d6 List: Random Loot for Random Enemies

(Note: What I write is largely setting agnostic, but not necessarily system agnostic. It is usually constructed from a DnD/Pathfinder/fantasy viewpoint. You may or may not find it applicable to systems you run)

Ever have a destination fully formed, but the journey wasn't supposed to be noteworthy, and you run into a rough series of questions?

Do I throw a random encounter?

If so, how many over the journey?

What happens if the dice are angry at them today? This was supposed to be a simple trek, what happens if one dies? 

Should I just not throw an encounter in a long journey?

If you do decide to throw an encounter, it's likely going to be a random encounter. And by random, I don't mean it's necessarily from a random table. I mean it's probably space-filler. It's probably fluff to sell the idea of danger lurking beyond the walls. PCs might be expected to kill them quickly, get some loot, and be on their way. This is perfectly fine. But especially if it is from a random list I find that most that introduce these "random enemies", be they bandit or brigand, either have very underwhelming loot, or it isn't listed at all. If I'm left to pull it from source material, a lot of the time it isn't thematically appropriate, and now I have to do a lot more work.

So, I wanted to provide something to complement this. All of the items here should at least be something to creatively color a random enemy while also giving a real use case that players might enjoy. In theory, these will be fun, not overpowered, not subject to cheese, and simple enough to throw on a wide variety of filler enemies to make these fights seem like they weren't just for the sake of fighting.

A d6 List of Random Loot

For your average encounter, presume that among the mundane, one of these items is present, found by rolling a d6 and correlating it to the entry. Feel free to add more. Regardless of game mechanics and creation rules, these are intended to be strange items that are valued at minimal amounts of gold. Probably no more than 200 gold per, if you're feeling generous. I'd probably make 50 g a good baseline. 

1. Cannibal's Molar

This molar is strung onto an ornate set of wooden beads. This item exudes a faint magic aura if detected and fills the holder/wearer with a nagging urge to eat meat. It need not be human meat, but in the absence of fleshy foods, fellow people/party members start to be seen as viable options. You know, in a desert island situation. Totally. Not right now. In the middle of the woods. Where no one can hear us.

The item provides a simple bonus to hit for any character that is raging (be it magically induced or as a class feature). If the character makes a bite attack, they do 1 more damage and have a 5% chance of causing 1 point of bleed damage that lasts until healed.

2. Thief's Coin Purse

This simple but magical purse is seemingly filled with coins by weight, jingling sound, and appearance, but this is an illusion. It seems like it would total 50 gold worth of items by this apparent weight. Useful for inattentive shopkeepers and trades with foes that aren't thorough enough. Opening it reveals that it is otherwise empty. The illusion only works when nothing is in it, but it can store about 50 gold coins worth otherwise. This illusion fools the senses, but not a merchant's scale.

3. Hunter's Satchel of Urines

This leather made pouch is magical. When one sticks a vial of water in it, it is subject to prestidigitation so that the smell and all other fundamental qualities of the contained water will perfectly mimic any animal's marking (it need not be urine specifically). You must provide the vial and water, but otherwise, you simply think of the creature, dip the vial in for three seconds, and voila. Rangers use this most commonly to hunt for deer, but this can be used for any animal. This does not attract beings that would otherwise not be attracted to scent, pheromones, or other qualities intrinsic to "markings".

4. Jar of Fireflies

This simple magical jar contains dozens of bright lights that are, evidently, fireflies. Seemingly not needing air to breathe, the jar can indefinitely act as a source of bright light out to 10 feet due to its contents. However, if the wielder of the jar thinks of a location and opens it, the fireflies burst out and lazily fly in the direction of the destination that was thought of. They won't do so unless the location is within 500 miles. For this to work, one must have seen the place on a map or in person before. If the "destination" is something more abstract, like the exit to a maze that you don't know the path to, there is no cohesion, and the fireflies go in random directions. They cannot be used to "explore" unknown areas like other sides of doors in a dungeon. They otherwise fly indefinitely, and can be immediately called back by will alone. They do not have perfect navigation, and thus may fly in the direction of impassable terrain, chasms, or streams.

5. Choker of Muted Poisons

This magical choker is made of elegant black silk and is worn on the neck by those fearing ingested poisons. When consuming a poison, undetectable or otherwise, the choker turns gradually grayer until it's pure white, commensurate with the strength and amount of poison. In changing of color, it also neutralizes the poison for 8 hours. Every 8 hours that the poison still attempts to harm the wearer, the color shifts again. This is a gradual shift as far as being perceived by the wearer, but in terms of quantity, you could ingest the weakest lethal poison five times (or enough that it would proc five times) before it turns pure white, meaning a sixth dose would be fatal. The strongest poisons will immediately turn the choker white, in such a fashion that casual observers would note the color change. Only magical poisons circumvent this. They still cause the choker to turn white, but otherwise are not halted in their ravages. Once a choker turns white, it is useless.

6. Trouble Stone

This is a pumice-like stone, except totally smooth to the touch, with a small pit on one side. When the holder rubs the pit for three seconds while under an emotion effect, they can reattempt their saving throw if there was one immediately. If successful, the effect is channeled into the stone. Only one effect can be pushed into the stone at any given time. To clear the effect from the stone, you must wash it in a silver bowl filled with water or wait one week.  Should someone rub the pit of the stone for three seconds while it still has the effect in it, it is immediately transferred to them with no save. It otherwise has the same effects as when it was shunted into the stone, and all variables like duration persist.

The Truth About Familiars

(Note: What I write is largely setting agnostic, but not necessarily system agnostic. It is usually constructed from a DnD/Pathfinder/fantasy viewpoint. You may or may not find it applicable to systems you run)

If you asked a commoner what a familiar was, the answers would range from lax presumptions of its status as a menial laborer to hushed whispers of a magical weapon. Soldiers view them as spiteful, eerie omens best not seen with your own eyes. Were you to ask the clergy, they would rattle off accusations towards the witches about their demonic "masters" (they will conveniently forgo mention of their branch of Witch Hunters who take on familiars to guide their hunts). In truth, none of these are the whole story, but neither are they patently false. 

Familiars

Familiars are so named because they are formed around a portion of the mage's mind. Specifically their subconscious. It taps into their thoughts yet voiced, dreams, and subliminal thinking and forms a large percentage of its personality around it. Like a fractured mirror of the mage, they are eerily similar, but still yet distinct. Be they witch, wizard, or other kind of thaumaturge, it is always this portion of the mage's mind and is forever placed within the familiar. This is still accessible through a mental link that forges as a result, but like the abilities that form, it takes time to adjust and deepen the bond.

Obtaining a familiar is, therefore, no small ask of a mage, which begs the question of why they would willingly sequester part of their mind and personality within another being. The simplest answer is that without a familiar most mages would never graduate past mastery of cantrips, rituals, and circle magic.

Familiars are magical fonts first, and teachers and guides second.  They are an external analog to the internal magical reservoirs that inheritor mages - those born with innate magical aptitude - possess, and are responsible for tutoring, deliberating with, and protecting a mage through their journey of magical growth. The majority of mages must seek out a familiar in order to advance their magical abilities. For education, but also so that they may cast at all (the amount of magic held within an average person that is not an inheritor mage is insufficient to cast even minor spells to completion).

Familiars are quite complex, and their rarity is sourced most in the steep cost of procuring one. In order to obtain one, a mage must first instigate a ritual of summoning. However, this ritual does not summon a familiar, but in fact summons a being known as an iriyani.

Iriyani

An iriyani is a specter. An undead. They exist on the Ethereal Plane and are souls that have lived so long that they have forgotten why they died, and why they have not been able to move on. There are two kinds of iriyani, those who originate from the Realm of the Fey, and those who originate from the Planes Below. Both were once beings of extremely powerful magical ability. It isn't clear what propels souls from these origins to become iriyani, but it is presumed that it must have something to deal with how these souls innately process, form, and maintain contracts and oaths. They have all but lost every last shred of normal behavior they would otherwise possess, and this has been overwritten by an intense desire to feel. Feel, in this case, as mortals do. Those who call upon the iriyani know that such a hungry desire will cost them heavily.

When a mage prepares to summon an iriyani, the incantation they recite in the ritual is the only differing factor. Scholars and other theurgical types that perform this ritual will call forth a "Fey Iriyani". Witches and other coven members will recite the incantation that beckons a "Fiendish Iriyani". 

Upon being summoned, an iriyani, regardless of association will lash out. Thus, it's important that a ring of binding glyph be carefully laid to ensure safety of the mage. The pangs of urgent need are plainly seen on the iriyani's "face" (they can and do take many forms, and mages at least know that they crave humanity's essence). It is at this point that the iriyani will calm, and demand parlay. A mage will humbly request aide in the form of a familiar, and the iriyani will demand a portion of the mage's fundamental behaviors.

What this means depends on the iriyani summoned. The scholar's iriyani will require one of their virtues. The witch's iriyani will demand one of their sins. Aside from this being a way to experience something other than the empty existence they hold, they have convinced themselves that this is a method that will help them pass on.

A wizard will decide which of their virtues to yield: chastity, charity, temperance, diligence, kindness, patience, or humility. For a witch: lust, greed, pride, wrath, sloth, gluttony, or envy. The decision is not trivial. On the surface, removing one of your virtues sounds suspect, and removing a sin would seem to make you a better person, but these are both incomplete thoughts needing more context. Once decided, a Fey Iriyani will bind you at your word of agreement. A Fiendish Iriyani will produce a contract to sign - a holdover from when they were among devilkin.

It is from this point that things get complex.

Crafting the Familiar

The iriyani will take your virtue or your sin in confounding ways. Mostly, this manifests as a stunted ability to display the trait that was yielded for quite a long time. The piece of humanity given then funnels into the iriyani, which is expected. They asked for it specifically, after all. But this does more than the iriyani would ever let on. 

At this point, the iriyani will fetch the body of an animal from the surrounding area, never anything too big. Then, they will thieve away your subconscious and force it into the creature. Thoughts are not had unless explicitly voiced in one's own mind, and no dreams are had for the first week of acclimation. Bizarre as it is, this is not immediately known to the mage. At this point, there is little that is remarkable about this creature. A turtle remains a turtle, just with the ability to hear your thoughts.

What makes the magic happen, so to speak, is found when the iriyani retreats briefly to the Ethereal Plane to find a suitable spirit. Iriyani, despite their pitiable existence, learn and learn well the plights of ghosts and spirits that dwell alongside them. They form friendships that are never satisfying to their end, largely culminating in a one-sided relationship subsisting on the desperate loneliness of the specter they come across. These ghastly beings run a range of abilities, but for the purpose the iriyani has in mind, they all function the same - to create an ethereal tether from familiar to mage and to create the magical font for use by the mage. Unbeknownst to the mage (but clearly understood by the iriyani) is that this process also creates a tether from familiar to the iriyani.

The iriyani will return; the familiar in tow with a capable, cooperative spirit held within. The process is essentially a heightened and calculated form of possession by two entities. The spirit elevates the creature to a being worthy of mention and forms an ethereal tether, while the fraction of mind allows it to talk (telepathically or otherwise), think, process, share senses, and teach. The tether works in both directions.

All of this happens quickly. And all of it seems worth it, in the end. A piece of your humanity is a small price for the ability to bend reality to your whims.

But there's always a catch.

Consequences

After the familiar is crafted, you are given a strict command. Always obey your familiar. If you don't, you lose it.

It makes sense - they are supposed to be educators that understand how to foster growth of your magical ability. They are tasked with setting you on your path of knowledge. They are to direct you to greater power.

A lot of mages reason that the familiars are actually cosmically linked to some source of knowledge that the iriyani must have the ability to tap into. Well, it isn't too far off. In reality, the iriyani is the source that is being tapped. And what is "tapped" in this case is twofold. Remember, the iriyani were once powerfully magical, and though they forgot who they are, they have a magical reflex. They know what to do, even though they don't know why. So "tapping" the iriyani means access to an innate awareness of how to become a better mage. Conversely, the goals and methods they have for teaching are largely predetermined - based upon which piece of humanity you forsook.

The piece of humanity yielded acts as a seed, growing in time with the mage's progress. The iriyani grows in power day by day, and they leech off more emotion from this essence as if it were some strange tea, steeped in the water of their soul; stronger with each second.

But as far as what this looks like? 

A scholar yielding their kindness, for instance, will hamstring their own politeness for the foreseeable future, and leave them prone to jealousy in ways unnatural to them. Their familiar, on the other hand, is immune to the emotional handicap, and is taking orders from the iriyani. The iriyani, by the way, which will become an embodiment of kindness.

On the flip side, a witch yielding her pride will lose confidence, gain self-doubt, and will be less evil than they once were, technically, but will be following the lead of a being fueled by pure arrogance.

In either case, the mage is afflicted by being less of what they gave up, only to study under the tutelage of an entity that will shape them and guide them in the shadow of this ideal. But even were a mage to learn about all of this, it would seem at first glance like wizards and the like have it easy. Give up kindness and learn to be kinder by the day. 

Again, there's always a catch.

Let's not forget that the iriyani is a being desperate to pass on, and until then, they are desperate to feel. The piece of humanity they are given is like feeding an addiction, and addicts never have enough. What is billed as kindness is, in fact, just a pleasant mask to sell all of the ideas, goals, and aspirations you are given.

You will be coaxed to kill the wicked king. After all, his atrocities have brought many to an early grave. It's hard work, but sometimes the kindest act you can perform is one on behalf of others, no matter the cost, your familiar will tell you. Murder will be rationalized. Stealing, theft, worse. And why? Because as if some cruel spectator, the iriyani is hoping to gain entertainment from your "deeds". And with every milestone you reach, the stronger a feeling their empty souls feel. Mages catch on by this point and realize that their familiar has an agenda.

But by now it's too late. The mage has gotten a taste for power, and should they decline, the iriyani will end the agreement, and the mage will be without familiar and piece of humanity alike. Thus begins the real journey of a mage: how to keep the familiar while also not falling prey to temptations that would surely end poorly for them.

Witches tend to have it a bit easier in this case, as many willingly sign up for this. But there are those that realize the pact is more than they ever bargained for, and they, too, experience the same tightrope walk.

In either case, succumbing to the allure of power is the desired end, and many a mage fails to resist.

Losing a Familiar

If your familiar dies, you lose your magical abilities. But the iriyani will happily make another. It will cost another piece of your humanity, though. This is dangerous, because now there are twice as many facets by which they can mask an action as palatably as possible. You are not otherwise negatively affected by losing your familiar, though. Nothing happens to the portion of your subconscious - the ethereal tether ensures that it is shunted back to you in this exact event.

Other Abilities

Being able to cast and learn magic is fine and all, but there are a number of abilities that can develop as the bond deepens.

At the beginning, a familiar can detect surface thoughts as well as subconscious thoughts (the mage ceases having them within their own mind, and instead they are first heard by their familiar). This works in reverse as well, but requires some focus. After about half a year together, the mage has learned how to think in their own mind, away from detection by the familiar, but can still be analyzed if the familiar actively attempts to.

Soon after, slight focus can allow the familiar and the mage to sense what they other feels within about thirty feet of each other. The other is aware of this occurring, but cannot stop it. With dedication, the mage can learn to enter a trance and can extend this range indefinitely, but this predictably leaves them vulnerable. In this trance-state, the familiar is effectively hosting the whole consciousness of the mage, and the mage could then speak through their familiar to allies.

Familiars host their mage's dreams, but is never asleep or unconscious while they are occurring. They are able to analyze and manipulate them, and can even talk to the mage in them.

Familiars are quite hardy, and can only be fundamentally hurt by things that can harm ghosts - so magic, ghost touch weaponry, and anything of that sort.

Interestingly, there comes a point where a familiar's mind (your subconscious) has been subjected to the tug of war between your preferences and the iriyani's commands for so long that they begin occasionally acting on their own. Partially, this is shaped by the spirit that is within them. This is called a personality split, and when this happens, the familiar is given free range to act on their own behalf. It's nigh undetectable at first. But soon the mage will notice that the caliber of requests has been easy to manage. The familiar will sense the awareness and confirm it.

But that doesn't mean the familiar is on the mage's side from then on out. The spirit within them still has a say, and is largely able to wedge itself in the decision making process when this split occurs. In some cases, the familiar's desires are even worse. But this is where it becomes difficult to navigate - any request could, theoretically be from the iriyani, and must necessarily be done. 

From this point on, little changes. The cycle continues. The two will dance in lockstep until the mage perishes, and though burgeoning casters are warned of the steep prices in veiled metaphors (it would be anathema to the iriyani to state it upfront), mages by the dozen fall prey all the time. Most lament it, but some - the truly noteworthy - harness it, and turn it into their greatest tool.

The work of a mage is not easy, nor is it ever complete. 

Afterword and How to Use This

Hey, it's a late post for a few reasons. Last week we got hit hard by a winter storm. This is code for I got distracted by having some snow to play in, but also my partner was off, so we spent time together on her days off.

I initially had a different idea that was a bit more straightforward, but it was too generic and low-effort. This feels right enough to hit the sweet spot of "a bit creepy, but also pretty reasonable", but I'll admit it's a tad bit convoluted at parts. I think mostly it was because this was really difficult to get out of my head for whatever reason (I didn't even say all I had to say). But I do like it a lot, overall. It turns the iriyani into a type of "patron", which works exceedingly well for the witch, and is not negatively impacting for the wizard. I think it also has a lot of fleshing out that allows familiars to play a peculiar role at the table.

Let's say you wanna use it.

In my mind, I mostly see it going like so: Let's say the wizard is starting with a familiar. They'll need to know all of the parts of the ritual, but they should absolutely not know that the iriyani is malicious/self-centered. They should be encouraged to discuss with their familiar, and the GM should issue commands that are purely in the spirit of guiding the wizard's progress. Occasionally, they should slip in "ideas" that are really just fodder for chaos. They should probably realize the iriyani is the one calling the shots no earlier than level 5, if it can be helped.

Witches aiming for a good party are, in my opinion, the most ripe for a compelling inclusion of this. They're likely to have malicious tendencies from the coven they hail from (or from whatever misguided path they took to get there sans coven), but have likely come to realize quite soon that their malefactor is not all it's cracked up to be. Seems compelling to see them try to find ways to turn orders from the next best thing to a devil into something good, lest they lose their magic.

The iriyani (through the familiar) should always operate with a distinct vagueness. Vagueness not in request or suggestion, but vagueness in outcome. They should sell the requests, demands, and other actions as reasonable for as long as possible. There needs to be a genuinely good argument for what they suggest. And so, until the jig is up, they'll never request brazen tasks that clearly show their hand. They want to corrupt the mage as part of their essence, and the less upfront they can be about it, the more payoff there will be when the mage finally pieces together that their familiar has been against them all along.

But perhaps the best part of this in my mind is what it does for the NPCs. Familiars in my experience are under utilized and mostly just set pieces to say "THIS IS A MAGICAL PERSON". I think it's interesting to know that everyone who is a mage gave up an ultimate piece of themselves, and now is often acting in deceitful ways. If not to ensure the iriyani's goals are met, then to ensure that they aren't.

I will also say this is probably best used for settings where magic is not too, too common. It can work with commonplace magic, but it gets a little awkward when thousands of mages all have this scenario. An alternative might be to keep everything the same by the book, and to have a few of the NPCs or players have this as an option for calling a familiar. Perhaps enticing as an option by it not costing any gold?

I probably missed some parts, but it's late for me, and this is already dragging on.

I hope you enjoyed reading. If you end up using this, just consider sending people my way!

Bestiary: Sphinxes

(Note: This is largely setting agnostic, but not necessarily system agnostic. It is constructed from a DnD/Pathfinder/fantasy viewpoint. You may or may not find it applicable to systems you run)

Words have power because magical energy suffuses the air you breathe. To cast a spell, you learn the "true name" of it and utter it aloud - this is why people speak while conjuring (and in order to conjure) magic. This true name can be an incantation between one and infinity syllables long. We call particularly long incantations (or those with many, many parts) "rituals". Those who can craft new interactions of magic through novel phrasings are truly powerful. So enters the Riddles of the Sphinx.

"What, I say, traverses up a chimney down, but may never
traverse down a chimney up?"

Riddles

A sphinx's riddles are actually incantations. When they speak a riddle, they have, unbeknownst to you, begun a complex form of ritual magic where you are an unwilling participant. In this "ritual", their portion of incantation is found in the strange riddles they pose. Your answer, spoken on magical breath, is the key, either to the next riddle, or to your demise.

When entering the lair of a sphinx (which can span dozens of miles), you risk being accosted and demanded to answer three such riddles, which have a specific response that must be given. Interpretation of applicability of a given response is not decided by the sphinx, but rather the ritual itself. 

Success is the equivalent of disarming a bomb. You said the right word or phrase - you defused the explosive. But then you have to do it two more times. Success thrice in a row grants you access to mighty power that is uniquely determined by the sphinx in question and not something they can control (this can range from a long-term bless effect, to a restricted form of limited wish).

Failure - even once - is detonating the bomb at point-blank range. With the nature of how the ritual works, it is more dangerous the more you get correct before you are wrong. This ranges from the sphinx bestowing a curse to power word: kill (or equivalent ranges of spells - it depends on the sphinx and the set of riddles they choose to use). In essence, you are navigating a death spell with each riddle, and only by safely succeeding do you get the "treasure". For most people, it's their lives. For adventurers, it ranges from information to the magical gift bestowed (or, you know, both).

Failure to engage angers the sphinx, which begs an important question of why a mighty beast would accost you and demand you play their insidious game under threat of death.

Origins

A sphinx is known for a few attributes: They are a chimera of several beasts; they speak all known languages of man; they are vindictive and unrelenting hunters; and, in particular, they pester people with riddles. In truth, this is actually a compulsion they are physically incapable of resisting, sourced in their origins.

Elven magocracy has been responsible for a lot of follies and pitfalls owed to their hubris, and this is no different. The High Mage Thaldnarina reportedly discovered the true name of a dangerously powerful spell that even the elves agreed would be inappropriate to keep around. Thaldnarina resisted, but eventually feigned cooperation, turning to alternative measures to protect her discovery. The High Mage took three beasts: one of power, one of agility, and one of intellect (a lion, eagle, and a slave mage, in this case) and used thereafter forbidden transmutative magic to bond their souls together like a macabre stitched together poppet. Then, she did it twice more.

Side note: This all occurred before Thaldnarina was found to be associating with covens and hags, which explained the numerology not common among elven magical practice.

In the end, the three creatures were dominated and soul bound to Thaldnarina with each given a third of the true name of the spell, removing it from her memories. Their death would immediately shunt their portion back to her. In the event of her untimely death, the sphinxes would immediately become aware and learn the identity of who was responsible, compelled to seek them out and kill them (with considerable magic - thanks be to the slave mages used in the creation).

The sphinxes acted as guard dogs of her tower - demanding answers to three riddles each that Thaldnarina commanded they ask. It was a form of cant to ensure only those meant to access the tower were in the company of those in possession of the true name of the spell. As described, these riddles also functioned as a keen way to punish trespassers, given their extreme power.

The Sphinx's Curse

But alas, elves with their arrogance and longevity are often precluded in their ability to properly plan for the future. When she died of natural causes, no one was responsible. To the sphinxes, their magical imperative interpreted this to mean that everyone was responsible, and it wreaked havoc on their minds with each day that they did not bring justice to her death (imagine a tunneling scream that hinders your sleep and instills aggression).

This manifested as the sphinxes intentionally hunting down any person they saw and assailing them with their riddles under threat of death (the people seen warped in the sphinxes' mind to be a "visitor" that must prove right of access to a tower they no longer guarded). Riddles, of course, from a long list selected by Thaldnarina precisely because of their obscure matter that only she and a handful of select others would reliably know. Eventually, the damaging effects of the bond were acclimated, and all that remained was an intense hatred of people, an encyclopedic knowledge of esoteric facts, and a compulsion to demand answers to riddles.

To further complicate the gapped logic Thaldnarina used, she never took measures to sterilize the creatures - and as it turned out, they were, indeed, viable for reproduction. Thus, a great crisis brewed. As the sphinxes honed their aggression, wit, and survival, they reared chicks of their own, creating generations of threats that still plague people today.

Discovering Magic

With every successful birth, a sphinx's curse is eased. The portion of the spell's true name that they know is divided further from parent to child, and their offspring bare the brunt of the existential suffering Thaldnarina thrust upon them. Interestingly, parent and offspring are not soul bonded the way that the original three were to the High Mage. Thus, when a sphinx is killed, that portion of the true name is lost forever, left to be rediscovered.

Sphinxes, though, are highly protective of their knowledge. They cultivate and memorize all parts of the prior known fragments that they are able to through oral histories. In fact, they naturally organize themselves into hierarchies based on their generation (how many fragments they innately have) and how many fragments they have since gathered. In their cultivation, they have also studied magic enough to learn why, exactly, Thaldnarina utilized riddles.

In so discovering that the riddles are actually a form of derived ritual, they also learned new riddles. The mechanism specifically is that all riddles a sphinx will ever use are homophones throughout the riddle with the actual true name of powerful spells. Interestingly, any riddle can work with any other riddle (they are modular in this way) - but it changes the presentation of the set of spells with each progression. Bestowing curses from Thaldnarina's original set of riddles graduated to killing with but a word. In other combinations, it may graduate from bestowing curses to petrification. Or something else entirely separate from curse magic altogether.

In this way, a sphinx prepares not spells as a wizard might, but rather entire riddles. They know the answer to it, but again, they're not the one that decides it. It's like a jigsaw puzzle. Only one piece should ever fit appropriately, and the person constructing the puzzle is not the one who decides which piece it will be.

Sphinxes are well aware of how to present riddles that grant positive effects upon failure, but their vindictive history restricts this from the realm of feasibility. To them, it is a reward one must earn, and they are still lightly propelled by their very essence to seek violence to those not participating as they deem appropriate. 

Sphinxes are the embodiment of a magical lock in search of a key. Only, every "key" does something bad unless it's the one meant for them. Sphinxes are enemies, territorial in nature. They seek to destroy people that enter their domain without permission. However, they do have a vice - new riddles. Not knowledge, riddles that they could use. 

Should a sphinx assail you, the safest option you have to not only leave with your life but to possibly engender some friendship would be a trade. Specifically, a trade where you teach the sphinx a riddle they have not heard before. To do so, you must wait until the sphinx states their riddle in whole (interrupting can have calamitous effects), hold up empty fist to mouth with the back of your hand against your lips and wait until the glow of the sphinx's eyes diminish. No one knows why, but this a universal sign among all sphinxes that states "I wish to barter". You'll know if they accept by virtue of if they bare claws, or if they simply respond, "Your life is kept with which you speak, 'tis me now asking 'what doth thou seek'?" (They needn't rhyme - they just know that people think it's creepy, so they do it a lot)

It is important that this riddle can be anything that fits the basic parameters of a riddle. The sphinx will work out any changes that must be made to bring it to fruition as a proper inclusion in their arsenal of riddles. Adventurers walk a tightrope of sorts in this way, as the more they traverse through a sphinx's range, the more likely it will be that one day they will not have a novel addition for them. On this day, fair weather allies will turn, and the sphinx will attack.

How To Use This

Any campaign that could deal with including a malicious oracularly minded foe would probably benefit from this. I tried to make them seem less "Egyptian-coded" as well (uphill battle, really). I'll say these should probably be capable of harassing even mid-level adventurers, and might, if someone walks into their trap ill-prepared, manage to kill even the strongest of players if they come with the right riddles prepared.

Some ideas I might include, were I to use this, would probably be as follows (ranging from cliché to possibly more inventive): 

• A sphinx beseeches the party unwittingly in her domain - it poses the riddles three with a promise of fortune if successful... and death if they fail or decline
• A sphinx has recently settled in the way of a merchant's path, and now trade has ceased until it can be dealt with
• A rogue soldier in service of their malicious magical benefactor has sought collection of the Fragments of True Name of the ages old spell and has left a line of slain sphinxes in their wake
• The original three sphinxes have been targeted by the original coven Thaldnarina was a part of, presumably for malicious ends
• Rumors state that sphinxes, long since dispersed, have began coalescing their knowledge to cast the spell, whatever it is - the party must kill the sphinxes to isolate the fragments and cease the spell.

Things I would also note are that, if it wasn't clear, sphinxes are aggressive. Very, very aggressive. But they always lead with their riddle. If the riddle is spoken in whole, but no answer is given, there is not an ill-effect magically speaking, but they have a short amount of time before the spell fizzles (it's never wasted until it is set off).

What I would also recommend - don't turn down riddles provided by players in trade for safe harbor. Even the obvious ones. But have a talk with your players if there is a recurrent sphinx about what will pass muster for acceptable. I'd probably make a spreadsheet of all given riddles to keep everyone honest on which ones have been used before. It should go without saying that any riddles they use go on the list, and they should refrain from using one more than once.

Of note: "Riddlemancy" is an inherent quality of the sphinxes and only otherwise practiced by certain covens of hags. It requires knowledge that even some of the more masterful spellcasters simply cannot comprehend (Thaldnarina was, truly, a legendary mage). Think of it as somewhere between innate sorcery and learned spellcraft. Thus, the players probably should never obtain this. Merely speaking the riddle as a person will not produce magical effects.

As for what answers you would accept? I'll discuss that down below. If you're interested in including them, I'd highly recommend it.

As always, if you enjoyed this and end up using it, go wild! Just please give credit when able and send people this way.

Afterword and Answering Riddles

TL;DR: I recommend having a list of acceptable answers, and holding firm to consequences otherwise. Also, maybe don't worry so much about the players coming to the answer on their own. You can always make the answer a quest for them to undertake.

I like sphinxes in tabletops. What I don't like is that their riddles are usually very... obvious? With how human culture is, most people that care enough to pay attention to things like the myth of Oedipus know the classics. Also, when they are novel riddles, they can be unwittingly open-ended. Sometimes, holding the players to this can be contentious.

To address this, I designed the sphinx as a concept to encounter with a few points that are very important before we talk about answers. 

First, I was thinking if a sphinx is going to be used as an enemy encounter, then their riddles needed to have more of an ingrained reason beyond "they just like riddles, but you'll die if you don't play the arbitrary guessing game". My view is that if the riddles are more baked into something they have to do, it will be more reasonable for a player to play along (if they dare).

Second, I wanted there to be a reason they keep asking the same riddles historically speaking. Their origins of a finite pool of riddles makes it easier for me to accept, anyway. In a game though, I'd never use the same one twice, even if you're ruling that the effect will be the same if they prepared a different array.

Third, I wanted sphinxes to be more aggressive than they have been in many TTRPGs and more commonplace (though, they should still be uncommon in most areas; unheard of in others, beyond myth). Having them be more passive, but lethal, never sat right with me. Any experienced GM likely has necessary information behind multiple access points so that they don't get chokepointed on the players being unable to proceed, so why would players bother with it being optional? Sage-like passivity can make the riddles seem more like an unnecessary hoop to jump through. Making it part of an aggressive tendency that is imposed upon the player hopefully makes it more perilous, more engaging, and more agreeable to actually partake in. To note, this is also more in line with the original myth.

Fourth, I wanted there to be a reasonable way to avoid the aggression without it being handwaving on part of the GM. A trade that will never cement you as allies can be a helpful sidestep when one is not prepared, but it also means it is fueled primarily by the player's creativity. If they run out of riddles (and you should always accept every riddle they uniquely give that hasn't been outright disclosed for any specific sphinx), then they are the only ones to blame for going through the territory again. This is never used to trade for information, though, that's important.

So then, this comes to an important question: What answers are appropriate?

The short answer is: I wouldn't accept an answer just because it is technically correct. I'd only accept it if it is an answer I have conceivably thought of.

The longer version is: I would try to run the riddle by people not in the campaign, and pool answers. I'd find any that felt in the spirit of the riddle and include them in the pool of possible answers. I'd also try to make it as specific an answer as possible, but that's not an easy task. I might even change the reward into "tiers" if I was so willing, commensurate with what felt like the "best" answer. Then, if they do not provide any listed answer, I would have them reap the consequences.

And here's why without going too painfully into detail.

The fact of being incorrect even though it was a sensible response is not nearly as important as the fact that you are then punished for it. Thus, I think the bigger thing to alter is what you're willing to punish a "right but technically wrong" answer with. You're the GM, you make this all up. If you don't want to instantly handwave that any response that can reasonably convince you is good enough, then don't. But that doesn't mean you have to kill them for it. 

Maybe they are cursed for a week to have a malodorous stench. Maybe they take combat penalties for three encounters. Maybe they are struck to half health. Maybe their soul is severed from their connection to their god(dess) for a time until they can find an alter to pray and remove the spiritual barrier, losing any divinely inspired benefits including casting. These actions do not need to necessarily endanger the player in a way that would mean their character is dead or ruined.

And it's important that it's understood that a "riddle barrier" is far from the only manifestation of the role a sphinx can play. Like a lot of things, something that is viewed as a chokepoint can actually be turned into a separate mini adventure. Perhaps there is a notoriously difficult riddle that all fail. Perhaps the answer is something the players can hunt down and discover the answer to. Sure, the moment at which you deliver the answer might not be as climactic, but it won't have been boring to obtain the answer in the first place. And with how deadly sphinxes in this are, it's maybe an adventure well worth taking.

But ultimately, this comes down to the players and GM. What game are you trying to run? If you want it to be an easier, more laidback approach to riddles and the like, no one is stopping you.

If you got this far, thank you! 

I hope you all enjoyed!

Discussion: Bargaining With Death

It finally happened. You killed a player. Congratulations! Now everyone is sad (probably including you!).

When this happens, people often dread the occasion because they got attached to their characters. But why did they get attached? In my experience, it's because they still had work to do, and now they're pushing up daisies and lobbing swears at the poor psychopomp tasked with escorting them to judgment.

Death is permanent. Unless you have the ability to resurrect.

Let's analyze what's really at play here.

The Purpose of Death

Death, people will tell you, is a consequence. Death, people say, is what makes you care about combat. It's the painfully motivating force. You'll never truly evade it and it happens when you least expect it. It's sad, and somber, and great for roleplay.

Well, people are wrong. All of this can be undone with a simple resurrection spell. So really, let's be honest with ourselves. It isn't a punishment after about level 13. And really at that point, it's just inconvenient.

"But it's expensive! It uses a resource!"

Yes, imaginary strawman, it is. But who cares? You can't argue that death is a vital, necessary force to include so that events feel dangerous and real if you're going to just gloss over the fact that any player with enough money can commission your soul back to life. Let me put it this way: if the only thing standing between me being resurrected at any given level is a matter of money and access by way of applicable casters, then the true danger is found not in death, but in empty coin purses and isolated stretches of wilderness.

"Sorry, Baldr. You can't be brought back because we're juuuust outside of the span of time allowed by the spell. It'll take us too long to get back to you."

"Oops! That really sucks, Anisia. If I just didn't buy that +3 sword of kickass, then we could've paid for your revival. Better luck next time :/"

Doesn't really sound like a "powerful, meaningful death", does it?

So why do people insist on saying death is a necessary penalty that must, under no circumstances, be tarnished by making it "easy"? I'm not here to debate if there is such a thing as a meaningful death. There is. But all of the people are at the table to play the game. They chose a character for it. And if they weren't ready to die and are gated behind resurrection because of something arbitrary, then this really says less about providing narrative oomph, and much more about what we're trying to achieve by balancing the game. 

And that's the meat of it, really. We have convinced ourselves that it would be "broken" to be able to defy death so easily. That's why it has to cost 60 trillion gold pieces and also your dignity, because by golly if it was affordable, then it would be meaningless, and everyone would do it.

No it wouldn't, and no they wouldn't.

Reframing Death

If we are so worried about death losing meaning, then we must first analyze why death is presumed to be important at the table. To put it concisely, death matters because if you die, everything you've done up until now is all you'll ever have done, and it is all you can be remembered for. Forget the parts about how much people will miss you. It's relevant, but immaterial. Your legacy ends. That's the message here.

But this perspective is precisely why the arguments about 'easy access to resurrections would cheapen death' work. Because when you view death as the ultimate cessation, then getting a chance to resume is cheap.

So that's why I don't think of it so simply.

In a fantasy world, we have the option for a great many ways to play around with experiences like this. There are deities and creatures that are responsible for the handling of souls. They are devoted to the care and judgment of them. To what end do they get judged? Usually some elaborate form of reincarnation. Occasionally they are repurposed as denizens of the underworld, where they live nondescript lives doing something in service of the deity in charge. But even if they were cast into oblivion, where they are fundamentally destroyed, the process goes through several points of interaction.

My point is that death in most fantasy worlds are anything but final and immutable. And often, they are far from irreversible by means other than mortal-wielded magic (come on, are we really so arrogant?). And are we really going to forget that restless spirits frequently linger and cause problems?

In addition, these deities that deal with souls and the afterlife have agendas. Granted, most of their agendas revolve around tending to the souls of the deceased, but that's not to say they don't have problems that need fixing on the prime material (liches are flagrant abominations that stand in bitter defiance of the cycle of life, after all). Especially so, when you include the trope of deities that, for one reason or another, ditch the material plane as a place they would ever willingly appear (something something, I have a cleric who can do this for me, so why would I make the trip and do it myself?).

This also means that their agendas can be made smoother by people willing to aide. Of course they're not immune to bribes and bargains. They're gods. They invented the concept.

Side note: The presence of these agendas is precisely why ordinary people really can't be expected to be able to "cheat Death". Player characters are, by design, more important than everyone else. NPCs are special too, but they're baked into the narrative in a manner that allows for the DM to plan around their demise. Players, on the other hand, are agents of choice with no predictive aide suitable to plan around them reliably. The fact that players are different in this way, means we must treat them differently regarding dying. If you think that somehow comes off incongruent, I invite you to consider what part players really fulfill in your campaigns. In my experience, they are always the ones accomplishing that which no one else can or should be able to do.

A Ghastly Undertaking

Let's be clear, what I'm suggesting is not a "get out of the grave free" card. In a world where death is the end of everything relevant to you, but there is still a significant chance to bring someone back, you can cheapen it by making it a non-issue to enact. At that point, all you need is a practiced wrist to handle all the handwaving that allows you to rise from death after battle. 

What I'm suggesting is not trivial. It's a companion piece to the notion that death should be difficult to overcome. The biggest difference is I do not want gold to be the only thing that should matter.

One concept is as follows:

Death spirits, denizens, and deities all have a vested interest in keeping a soul when its time is up. But who decides when it is up? If a soul is not at peace, an usher cannot, by virtue of the essence that was used to create them, renege on their duty to escort it to the place of judgment. 

However, they are capable of trading a soul not yet ready for a soul that is. Thus, the one tried and true metric one should know is that in order to escape death, you must enact the role of the psychopomps and bring a soul ready to depart.

Not every soul is equal (sorry, some souls really are more important), but people do not fathom how ushers and the like speculate upon the value of souls, so it's a bit of a potshot. For an adventurer, your soul is special, and so you need roughly 3x the amount of souls. Ushers work fast, though, so not only must you catch one before night's end at the nearest Gate of Passing (found at any reputable graveyard, but a mock up can be constructed in a pinch to host an usher), but you must carry out the work they request of you for the trade. You must hurry, because a soul will be coaxed into acceptance over the period of one week. Wait any longer, and the only thing that can save them is resurrection.

Alternatively, you can always trade your soul. An adventurer for an adventurer. In either case, the usher will somberly trade the soul, with which you must quickly return to the body, which must have been reposed for the duration and must not have been tampered with since death. The process of returning is a ritual requiring a sanctified priest(ess) familiar with the rites. The soul will only linger after leaving the usher's person for three days before it fades through into the underworld to be ferried once more. If this occurs, the process must be done again, and has a chance of failure, as the soul has become less and less resistant over time.

So firstly, you must put in work to save someone. You must do it quickly. You must meet certain requirements. You must be successful.

Then, you have to safely escort their soul back. You must be or find an appropriate holy member to help. And again, you must act quickly. 

This makes the process of death permanent if, and only if, you allow it to be. Who knows what the ushers will demand of you, but do you care? You get an adventure out of it and an ally back.

"So, what's to stop you from doing this all the time?"

Nothing. Ok, look. I don't think you need to scrutinize it along the lines that it is repeatable. But if you really want to know how I would run it to ensure that people still fear death and still have a way to get out, I would do a few things. But first, let's remember that interacting with psychopomps are far from the only ways to get a soul. Devils are notoriously willing to make one-sided deals. And pledging allegiance to demons might be a way to ensure return of your friend. But those are evil, and if you're resisting me on making death more fleshed out and reasonable, then I know you're a goody two-shoes who won't like those options.

So what I would do is this. There is a failure of no less than 10% each time a soul is attempted to be brought back through this process. Also, ushers will stop responding after the third time. This will require you use alternative means. No, that doesn't immediately equate to devil deals (though it could...). But it does mean you'll need to find a different way.

The ushers are the ones who are quest givers in this scenario. Thus, they are the ones who choose the task. Consider also that with each subsequent folly, their requests will get more and more challenging.

But what happens after the third time? Well, if you die again and you're still not ready, there is a ritual that certain, rare occultists can teach you. It's highly religious, so you better pick a god and start praying in advance. This ritual will allow you to call a spirit that is unwilling to depart. It will also draw attention to you from ushers themselves. This is what we call a Bad Idea, because this will sour your reputation with ushers. You'll have to fend them off as appropriate, and they won't wear kid gloves.

But if successful, you get the spirit back, and can perform the aforementioned ritual.

Better not die again, because that's really rough.

Fine, I'll explain.

Terrible Consequences

Dying more than four times is quite bad. Not just because you're clearly playing poorly (or your DM/dice are out to get you), but because the spirit has been ripped from its rightful vessel so many times that it risks corrupting.

You see, there are unseen forces all over the place that don't affect you because you have a flesh suit that protects your spirit. But sometimes they can. Most people call this "temptation". In reality, it's a natural radiation from other planes, and bare souls are especially vulnerable to it (that's part of why so many ghosts are grumpy, but some are pleasant). Temptations can be good, evil, or neither. But in every case, a soul uncased is a soul in peril. Repeated exposure to these radiative forces can cause shifts in character's judgment and behavior. There is a 20% chance after the fourth time you die that the next death will shift your alignment one step in a random direction (roll 1d8/1d6/1d4 as appropriate for current position). You never move more than a step, but this is a meta-enforced shift, not a simple matter of what your magics are aligned to.

The player should be told to act in accordance with these changes. This is the price of death. It should and will change their motivations, wants, methods. You could argue that they're a different person, but they're not. It's a facet that would have cropped up if the soul had followed those temptations from the beginning.

Additionally, ushers will start putting you on their hit list after the first violent run-in. You better believe it will only worsen after each successive one. I think that's enough of a "punishment", don't you?

A Second Chance

So, let's say you think it's not always fitting to include a Gate of Passing. And you don't really want outsiders like psychopomps to be a recurrent force players can just meet. This is reasonable enough. 

I have another thought that might help.

Death is a singular entity, clad in robes, naught but a skeleton underneath it, and wielding the scythe we've all seen before. Powerful, and force personified, it is iconic, but also legitimately real.

Death, though, looks back on life from the very end of it. It comes to claim you at the end, but has seen everything after your passing as well. It knew the last page of the storybook of your life and the universe as a whole from the day you drew breath. It knows how things will end and ventures back in time to collect your soul because doing so fuels Death. 

Think of Death like an edgy form that represents entropy. The less souls it has, the more likely that one day, Death as a whole would cease entirely. Death obliterates the souls and consumes them in a parasitic relationship with the cosmos. A necessary, if not seemingly macabre function, it does serve an overall positive purpose when you consider things like overpopulation, dictators that could never die, and ravaging diseases.

So for Death to give up a meal, two things must at least be necessarily true: you must be unwilling to pass; and you must be special enough or strong enough to overcome Death's first embrace.

Ghosts hang around because of unfinished business all the time. And Death is omnipotent to large degree, but would rather go for easy prey to conserve energy for when it needs it. And trust me, Death has many that view it... unfavorably. Beyond that, many of these ghosts end up leading to several more casualties. Death gets several meals out of one missed one. Pragmatic.

Thus, if you die, there are choices before you. Death will appear so that it may take you. You will, if you're reading this far, staunchly object. Might even cry. "I never made it back to my children in Vamt! The war will reach them and they won't know it's coming!" Death knows. It knew what would happen whether you lived or died. It knows what is the most favorable outcome for it.

Surprisingly, Death asks a question. "What is life renewed worth to you?"

Death is humoring you. But you actually have a chance. It's important to know that you must think long and hard. Because Death already knows the only answer it would accept. But the cosmic rules Death is bound by prevent it from telling you. You get one chance to beg. Death might make it a conversation. It likes small talk.

In the end, you won't make a great argument. Death already knows what will happen millenia past your final peril. But it extends a bony hand, leaving two copper coins in the palm of your hand. One to represent your first life. One to represent your second.

It will tell you life is bestowed conditionally. Whatever argument you landed on - that's the final. No ifs, ands, or buts. No renegotiation. No third chances. No matter the cause, no matter the reason.

You are tasked to finish your quest. To fulfill the agreement. And then, when you succeed, you are to put the coins on your eyes as you lay to sleep, where Death will appear, and consume your soul. Painless.

The alternative is interesting. If you refuse to do so, you become an enemy of Death. And now, it seeks you out through time. And if it succeeds in finally ending you - which it always, always will - you are no longer obliterated to fuel the Hungering End. Instead, you are banished to Hell. Limbo. Prison. Whatever you call it, it's worse than what you think. Death is spiteful when someone reneges on a deal.

Side note: The only thing Death does not immediately know is what you will choose to do with your second life. That is always a choice that fundamentally alters everything, and cannot be known until it has been decided by the player. Death takes gambles like these because it can. It's also entertaining. This is why it won't know if you would renege immediately or not.

Afterword and Discussion

I don't think that death is something we handle well in gaming. Locking it behind time and money is little more than a good metaphor for the real world, and often frustrating as a player (and as a DM). I know there are likely a great many out there who vehemently subscribe to the notion that anyway out of death, even resurrection spells for some of you, is cheapening the severity. 

I'll say two things. Firstly, relax. Secondly, this heavily depends on your setting and goals. If you want a game where death is final, then make it final. But in my experience, a lot of people (DMs included!) hate when a character dies. And not for any reason other than "damn, now they won't be able to finish that quest..." It doesn't hit the same to make a new character after that. In a game where wish fulfillment is a guiding principle behind why it is enjoyed, this seems a strange hill to die on.

Some people can manage permadeath just fine, but many don't. I will agree, though, that a spell that does the deed is boring when left at that (though I still utilize it with some modifications). That's why I think we need to approach it differently. If time and money are frustrating and uninteresting ways to make death permanent, then I think that willingness and successful planning are better replacements. Or, in the second scenario, becoming indebted to Death. That seems far more engaging than "We go to the conveniently high-leveled priest and rez Jor. Again."

And note for the psychopomp route, I don't think these discussions should always be "Tim died again, what do you want us to do this time?" Rather, I think persuasion is an important part of this. Court the usher. Make promises. Make it matter. You're fighting for someone's life, and a compulsion is telling the usher to ignore you. Convince them. Don't make it a skill check, but make it something that players must engage with in order to fulfill. Dine with Death and learn its needs.

For the Death as a sole entity option, it's relatively straightforward, but it should be clear they are on gifted time. It will all come to a screeching halt once they finish their job. Defying Death could be a narratively fascinating path, but it should almost never work out favorably.

And if you still think that this cheapens the experience, let me sell you on one last point: You won't feel nearly as guilty going all out against a party when they have a second chance at life.

Bestiary: The Salamandra

Few beasts possess such a storied history as the Salamandra. And none of those others have such wildly differing accounts. Some tell tales of it flying on leathery wings like a drake. Others insist that it charges on land as a rhinoceros, or even swims like a snake through rivers of molten magma. People like a good story.

As it turns out, no one has an accurate depiction
on account of they get eaten or they
exaggerate

We know what the Salamandra looks like. You can go out and see one now. Well, provided that you live near something pyroclastic. Or if you take an ill-fated stroll in the rain. You probably shouldn't. It stands on six amphibian legs, with leathery skin, slick with a membrane, leading down to a thick tail with a conical shape. Young lack their third pair of legs, and their tails are smoother. The tales told in taverns are likely due to misconceptions formed long ago, when people still questioned if it was related to serpents or dragons.

Let us be clear, it is not a dragon, nor serpent. But it is an apex predator and feasts readily on anything, but prefers to eat sources of magic.

Life Cycle

It is understandable where some of the misconceptions come from. When born, Salamandra young - called eft - do not develop their limbs for two years and possess a serpentine body. They emerge from craggy shaped eggs that look like igneous rocks, laid in clutches of ten to twenty. Most of the unhatched young are cannibalized by the first efts to hatch. The hatching period, as well as the first two years of growth, is spent submerged entirely in magma, on account of their body temperature, which is far colder than freezing.

This is caused by their blood. The temperature of this blood, called "rime-blood", is such that a single drop on the palm of your hand can induce frostbite up to your wrist in less than a minute. And due to this, the body of the Salamandra must be in otherwise inhospitable temperatures to counteract this.

During this time, the eft will swim through rivers of magma in volcanoes, coated in a naturally secreted liquid membrane, until they find deposits of magic, which they can sense as if using detect magic. These deposits, really just gems, crystals, and the like, contain concentrated magic that, due to the long-term exposure to superheated environments, align with fire. This, then, progressively enriches the eft with fire essence that slowly warms their blood.

Once they get to a certain internal temperature (which is still far too cold for anyone to touch unscathed), they begin ascending the magma channels in search of egress points, as now, the efts have developed two pairs of limbs. At this point, they are referred to as basks, termed by how the majority of their time is still spent half-submerged in lava streams or pools of lava in the cauldron of volcanoes.

The basks will venture out readily, but only when they see food. Staying out of lava too long will cause the slick membrane on their bodies to harden until they die of exposure. Their favorite food at this point, outside of scouring for gems, includes other magical beasts. And people.

After a bask eats a certain (massive) quantity of magic, be it from beasts or people or gems, they sprout a third pair of legs, and their jowls sprout clusters of long, tubular appendages called magmatic ampullae. These semi-porous growths hang in numerous bunches and fill with large amounts of magma. These ampullae function like stores of heat that allow the now matured Salamandra extended periods of time out of the lava. In fact, these are so efficient, that a Salamandra can sojourn through a territory spanning several miles over several days without worrying about succumbing to petrification-by-freezing.

Consumption of more magic over time does not produce any known further adaptations, but it does seem that Salamandra can grow to rather massive proportions. With greater size, their magical appetites increase, but their naturally cold blood comes with a very slow metabolism, allowing them to go incredible lengths of time without food to no ill effects.

Abilities

Salamandra have a wide range of abilities that develop over their lifespan. From the very beginning as efts, they are born with two rows of needle-like teeth, and these only grow in size and number of rows with age. As mentioned, they can innately detect magical sources, and the radius to which they can do this only grows greater with time, as well as their ability to discern what the source is from afar. Their liquid membrane they secrete from birth is especially important, as it not only aides their mobility in magma through the Leidenfrost effect, but it is highly toxic to both touch and consumption. Speaking of lava, submerging in it at any stage of life regenerates its vitality, as does contact by fire effects.

As efts become basks, they gain the ability to generate an acrid breath attack that can fill a 20 foot cube in front of it with ease. This is highly poisonous if inhaled, but also completely obscures vision. Basks are also able to selectively direct heat away from certain parts of their body to harden the membrane to form armor in those spots. Doing so is quick enough to blunt oncoming blows, but the armor is brittle and succumbs to hammers faster than swords.

Mature Salamandra (also termed Great Newts) can use a fire breath attack out to a 30 foot cone. Additionally, the magma in their ampullae can be utilized to do a magma-based breath attack. It affects a cone 15 feet in front of them, and is very dangerous, as it removes much of what they need to stay alive outside of volcanoes. A desperation tactic, it can only be done once. Conversely, anyone hit by it takes damage as if contacting lava, so it is usually very effective to the ill-prepared.

It should go without saying that their bite, tail sweeps, and claws are no joke either.

Rainstorms

Against expectations, Salamandra thrive well in rainstorms. The slimy behemoths adore them, actually. When rainfall occurs over volcanoes, they are able to do a controlled "breech" of sorts, that lets the rainfall contact their head, upper limbs, back, and tail. In so doing, the rain mixes with the natural fluids of the outer skin of the Salamandra to create an "organic" equivalent of Prince Rupert's drops all over the exposed areas. Well, if they were made of obsidian anyway.

In practice, these function like thousands of extra ampullae made of that the Salamandra will channel their internal heat into once they make landfall. As a result, they will lose their affinity for heat during the storm, and instead mimic an affinity for water which grants them an ice breath. This not only affects a large area, but since Salamandra are fueled by rime-blood natively, they can do this frequently, and makes them more dangerous than normal. Though without the influence of heat, they slow down considerably. Additionally, the "rug" of armor is significantly stronger than the stony armor they can generate naturally, making them take moderately less damage from every physical source.

The armor they wear during this phase completely subsumes their membrane otherwise, which means it loses the toxic qualities related to contact and ingestion. This also means that the Salamandra can subsist for extremely long periods out of lava while in possession of this armor (but eventually, the magma chambers of these drops runs too cool for them to subsist and they must return). However, the Salamandra can violently spasm the sections of its body covered by this armor, and with pinpoint precision, enough to shatter them, causing violent explosions that send shards of obsidian flying out in a 30 foot radius. Worse still, if adjacent to the Salamandra when it does this, one runs the risk of inhaling the glassy particles. Explosions of these lengths of obsidian can also happen if someone uses a slashing weapon.

A Game of Cat and Mouse

Mature Salamandra have one other key ability that has set the tone for much of people's interactions with them: caudal autotomy. As certain lizards, Salamandra can lose (and then regrow) their tails. However, instead of the expected rationale being that this helps evade predators, they actually do this to lure people. 

As it stands, the value of the Salamandra to people is twofold: their meat is tender and hearty; and they have valuable blood which is used as the sole component able to create fire-resistance and immunity potions. This is to say nothing of the value in harvesting Salamandra poison from their slimy exterior, or their skin, which when worked with appropriately naturally has fire-immune properties for armor. Salamandra are very smart beasts. They quickly understood what people wanted of them, and used this ability in an ingenious way. Their tail, when shed, periodically writhes and undulates. From afar, it resembles the overall shape of a bask Salamandra (ostensibly, this would be easier to kill, too). But only upon approaching dangerously close would someone realize that this is, in fact, just the tail.

This is not inherently bad, as if they managed it, this would give them blood for potions and meat for market. But upon finding naught but a tail, a hunter would, in fact, realize that they are the ones who are being hunted. You see, after their prey comes to realize the deception, the Salamandra is usually not far behind, and it is at this point it prefers to strike.

Thus, now anytime a bask is thought to be seen, hunters pay heed to the possibility that they might be walking into a trap. Not that dispatching a Salamandra was easy in the first place.

Weaknesses

Hunting for Salamandra is not necessary, per se. People don't really require fire-resistance. But there are many dangers that bring fire closer to home, so having it makes countering fire trolls and rogue clans of firekeeper druids achievable. 

The best person to take on a Salamandra is, against conventional thought, rarely a warrior, but rather an accomplished mage. Magical users schooled in the art of big game hunts have learned vital spells; with but a single large diamond ground to dust, it can be magically suspended in a disc. Mages attune this to cold temperatures before expeditions, and hold it at their side in a constant spin, wielding it as a shield as necessary. Due to the cold attunement, the diamond dust can soak up heat from several fire breaths without injury. 

This allows them to safely get close, but what keeps them close is that any mage wishing to do this comes with spells ready that can dissipate the toxic smog cloud that the Salamandra can generate. 

Once those fronts are covered, there are actually several viable approaches for how to dispatch one. Cold and water spells are twice as effective, and electricity is helpful for stunning and interrupting. Salamandra can regrow every limb if it is removed, but this is exempt from the head and torso, meaning their vitals are still predictable targets. In reality, Salamandra can be trivialized, but only with the utmost preparation. Especially so if a mage finds themselves in the Salamandra's tail trap, where most mages on the hunt meet their end.

However, not even mages are fool enough to step foot into Salamandra territory in the middle of a storm.

A Perfect Beast

Salamandra are impressive not just because of their huge size, nor because of their keen intellect and powerful abilities, but also because they represent what some scholars theorize is one of the "perfect beasts" in the realm.

They start off attuned to fire as they hatch, and gain an affinity for earth as they consume more gems. Their forays out of magma expose them to the air, to which they attune further, and finally they incorporate water attunement into their life cycle (further, they are propelled by a default attunement to water with their rime blood). Respectively, these are evidenced in their abilities: fire breath, stony armor, noxious clouds of gas, and raindrop armor (not to mention their chilling breath!).

Scholars debate this, but the prevailing theory is that everyone displays different measures of attunement to the four classical elements. In the case of the Salamandra, the attunement of all four is to the extent that some scholars insist that they are mostly equal among all and may even have abilities not yet witnessed. Some have stories that particularly old and magical Salamandra have been able to tap into the interactions of these elements more finely. Rumors abound of Salamandra with lightning breath, metallic armor generation, and even, in particularly unbelievable accounts, the ability to fly.

Afterword

Thanks for reading! This is long, and more encyclopedic than I try to do, and not my favorite entry purely for those reasons, but, I also had a lot of fun designing the concept to this point.

I think Salamandra are primed to be relatively epic encounters for a party, provided they do their due diligence. Mages trivialize the encounters only on paper. Actually acquiring a large diamond is out of reach for most encounters until far later. Prepping spells just to dissipate a cloud of smog is often less desirable than another damaging spell. Warrior-type classes shouldn't be too discouraged from joining the fight, but they should be aware of the constant risk of frostbite from any blood that may spatter against their skin. 

Since Salamandra are also smart, they know the concept of action economy (i.e. being outnumbered is bad), and will target the "easiest" prey they are aware of to try and even the numbers. If you want a cheaper alternative that levels the playing field some, martials with a wide berth on the battlefield might want to have permanent anti-magic fields on them. It won't do anything for the abilities of the Salamandra, but it will shield them from detection (the eyes of a Salamandra are actually almost useless, they rely almost entirely on their sense of smell and magical detection).

Hope you all enjoyed! 

Bestiary: Kitsune

It is said that the fifth toe of a kitsune's forepaw can gift the ability to change fates.

You thought it was a simple fox? Wrong!

For some reason, people think that kitsune are bipedal humanoids. Probably because they can shapeshift, and often change into people. There are also rumors that kitsune have a tell, either that their ears or tails are still visible. This is false. But there is a sign; their sixth digit (when fooling you). It's a thumb when they're in their standard vulpine form. And this digit is the cause of a lot of problems for people. And a lot of fun for the kitsune.

The extra finger does a lot more than look interesting

Some History

Magic has been around forever. It's saturated in the air. It permeates the earth. It's everywhere. Except the Mana Wastes. But it's in everyone, for the most part. Magic also has a habit of concentrating. In forests heavy with magical excess, it can taint ponds that creatures drink from. This is a leading cause of magical beasts in the World Forest, as they lap the magical succor from the Grand Lakes. This is the origin of kitsune, as magic is heavily correlated to intelligence, size, longevity, and sarcasm. And magical ability of course.

Nearly all creatures that eventually get categorized as magical beasts are anywhere from one and a half to one hundred times the size of their original counterpart. Smaller things grow quicker, and bigger relative to their initial form. All creatures still have to obey the pesky square-cube law, though, so there is an upper limit to size among the fauna.

However, to keep growing in size, one must consume progressively more magic. It gets to a point of diminishing returns for size as well as all aforementioned benefits. In the case of kitsune, they are actually only about twice the size of a standard fox. More a small wolf, really. The biggest change that magic has gifted them is seemingly benign and underwhelming in the form of an extra digit.

In "fox form" (which is silly, because they are foxes), this manifests as a thumb-like digit. It is fully opposable, and they can grab and articulate tools to certain degrees (the rest of their paw is mundane in appearance), as well as climb better. It is also a profound source of luck.

Climbing allows them to hang in treetops
where they will watch you

In any other form, they bare an extra of something. For humanoid shapes, it is always and unchangeably a sixth digit on each hand; a duplicate of the ring finger. They like people, because people are easily fooled. 

Abilities

A kitsune's thumb is unique, in that it concentrates the magic within the fox into two points. In other words, if you were to use detect magic, only the thumbs would ping as magical (aside from the trace amounts that all life has). Further, the magic that is condensed alters depending on which side of the sagittal plane it is on. The left paw concentrates magic that can charm, bolster, and otherwise aid. The right paw, conversely, can dominate, diminish, and trip up others. 

People often simplify this to "luck magic", which is reasonable. It is why a kitsune cannot be caught if it is aware of you. It is also why the stories characterize them anywhere from puckish trickster to malicious saboteur. Kitsune take great pleasure in unwinding the plans of man. Kitsune hold grudges readily, but by default enjoy harmless (by their definition) pranks.

The ability to assume another form comes from using both digits in conjunction. This allows them to neutralize the "polarity" and create novel magic. This is far from universal, but it can recreate many kinds of magic from all categories. They prefer illusory magics only so far as shapeshifting and distractions go. It's actually far from their favorite to actually use, which is fire magic. 

Though they love fire, they're vehemently against pyromania

Something Tricky This Way Thumbs

If a kitsune loses their thumb, it restricts that half of the magical spectrum forever, even if later restored. This has a number of ramifications depending on which thumb is taken. More accurately, it matters which one remains. If the right thumb remains, the Kitsune turns foul and vindictive. They begin looking for people to domineer, and they seek to sew discord. If the left thumb remains, they grow complacent and lethargic. Though still capable of charming people, they see no purpose in it. Think of it like having a lot of options in front of you, but no ambition to do any of them.

Long term exposure to these conditions leads to a penchant for darker magic, including necromancy in extreme cases, in the case of the right thumb's sole presence. Else, death by sedition in the case of the left thumb's sole presence. Should both be removed, a rather bizarre occurrence happens where the pent up magic within them transforms them gradually into elemental conduits. Usually of fire, but often of wind as well. These are called "Dire Fauxes".

In either case, they get a breath weapon and other abilities.

A Dire Faux's disposition is correlated to how long it spent with one of its thumbs and not the other. More time spent with the left thumb makes them docile. More time with the right makes them territorial and violent. In either case, they readily use their elemental affinity to fight if needed or pressed to.

As it turns out, kitsune are prized by witches and other magical users more concerned with their craft than with ethics. The thumbs are, indeed, valuable to this end. Herbal alchemy can yield tonics of healing, amulets with transmutative abilities, and fortune-boosting trinkets all from the left thumb. From the right thumb, scholars can create powerful invocational magic, sometimes strong enough to disintegrate matter. Using both together can create extremely powerful results, with some rumoring that it can alter reality.

In both cases, the yield a thumb will give heavily depends on the learnedness of the mage in question and the method utilized. But even just carrying the thumb on a simple necklace is said to dramatically alter the wearer's luck, depending on which thumb it is. Rumors state that it will draw or repel misfortune towards the wearer, such that it can manifest accidents that would otherwise not occur (with the right thumb worn, of course).

This all said, since the harvesting of fox thumbs often leads to horrific results, the practice is banned, which stops as many people as you would expect (that means zero). Local legends don't help either. Some spread that it cures infertility. Others say it can make someone fall in love with you (that one's true). The illicit market isn't all that popular, but enough so to cause issue.

Regarding People

As stated, kitsune like tricking people. The simple, but big, fox has quite a bit of intelligence, enough to pick your pockets. Or it could curse you to grow ill at the sight of your current love. Often times, kitsune will rob sleeping campers of their clothing so that they can go into town without problem. When on these escapades, they'll often steal, run up tabs, impersonate others, and other drunken frivolities. It's hard for most people to notice a kitsune, which excites them. Even if someone were to notice the extra digits, that doesn't conclusively mean you have found a kitsune.

People make easy targets. They congregate en masse with heavy pockets, they get angry when you take their things, and they're quick to point the finger at the wrong person. Kitsune are to common folk what jesters are to kings; if jesters also pinched the king's coin purse for a few nights out on the town here and there.

They're not so single-mindedly devoted to pranks, though. There are stories of kitsune who took pity on the destitute, enspelling them with fortune enough to turn their lives around. Others speak of times where kitsune have cursed abusive authority figures who soon after fell on hard times. Perhaps these are just rumors. 

Or maybe kitsune just like to shake things up.

Afterword

I'm going to pre-emptively clear a few things up first. I like the bushy multi-tailed fox myths a lot, but I also like making allegedly benign things considerably more impactful than they seem. 

So if you want to use this in your campaign, go nuts! Include the tails/ears as part of their tell. Or maybe as a kitsune grows in power, it gains more tails in its normal form (but only ever up to nine, of course).

If it were me, I would probably divide up how to use these into three categories:

• Tricksters
• Tragic enemies
• Dire Fauxes

The tricksters (standard kitsune with both thumbs intact) are easy to fit into any campaign or setting that allows for them. Just have them terrorizing the drunks, or attempting to steal from the party at night (It's said that they often possess unique knowledge, but maybe they just say that to save their skin fur). They're very charismatic, self-serving, and willing to agree to something in the moment only to flake later. 

The tragic enemy angle would best be reserved for a left-thumbless kitsune. These have dangerous magic, would likely be dominating people foolish enough to be nearby, and would actively seek to spread misery. A kitsune in this position with enough time and not enough action against it could probably raise an army within a few fortnights, if proximity to people was advantageous. This could have all the hallmarks of a zombie scenario, with none of the unambiguity about killing the people.

Dire Fauxes are a classic "big game" enemy. Need to hunt a trophy (perhaps a Dire Faux tail?)? How about a need to cease the cause of forest fires in the area? Perhaps travel is restricted due to the overly territorial nature of one?

In the last two cases, I would strongly recommend hunting down the person responsible. That's an incredibly potent magical item they have or have made since. AND people get to feel good about dealing with the heartless villain. Win-win.

As always, thanks so much for reading. Feel free to use this, just direct people here if you do.