn't hit that hard.
    Really, in the game, that's his job. He's as close to a glass cannon as they come. His ice abilities have a few debuffs, but the torchbearer is pretty straight forward, just point and kill.

    He does have a few battlefield controls, though. Look at Rain of Ice and Burn the World.
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    Haven't read all of this but stopping to post a few thoughts.

    The rook should just use "Strength score -10" for damage where it says "twice strength modifier" since that is more granular.

    Does getting stopped in place for 2d6 rounds prevent its attacks? Probably...
    Does it stop "Army within"? That is less clear.


    For the unclean beast I would list the extra damage from Shred right in the attack line since there is no save or whatever between the two... if you get bit, you immediately take both sets of damage... or maybe it matters for DR? But that seems overly complicated.

    EDIT: Torchbearer mentions "Frost Resistance" which should be "cold resistance".
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    Quote Originally Posted by DracoDei View Post
    Haven't read all of this but stopping to post a few thoughts.

    The rook should just use "Strength score -10" for damage where it says "twice strength modifier" since that is more granular.

    Does getting stopped in place for 2d6 rounds prevent its attacks? Probably...
    Does it stop "Army within"? That is less clear.


    For the unclean beast I would list the extra damage from Shred right in the attack line since there is no save or whatever between the two... if you get bit, you immediately take both sets of damage... or maybe it matters for DR? But that seems overly complicated.

    EDIT: Torchbearer mentions "Frost Resistance" which should be "cold resistance".
    All good points. I shall respond to each.

    The double strength modifier is important because he might have buffs from allied casters to his strength, or debuffs from enemies, and that would increase or decrease the damage faster than strength minus ten. In addition, no other abilities use your base score, so I thought it would be a bad idea to start.

    Stopped in place does not prevent attacks, or army within. He simply can't move from where he was when the spell was cast.

    It does matter for DR. In addition, making the unclean beast's bite be 5d6+25 is just asking for someone come along and have a problem with it. Maybe I should throw on some other requirement, like you have to hit with at least one claw as well.

    I'm gonna go fix the frost/cold problem now.
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    Quote Originally Posted by Admiral Squish View Post
    The double strength modifier is important because he might have buffs from allied casters to his strength, or debuffs from enemies, and that would increase or decrease the damage faster than strength minus ten.
    No. It wouldn't really. Modifier is Floor((Score-10)/2), so 2*Modifier is ~= (Score-10). It just makes it smoother.
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    Quote Originally Posted by DracoDei View Post
    No. It wouldn't really. Modifier is Floor((Score-10)/2), so 2*Modifier is ~= (Score-10). It just makes it smoother.
    I think it's fine as it is. It's not like it's especially complicated math. You have to know the modifier anyway, for the rest of it.
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    Firbolg in the Playground
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    I just put up Lord Erebus. I'm really having trouble with this one. Especially determining the power level of his minions. I need them to threaten opponents, but he also has a whole lot of them, so they can't COMPLETELY overwhelm. So, am I aimed too low?
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Incidentally, as soon as you try to fit Regulus into a standard D&D setting you are going to run into a problem... the story works... right up until he manages to go from where you left off to where-ever things pick up again (presumably years later) wandering around as a CR 20 character and NOT hearing about Regeneration... IE you are either going to have to say it was some sort of special cursed knife used on him, or his demigod status ironically keeps it from working, or that the setting doesn't include that spell... or just give him a fly speed and be done with it (which probably doesn't match the game...).


    EDIT: Also, the Nightwalkers need Fort saves, in case of Disintegrate and such.
    Last edited by DracoDei; 2010-01-22 at 04:37 AM.
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Quote Originally Posted by DracoDei View Post
    Incidentally, as soon as you try to fit Regulus into a standard D&D setting you are going to run into a problem... the story works... right up until he manages to go from where you left off to where-ever things pick up again (presumably years later) wandering around as a CR 20 character and NOT hearing about Regeneration... IE you are either going to have to say it was some sort of special cursed knife used on him, or his demigod status ironically keeps it from working, or that the setting doesn't include that spell... or just give him a fly speed and be done with it (which probably doesn't match the game...).


    EDIT: Also, the Nightwalkers need Fort saves, in case of Disintegrate and such.
    ...A problem I hadn't thought of before. Maybe it's past the statute of magical limitations or some-such? Too old of a wound? He does have an ability that gives him back the wings, but it's temporary... Of course, It could be they did something to prevent that. Like corrupted the stumps with something... If all else fails, it's up to DM fiat.

    Does that mean lord Erebus and the rook need 'em too?

    On the subject of Regulus, should I stat him as a character or a monster, you think?
    Last edited by Admiral Squish; 2010-01-22 at 04:48 AM.
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Do Regulus however will work best... sorry if that doesn't help much but it is the correct answer... I guess it depends a lot on what feats and class features you end up giving him... if he has more than 20 HD would give him (7 I believe) then he should have a few levels of Ranger and/or Fighter (or martial initiator with one of the homebrew archery disciplines like True Arrow or one of the several "Falling Star" disciplines... see "The Age of Warriors" submissions thread for links.). I certainly would say that even before all his boosts for high level, he would have superhuman Dex...

    Yeah, Rook and Erebus need Fortitude saves.

    The following is based on the false assumption that you were thinking that someone might have offered to give Erebus Life, but it is an interesting point none-the-less.
    Erebus sounds like the type who might take a True Ressurection if someone offered, but if he was BORN a vampire, then you could fluff it as he doesn't have a life to return TO. Then again, he may have just decided that even if he did have a pulse Love would still be beyond his grasp, so he will settle for Power.

    As for the warrior powering Rook, I rather suspect he is happy as a clam with his current status. Long rests from stress, literally filled with feasting and merry making on a regular basis... and occasionally he gets to knock some heads in.
    Last edited by DracoDei; 2010-01-22 at 05:43 AM.
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    My thoughts on Regulus would be that he should have two or more bonus feats in exchange for his wings. Basically, by turning from the path of love that his wings exemplified and onto the path of death, he sacrificed his ability to heal instinctively for additional power to kill.

    Kind of like Flaws but on a divine scale...
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    In the game he gets his wings as a magical effect. Same thing will apply in the brew. Like 3-5/day regrow his wings for one minute.

    Hmm... If erebus was born as a night walker, and grew up as a night walker, I'm not sure he's actually undead. He might just be a monstrous humanoid with vampiric traits, you know? Being undead requires you to be alive at one point...
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    Default Re: Demigod's demigods

    Wait...someone else on the playground plays Demigod? Awesome. Perhaps we can play a match some time. Still looking over the homebrew, but it looks interesting.
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