Duels in King of Games

Oh hey look a class, too:
The Storyteller
Yes that is a d256 table No it is not finished yet
Roll a Myth and I'll PM it to you, it'll be a good way to get me writing more of them.

   When a duel begins, the Onyx Zone forms, the Pearl Shrouds activate, and each duelist rolls Initiative and then Normal Summons a Monster from their deck in either attack or defense mode, if they choose to do so.

    The Onyx Zone is a sphere of dark force which isolates a duel from the outside world. It displays the events of the duel on its outside surface, and shifting ancient Heraldic symbols on the inside. When a Monster or duelist dies during a duel, they are absorbed into the Onyx Zone.

    The Pearl Shroud is a magical force field that protects a duelist from all harm while it stands.

    On each duelists turn, they may make a Move, a Normal Summon, a Maneuver, and an Attack.

    A Normal Summon can be used to summon any Level 4 or lower monster from your Deck to the field in either Attack or Defense Mode. Monsters of higher Levels must be Special or Tribute Summoned.

    A Maneuver may be either a complicated tactic, an interaction with an object or piece of terrain, to switch a Monster into Attack or Defense Mode from the other, to cast a Spell, or to Tribute Summon a Monster.

    To cast a Spell, roll any number of MD. You may add additional MD to a spell by sacrificing toma, one per toma. Each Monster you banish while you cast a spell adds 1 toma if it was level 4 or lower, two if it was level 5 or 6, and three if it was 7 or higher. Add your Power to the [sum] of the spell.

    To Tribute Summon a monster, sacrifice toma in the same manner as casting a spell. A level 5 or 6 Monster requires at least 1 toma to be summoned, and a level 7 or higher Monster requires two or more toma.

    An Attack can be made either with any Monster a duelist commands in Attack Mode or by the duelist themselves. When a Monster attacks, it deals damage equal to its Attack (plus 1000ATK for each point of Might its master has) to any target not in Defense Mode. The defending player, if they control a Monster in Defense Mode, may choose to pull the Golden Leash to intercept the attack with that Monster instead. If a duelist is damaged, they lose LifePoints from their Pearl Shroud equal to the damage dealt (minus 1000ATK per point of Skill), and roll on the Table of Consequences if the attack reduces them to 0 or fewer LP. If a Monster is damaged by an attack, they lose Defense equal to the damage dealt (minus 1000ATK per point of Skill their master has), and are Banished if they are reduced to 0 or fewer Defense.

    If a duelist attacks, they deal damage equal to the Attack of a relic weapon they wield (plus 1000ATK for each point of Might) to any target, and otherwise follow the same rules as Monster attacks.

King of Games: Toneposting

“This is bullshit! The world is completely fucked! When I killed God the well was dry! When I murdered my brothers they slumped to the ground and bled out! When I gutted my sisters they did not even cry! And now I must live? And now I must live still?”

Back then, you understand, they didn’t have what we have now, cards and monsters and modern duels. They only had the weapons of the Gods themselves and so that’s what they dueled with. Naturally, the earth ate them all very quickly.

They said, you can't really lose when you're a behemoth crushing everyone, but it's also really easy. They said, don't you want your victory to mean something? I laughed- apparently I did not.

And so to that self-consuming serpent I said: You must choose, Orobouros, you must choose. Here is how to end the cycle- bite through or let go.

Before the sheltered peoples woke, the Lonely spent eons in the dark. They sang together in that blackness beneath the earth, building the world that their nephews and nieces would inherit. They shared what little they had, took reserved joy in community and purpose, and listened to the hum of MotherFather in the walls. They built great towers, and cramped tunnels, and dripping hydrofarms and buzzing server racks. They carved apart the corpses of their parents until nothing remained but stories, and then they used those stories to build even more. But when the people woke from their long sleep, they looked at what the Lonely had done, and said with concern, “There’s no way for a coke-addicted maniac to get rich quick in an economy like this!”

This was new- they cut the rose and brought it to the others to show. But the other gods did not know which thorn had pricked the first, and so they thought to hold a contest- which thorn was the strongest of the rose, to draw divine blood? The first thing the gods did, of course, was place bets.

Corpse-breath, rattle-voice said they: I see now- a strange game.

* * * *

Because I'm shamelessly stealing every last scrap of this concept and idea from somewhere else I will also steal the idea of posting a class at the end of all this from the much better version of the TBD/A2A ripoff successor, Cath Celdaenn. Go look at it, it's cool.

King of Games posts:
Character Creation

The Duelist 

King of Games: Part 1

Character Creation Tips (stolen from Phlox): Ask questions - Describe how you do it - Immobilize fast foes - Target the weak points - Ask your family for help - Read - Beware foreshadowed danger - Wear a helmet - Look out for victuals.

Step One: Attributes Your character has four attributes:
MIGHT - Strength of body and character; to muscle into conversations, to walk through obstacles, to withstand insult and injury.
SKILL - Swiftness of hand, foot, and thought; to run circles around arguments, to tell tempting lies, to run away from the consequences.
POWER - Intensity of the soul; to wield arcane arts, to impose with your mere presence, to respond overwhelmingly.
LORE - Refinement of the mind; to dispense wisdom, to move with practiced elegance, to be correct.

Roll 4d6, four times in order, then divide by three (rounding down), then subtract four.

At the start of the game, you are Level One, you have the A Template of one Class, and your White Shroud has 8000LP.

Might
You get +1 to hit for every point of [Might] you have.
You save with [Might] to feel no fear, rebuff attempts to knock you or your Monsters over, force through pain, ignore taunts and insults, and resist other threats which require stubbornness or strength.

Skill
When beginning a Duel, you roll 1d20+[Skill] to determine the turn order, higher results going first. Furthermore, you get +1AC for every point of [Skill] you have.
You save with [Skill] to escape, leap aside, react quickly, avoid traps, notice lies, and resist other threats which require alertness and speed.

Power
You add your [Power] to the [sum] of Spells you cast.
Your [Power] cannot save you.

Lore
Everyone speaks Homewards. Additionally, you know 1 + [Lore] extra languages, minimum of 0.
You save with [Lore] to recite refuting precedent, notice illusions, countercharm spells, move slowly and carefully, and resist other threats which require specific knowledge or exact precision.

Step Two: Folk
Roll 1d20 or Choose:
1: Lonely- Awoken robot tasked with maintaining the Home before any other folk were raised from cryo. Traditional, and melancholy.
2-6: Kobold- Medium Lizardfolk with frills and a short tail. Burgeoning culture of slam poetry. Blunt, and passionate.
7-11: Dwarf- Short humanoid with glowing patterns of spots and barbels. Burgeoning culture of brewing. Curious, and communal.
12-14: Elf- Tall dark-skinned humanoid with wide damp eyes and whiskers. Burgeoning culture of rumbling song. Cautious, and meditative.
14-16: Poli- Short arthropoid with thick armor plates and four shining eyes. Burgeoning culture of storytelling. Compassionate, and nerdy.
19-20: Human- Medium humanoid with white hair and freckled cheeks. Burgeoning culture of invention. Clever, and moody.

• Folk
• Perk
• Drawback
  
•  Lonely
• You are a machine
• You are a machine
  
•  Kobold
• Immune to Fear, smell sunlight and steel
• Save vs fatigue in the cold or dark
•  Dwarf
• Glow in the dark, perfect mental compass
• Save vs Good Time when offered conversation or alcohol
  
•  Elf
• Darksight, triplejointed everything
  
• Save vs agony in sudden light/noise
•  Poli
• Immune to fall damage, perfect face memory
  
• Save vs honesty when trying to lie
• Human
• When it matters, you're the fastest. +4 initiative
  
• Save vs EMP blast when startled
  

Lonely are almost always on a basic slim humanoid body plan, with gunmetal grey construction painted in geometric patterns with white, black, red, and blue paint. Lights flicker in complex displays on their otherwise featureless face, their long forearms, and their chest. Most average around 7 feet tall, though some are designed for smaller environments like duct work or crawler repair, and therefore are more compact at around 5 feet.

Kobolds sport scales in a range of reddish and copper colors, have wide frills of skin around their necks that can be flared to display unique markings, sport small and blunt claws, and have the usual other lizardlike features (eyes, teeth, tongue, scent pores, noseless, etc.) Their tails are whiplike, long and thin. Most average around 5 and a half feet.

Dwarves have hairless and slightly rubbery skin in tones between grey, pale magenta, and sky. Their chromatophores are dim and difficult to consciously control, so most simply have waving lines of faint light crossing their body in slow undulations at random (though it is said there is an art to discerning emotions with them.) Dwarves of all sexes sport long barbels from their lips and chins, sensitive tentacles that aid in their complex metal-heavy diet. Most dwarves never grow taller than 4 and a half feet.

Elves are long-limbed, with soft dark fuzz on their skin that gives them a round appearance even in thinness. Their eyes are wide and wet, their ears stick sharply out to the sides, and their face has nearly-invisible whiskers sprouting from their cheeks that makes kissing a weird and foreign concept to most elves. With some discomfort, elves can dislocate nearly every joint in their body- with some practice, they can squeeze their entire body through any aperture that can admit their skull. Elves average around 6 and a half feet tall, though some rival even the Lonely.

Poli, or Rolipoli as many call them, are small arthropoid people with a distinctive appearance- their soft body is protected on the rear side of the torso, head, and limbs by thick overlapping plates of chitin armor, with joints that rustle when moved quickly. Their front half is much like an elf or dwarf, a rounded and plump figure with delicate dark colors, interspersed with faint striations of other colors. They have a secondary set of arms that are mostly useless except for holding a cup of bean-juice, and their face resembes a half-mask with the way their feeding mandibles fit together over their mouth. Their four eyes shine with a faint but shimmering white light. Most Poli are around 5 feet tall, with few taller than 5.5.

Humans are a medium folk with skin tones ranging from pale to very dark, though all within a pink-brown spectrum of colors. They have a soft appearance like elves or dwarves that belies how bony their joints can be. Most have thin hair over much of their bodies, with the vast majority having pale white hair. Their cheeks have a series of weak electricity-sensing ampullae in clumps usually referred to as "freckles." When startled, their body electricity discharges in a short-range EMP that disables technological devices for a short while as an automatic defense reflex. This is uncomfortable for most and aggravating for Lonely, so it is considered basic courtesy to stay in front of humans when possible. Most humans are about 5 and a half feet tall, with some few growing to 6 and a half feet, though rarely.

d20x5 Doomed Mythos Investigators

A generator to swiftly conjure victims to feed into the slavering maw of the cosmos. The other half of semiurge's draft swap with me- find their blog here.

The Sisterhood of St. Catherine- a location and tables

    You and your party are almost to the caravanserai in time, but the shadow crawls across the dunes faster. The ancient stone roads, long since covered by the shifting sands but still protruding through like a half-buried skeleton, have guided you far through the desert, but as the wall of blackness sweeps over your stumbling form, they disappear into the sudden shade. You half-slide, half-sprint down the valley’s slopes towards the imposing white walls as the far-off cackles suddenly ring out from much closer- six, eight, twelve phase hyenas, forms rippling and nebulous, burst over the rim to the west and sprint towards your companions. Shadows shift and twist as they seem to shiver across the sand, paws striking an irregular rhythm and jaws open and baying with a hunter’s delight. You trip on a buried stone, tumbling with the momentum and rolling down the slope uncontrollably, and the lead hyena howls as it closes in. Its tenebrous teeth reach for your throat before suddenly-

    A bright lance of glinting steel catches the beast in the jaws and carries it away in a flash as a streak of white, gold, and leather blurs in your vision. A cry of **Iya! Iya!** echoes with it, and you quickly scramble to your feet as your companion pulls at your arm- the danger is not yet past. A last desperate sprint to the caravanserai gates sees you into safety, but as the great iron chains clank again behind you, you turn to see the face of your rescuer. A noble catgirl, clothed in the white and gold armor of a Sister Mendicant, wheels her sand-goose for another charge, lance glinting in the reflection of the caravanserai’s fires. Her mount’s sharp beak honks in righteous rage, four wide-webbed feet finding sure footing on the sand’s treacherous surface and its barding covering its mottled white feathers with wide plates of painted steel. As the gates begin to close, the catgirl nun shouts another **Iya!** and drives hard for the banded doors, just slipping inside as they thunder shut. The yipping outside is drowned out by the bustle of activity inside, and the nun dismounts her goose to size you up. All around, catgirl nuns train with cruciform swords and bannered lances, merchants unload their caravans into warehouses with curses in twelve languages, and sand-geese drink from the central well and hiss at passersby. Over it all, the cloister rises with painted walls worn pale with time and sand, as bells call out the hour in the four corner towers. ”Welcome to the Sisterhood of St. Catherine, travelers. I’m about to visit the brewery- care to join me?”

    The Sisterhood of St. Catherine is a catgirl monastery placed north of the center of the Exile’s Desert, a caravanserai and adventuring hub dedicated to keeping the roads of the trade routes swept of sand, guarded from bandits, and warded from the worst of the wandering storm spirits. Its nuns take either a vow of anchorage or of chivalry, maintaining the caravanserai, its brewery, stores, and livestock, or wandering the desert searching for fresh exiles and lost caravans. Their sand-goose mounts are renowned for hardiness, speed, and fearlessness, though rightly avoided for their hostility towards all but the nuns. The beds of their inn are offered at reasonable prices and are gloriously soft, lined with catgirl fur and attended by soft music from the common area at all hours. Their beers are bitter but strong, and offered with cassava, cholla buds, and ricecakes. The walls are strong and said to be blessed, and roads to three cities meet at its gates.

A: The stables. Junior anchorites tend to the feeding troughs and brush feathers while the chivalric eat with their mounts and repair barding and saddles with careful claws and leather strips.

B: The central well. A wide stone basin that fills by a mechanism unknown since the caravanserai’s founding, the water is cool against the desert’s heat and much of the bustle congregates around it. Merchants argue while they draw water for their burden-beasts and children giggle as they splash each other; chivalric sisters carry buckets to the brewery as strength training, sometimes stacking  two or three on their outstretched limbs as practice in breathing disciplines.

C: The cloister. Its stone walls were once painted brightly with scenes from the life of St. Catherine, but are now faded by wind and sand. Some glimpses are still legible: the taming of the winds, the routing of the Red Scarf Army, the loss of her hand, her feast of birds. A careful cactus garden is grown in its open center, with anchorites wandering serenely in contemplation between the library and the dormitory. Laundry is left to air on long lines between the sides like a cavalcade of white flags. Four towers rise from its corners a short height, topped with bells that chime prayer hours and watch rotations.

D: The training field. A wide stretch of stone made smooth by generations of footsteps, here the nuns train in hand to hand combat and breathing disciplines. Senior sisters oversee drills and strength exercises, and are quick to swipe with a soft but firm paw at any student found lacking. Racks of swords, halberds, and lances are polished and sharpened, and the air cracks with the sounds of senior sisters landing dolorous blows against the stone pillars they erect each morning.

E: The bazaar. A riot of colors stretch between packbeasts, caravans, carts, stalls, extremely tall backpacks, and running youths as a horde of vendors shout to be heard over each other. The most common customers for these clangorous merchants are their fellow merchants, and so the haggling is nearly lethal. Those who cannot or will not pay the modest fee for a room in the inn sleep on spare bags of rice and scattered nests of cast-off fabrics, and crates and barrels of goods exotic and mundane are carried, rolled, stacked, and repacked at dizzying rates between the shaded warehouses and the bustling crowds. Over it all, a relief at finding safe rest in the inhospitable desert keeps the arguments in good faith and the shouting joyous, despite the exaggerated complaints of the caravan masters.

F: The inn. A wide building attended at all times by the pleasantly drunk, the inn is a simple construction of stone, the ground floor occupied by a kitchen and common area and attached to the brewery. Beer is chilled below-ground, the lower floor and its rooms kept cool by the solid rock the caravanserai is built atop. Storage and sleeping rooms are kept separate by a wide hallway carpeted in a fine rug once gifted by the sorcerer-queen of Attar-in-Mourning. The beer is pleasant, but sometimes contains bits of fur- for this reason customers with outstanding tabs may be conscripted to aid in the brewing process and lend their labor to the mashing and soaking of sprouted grains, without fear of shedding in the product. Sitar music and singing are a constant pleasantry in the common room.

1d6 Nuns of the Sisterhood

1. Mother Superior Freij. Black fur with a terrible puckered scar from her lip to her right ear. Cordial but always occupied. Black robes and a steel-tipped cane.
2. Prioress Szymon of the Anchorite Tradition. Cream-dipped black fur, unusually fluffy tail. Matronly and worryingly adept at convincing people to help her in her chores. Always bustling between two places with arms full. White robes with a black habit and a number of stains, which she tuts about.
3. Prioress Fidelis of the Chivalric Tradition. Mottled brown and white fur, wide and intense eyes. Usually wearing her painted armor rather than habit, but keeps head covered with black wrappings. Quiet but polite. Master of three ascended sword forms and practitioner of wind-breathing technique.
4. Sister Margaret, anchorite. Cream white fur with sandy freckles, twitching tail and nervous ears. Manages the bazaar as best she can, but is frankly overwhelmed at all times. Has difficulty reminding merchants of the recommended tithe, but enjoys the diaspora of cultures she interacts with. White robes and habit with a belt that holds simple scale measures (for impartiality) and a ledger and charcoal pencil. 
5. Sister Nicosia, chivalric. Black fur verging on blue, one protruding fang. Minds the sand-goose chicks and herds them (chases them) loosely around the caravanserai. Always missing one or two, but enjoys the hunt. Hands are scarred from hundreds of little nips. Wears a cloak with simple gold thread patterns embroidered into it over white robes and habit.
6. Guard Captain Elzear, anchorite. Mottled gray fur with pale scraping scars across her hands. Gruff and suspicious, but mostly exaggeratedly. Has little time to talk , but is willing to discuss frankly with people who ask straightforward questions. Never seen outside of her painted armor, and wears a helmet painted black instead of a habit, which Szymon complains about.

1d6 Sand-Geese For Sale

1. Nips- clouded feathers, nasty temperament even for a goose. Unusually clever and adept at untying simple knots with his beak. Will calm down for extra snacks.
2. Begets-Grace, snow white with a longer fanning tail. Calm , but yet untested in battle. Shrugs barding uncomfortably and will honk in annoyance if forced to wear it.
3. Flatfoot, black banded on milky white. Even temperament, but tendency to take inconvenient naps. Truly immovable when she desires.
4. Sweetness, cowardly and nervous but an excellent snuggler. Faithful to the last person who fed her treats.
5. Brazen, a mottling of brown and white like sand on stone. Only sweet to Sister Nicosia, even though she already has a mount. To all others huffy but serviceable.
6. Moonie, silvery white with bright beautiful eyes. Still a juvenile and unfit to be ridden by any but children, though still strong enough to carry heavy saddlebags. Used to being coddled, but friendly and inquisitive.

1d6 Travelers in the Inn

1. Imitates-Rivers, a great serpent from far-off Chryselephantine selling fine silks, threads, and fabrics. Thick form draped in bangles and burgundy sashes, carrying their cart by means of a great harness. Speaks only the snake-tongue, but has a human youth, Khemri, who speaks trade-sign and a handful of other languages well enough to translate.
2. The mercenary band the Rippers, exiles looking to make good coin as bodyguards for merchants or to catch a whisper of treasure hunting, which they’d prefer.  Led by a human named Winsome Jack, who claims to know one of the breathing disciplines of the nuns. He also claims to have slept with a number of them, and so is most likely simply braggadocious.
3. Yenefer the Black, a catgirl thief from the Uncountable Pillar Marches here to track down a ruin of the ancient Wind Knights. Mostly answers coyly to avoid revealing her true goals, but willing to work with those she finds martially impressive if their goals align. Liable to plant stolen goods on the party if the nuns or merchants begin to grow suspicious.
4. Ing, a great charcoal lizard blacksmith and sun-mage. Twenty feet long, eyeless, and with breath like lava, he enjoys the heat of the desert but mostly avoids the other merchants. Very gruff and clipped speech, in an old and unusual dialect. Willing to perform simple crafting and repair work for those who can pay their prices, and to exchange spells with those who pay in unusual weapons or metals.
5. Three magi agents of the sorcerer-queen of Attar-in-Morning, here to observe the caravanserai for rebellious elements hiding from the queen’s wrath. Unpleasant but cordial, they respond to insult or hostility with a bitter smile, but will silently curse the offender with a spell of shattergem- the next gemstone they touch breaks into an infestation of shining beetles that devour fabrics and cause irritating bites.
6. Second-Heightening, an immortal crowkin with sunken features and oily feathers. A necromancer conclave, they are distracted but friendly. Prone to rambling conversation on obscure topics. A book merchant by trade, they only accept scrolls and tomes in payment, but will also copy them for a fee.

Cats (a Stolen by Bats class)

 Locheil of the discord, emojismith of renown and eternal enemy of the cats of Öltirw, occasionally has good ideas. It pains me to admit. One of these is the system Stolen by Bats, designed around and inspired by Failbetter Games' Fallen London and two related video games. Fallen London is truly a work of modern art, and a masterpiece in interesting, interconnected, complicated, deep, and truly clever lore writing. I recommend everyone ask someone obsessed with it to rant about it, though the actual game of Fallen London is a browser based freemium grinding experience which many will find not to their taste, sadly.

Presented here is a class for Stolen by Bats. If you have questions about the implications of some of the information presented- good, you're starting to get the idea.

CATS

+1 Mirrors and +1 Veils per template
Starting Equipment: Haughty Superiority, Elegant Whiskers, Twenty (20) Sharp Claws, Lavish Fur Coat, an Unsettled Grudge
Skills: 1) Spywork 2) Intimidation 3) Being Unnoticed 4) Singing 5) Politics 6) Forbidden Knowledge

A - Confidence, Confidant
B - Friends, High Places
C - Opening
D - By The Toe

Confidence
    Cats are an enigmatic and egotistical breed even Surface-side, but here in the Neath they are more so- sapient, talking creatures with a fair share of secrets and a penchant for spycraft and warfare. You are one of them, a tabby or tom of some household variety roaming the streets with whiskers held high- as you should, after all. These people don't understand the purpose of cats, or appreciate you enough for it. But they don't need to. You know what you're worth.
    When inside a dream or a mirror, or while fighting a snake (of any variety), you have 4HD, +4 Iron, and the stature of a grand tiger. In the waking world, you have a maximum of 1HD and cannot wield weapons not specifically crafted for you, though your claws deal 1d3 damage.

Confidant
    Cats are purveyors of secrets, and trade them more regularly than rostygold- though not to outsiders, of course. Far too valuable to let any but feline minds hold on to. Note down nine secrets (about anything or anyone- it's true) on your sheet, hidden from the other players. Any time you would die, you can speak one aloud and cross it off- instead, you're completely fine, washing your paws unharmed a few feet away. When the last one is crossed out, for any reason, you drop dead on the spot.
    Nosy humanoids can pry where they don't belong, though, and by ancient law you are required to divulge a secret to anyone who catches you and pets your soft wittle tummy-tum. Cross one off and tell it to your captor. Feel free to scratch them for the theft.

Friends
    The Banded Prince has heard your name spoken- or more likely, one of his ministers has. Once a session, a cat who you owe a favor owes you a favor. They can take a quick look inside a guarded building, tell you where someone is right now, or get you something the size of a dead bird from the market lickety-split. They expect one of your secrets as payment, but can sometimes be mollified with expensive catnip instead.

High Places
    Soft padded paws and an agreement with gravity mean you can ignore any fall damage that wouldn't kill you with a minimum roll. Sharp slitted eyes and a keen nose mean that you can ask the DM two questions about any location you can scout from high above.

Opening
    When you strike first and in an unexpected way, any success is a critical success. This could mean dealing maximum damage on an attack roll, or cornering the merchant with a clever entrapment of words. Other cats are difficult to catch with this- they've used the same strategies before, of course.

By The Toe
     You are understood to be a Claw of the Prince, now. Not that you were only recently appointed- simply that more people are aware of it. Your station affords you your Confidence bonus at all times, and you may choose to be a tiger in the Is as well as the Is-Not, if it pleases. Once ever, the Court of the Wakeful Eye can grant you a boon- any one thing you can dream of, stained viric, delivered when you sleep. It will be returned to the Is-Not on the Prince's whim, usually a week later, though perhaps earlier if you anger him, or he is bored.

A Pair of Great Tits (GLOG Class)

         I have found bird classes (such as CyberChronometer's Cardinal, Bird with a Sorcerer, and Occo's Knife-Hawk) endlessly fascinating for no explainable reason. Therefore a while ago I wrote up this, and am now posting after having dug it up from the bottom of my WIP folder like a crow pulling a long string of fat trimming from a dumpster. Behold.

    You are a PAIR OF GREAT TITS. You are two small members of the species parus major, a distinctive insectivorous bird with a black head and neck,  prominent white cheeks, olive upper parts and a yellow belly. You could be a nesting pair, old college roommates, a sheriff and their arrested captive, or any other interpersonal relation, but regardless you possess the ability when together to fascinate and charm most creatures with your beguiling beauty.

Starting gear: A repertoire of traditional bird calls and songs, small but sharp claws, a two-bird hammock with lacy trim.
Starting skills (1d4): A formal education in hypnotism and psychology, lock-picking, appearing sweet and innocent, international diplomacy

A: Natural Endowments, Pristine Beauty
B: Center of Attention
C: Honeyed Words
D: Hooters & Boobies

Natural Endowments: Your natural forms are small fluffy arboreal birds, and as such you have the following physical advantages and weaknesses. Your limited strength and grasping power limits you to carrying only one small physical item at a time. If you are carrying your two-bird hammock, it can in turn carry two more items within its soft but shapely slings. You can use no weapon other than your beaks and your claws, which deal 1 point of damage plus your strength bonus. You can fly as fast as a man can sprint. If one of your birds is ever separated from the other by more than two meters, you lose all other class features until you are rejoined.

Pristine Beauty: Your stunning grace and melodious song discourages most hostility towards you and engenders admiration. Combatants must save vs mental to successfully attack either of you, with +4 if you or your obvious allies are hostile towards them. Outside of combat, you get +2 to your reaction roll upon meeting someone for the first time.
Reaction Table (2d6)
2-3: Hostile
4-5: Unfriendly
6-8: Wary
9-10: Friendly
11-12: Trusting

Center of Attention: As long as you preen, sing, converse, pose, dance, or otherwise make a spectacle of yourselves, any unconnected activity behind you goes unnoticed. Onlookers must save vs mental, becoming entranced by your allure on a failure. They are unable to take any action besides watch or join your performance until you are finished, and maintain no memory of what happened around them besides it afterwards. Onlookers who succeed may stop watching your performance if given a reason to, and may recall the general events of what happened around or behind you later if they attempt to, though fine details such as faces or symbols elude them.

Honeyed Words: You learn to attack with your words as well as your claws, and may attack with Charisma vs your opponents Wisdom. Successful attacks deal damage as if they were cut, and you may inflict minimum damage to conceal your hostility behind a veneer of untouchable splendor and superiority. Opponents who would die from this damage either slink away dejectedly or swear to correct their errors and redeem their mistakes to you, GM’s choice.

Hooters & Boobies: Your beauty and elegance have made you well known in the bird world. Mundane birds whose initial reaction to you is Friendly or better know your name and an exaggerated and mostly inaccurate report of your adventures, and are instead Adoring, doing anything reasonably within their power to aid in your adventures. Humanoids you meet with initial reactions of Trusting are instead Adoring as well. The adoration wears off and fades into Trust after one major favor or one day, whichever comes first.