Some Experiences of a New Guinea Resident Magistrate – the life of Nick the Greek

This post was inspired by the series of posts made by Skerples on the book Albion’s Seed (here:Coins and Scrolls).

If we want to breathe fresh life into our RPGs, we must search for new sources of inspiration. Other games may offer new mechanics and different takes on old subjects, but new material not yet related to gaming has the potential to inspire and make our games more engaging.

A street in Samarai

In the book “Some Experiences of a New Guinea Resident Magistrate”, by Charles Arthur Whitmore Monckton (free at project Gutemberg), we have a description of what could be an excellent base of operations for a new party, complete with cemetery and a clerk that is awaiting a trial for murder (obvious choice for a henchman or replacement murderhobo party member, if the magistrate allows):

Samarai boasted neither wharf nor jetty; our cargo was therefore simply shot over the side into the multitude of canoes and thence ferried to the beach, with such assistance as the ship’s boats could afford.

Dinner Island, or as I shall from now on term it, Samarai, is an island of about fifty acres. The hill, which forms the centre of the island, rises from what was then a malodorous swamp, surrounded by a strip of coral beach. The whole island was a gazetted penal district, and the town consisted of the Residency, a fine roomy bungalow built by the Imperial Government for the then Commissioner, General Sir Peter Scratchley—the first of New Guinea officials to be claimed by malaria—and now the headquarters of the Resident Magistrate for the Eastern Division; a small three-roomed building of native grass and round poles dubbed the Subcollector’s house; a gaol of native material, the roof of which served as a bond store for dutiable goods, and a cemetery: the three latter appeared to be well filled. There was also a small single-roomed galvanized iron building which served as a Custom’s house; in it was employed a clerk, unpaid; he was an affable gentleman of mixed French and Greek parentage, and was at the time awaiting his trial for murder. Two small stores, the one owned by Burns, Philp and Co., of Sydney, and the other by Mr. William Whitten, now the Honble. William Whitten, M.L.C., completed the main buildings.

 The paltry surroundings are further described with two very common denominator among economically minded parties: sleeping in their tents and spending on booze. However, a very practical way of determining how much each one should pay is shown:

A few sheds, occupied by boat-builders and carpenters, scattered along the beach, complete the buildings of Samarai. Of hotels and accommodation houses there were none, but then there was no travelling public to accommodate; gold-diggers to and from the islands of Sudest and St. Aignan camped in their tents, which as a rule consisted of a single sheet of calico stretched over a pole; traders lived in their vessels. Alcoholic refreshment was dispensed at the stores; Burns, Philp’s manager, for instance, or one of the Whittens, ceasing from their book-keeping labours to serve thirsty customers with lager beer or more potent fluids over the store counter. Whitten Brothers had a large roofed balcony with no sides, situated at the back of the store, and here at night, as to a general club-house, foregathered all the Europeans of the island. Under a centre table was placed a supply of varied drinks, and as men came in and bottles were emptied, they were hurled over the edge on to the soft coral sand. In the morning one of the Whittens caused the bottles to be collected by a native boy, counted them, and avoided the trouble of book-keeping by the simple method of dividing the sum total of bottles by the number of men he knew, or that his boy told him, had visited the “house”; each man therefore, whether a thirsty person or not, was charged exactly the same as his neighbour.

But nor the island or Mr. Monckton are the focus of this article. Our real-life adventurer is a guy called Nicholas the Greek, described by Charles as one of the “ruffians”, which is a great euphemism for murderhobo:

Among the traders were two picturesque ruffians, alike in nothing, save the ability with which they conducted their business and dodged hanging. Each had spent his life trading in the South Seas and had amassed a fair fortune. Of them and their exploits I have heard endless yarns. Of one of these men, who was known far and wide through the South Seas as “Nicholas the Greek”—Heaven knows why, for his real name sounded English, and his reckless courage was certainly not typical of the modern Greek—the following stories are told.

 We can tell that when Charles meet this “greek” fellow, he’s already a seasoned adventuring veteran. His first exploit told, suitable for a 1st level party, was tackled on his own:

A vessel had been cut out in one of the New Guinea or Louisade Islands—which it was I have forgotten—and the crew massacred. When this became known, a man-of-war or Government ship was sent to punish the murderers, and in especial to secure a native chief, who was primarily responsible. The punitive ship came across Nicholas and engaged him as pilot and interpreter, he being offered one hundred pounds when the man wanted was secured. Nicholas safely piloted his charge to some remote island where the inhabitants, doubtless having guilty consciences, promptly fled for the hills, where it was impossible for ordinary Europeans to follow them. He then offered to go alone to try and locate them, and, armed with a ship’s cutlass and revolver, disappeared on his quest. Some days elapsed, then in the night a small canoe appeared alongside the ship, from which emerged Nicholas, bearing in his hand a bundle. Marching up to the officer commanding, he undid it, and rolled at the officer’s feet a gory human head, remarking, “Here is your man, I couldn’t bring the lot of him. I’ll thank you for that hundred.”

Just like in most modules, searching for the enemies is not something an ordinary person can do. A certain amount of recklessness and bravado is necessary. Thus, with minimal equipment and no hirelings, Nicholas kicked ass and got his bounty, just like an adventurer should do. But Nick the Greek needed a party or, as told, a full blown crew:

Another story was that Nicholas on one occasion was attacked and frightfully slashed about by his native crew and then thrown overboard, he shamming dead. Sinking in the water he managed to get under the keel, along which he crawled like a crawfish until he came to the rudder, upon which he roosted under the counter until night fell and his crew slept. Then he climbed on board, secured a tomahawk, and either killed or drove overboard the whole crew, they thinking he was an avenging ghost. This done, badly wounded and unassisted, he worked his vessel to a neighbouring island, where, being sickened and disgusted with men, he shipped and trained a crew of native women, with whom he sailed for many years, in fact, I think, until the day came when Sir W. MacGregor appeared upon the scene and passed the Native Labour Ordinance, which, amongst other things, prohibited the carrying of women on vessels.

Surely you don’t want to mess with his amazon warrior crew, even though he was wise enough to disband them after the local man in charge prohibited women on boats. This didn’t preclude him from kicking more butt, and fooling everyone else, just like a dude with wits matching his brawn should:

Of Nicholas also is told the story that once, in the bad old pre-protectorate days, so many charges were brought against him by missionaries and merchantmen that a man-of-war was sent to arrest him, wherever found, and bring him to trial. He, through a friendly trader, got wind of the fact that he was being sought for, and accordingly laid his plans for the bamboozlement of his would-be captors. Summoning his crew, he informed them that his father was dead, and that as he had his father’s name of Nicholas, his name must now be “Peter,” as the custom of his tribe was, even as that of some New Guinea peoples, viz. not to mention the name of the dead lest harm befall. Then he sailed in search of the pursuing warship and, eventually finding her, went on board and volunteered his services as pilot, which were gladly accepted. To all of his haunts he then guided that ship, but in all the reply of the native was the same, when questioned as to his whereabouts, “We know not Nicholas, he is gone. Peter your pilot comes in his place. Nicholas is dead, and ’tis wrong to mention the name of the dead.”

 Finally, Nicholas is described with a cliché, but wholly scary if you think that we’re talking about a real man:

It was said of him that on no part of his body could a man’s hand be placed without touching the scar of some old wound—a story I can fully believe.

 I won’t be finishing this piece with tables or encounters inspired by the reading above. Encounters dealing islands, natives and seafaring hurdles can be found almost anywhere, and most experienced DM’s can cook their own challenges.

However, I think that the exploits attributed to Nicholas make a great background, without the need for further embellishments. Even the description of the island can be lifted whole from the book and just inserted in your regular module.




Uma análise amadora do livro “Eu, robô” de Isaac Asimov

Resultado de imagem para roomba
Não é esse “iRobot”

Para falar deste livro, gostaria de tratar primeiramente de uma outra grande obra de ficção científica: a novela “O Clone”.

“Ora!”, exclamam exaltados os cultores do hard sci-fi, como comparar Asimov a Glória Perez?

“Ah não!”, reclamam os noveleiros inveterados, que não tem interesse em fantasias mecatrônicas que se passam em outros mundos, em futuros descritos na década de 50 e que já são velhos.

Tudo isso é parte de um entendimento equivocado do que é ficção científica, e até do que é ficção.

Segundo o próprio Asimov, “a fc é uma resposta literária a modificações científicas, resposta esta que pode abarcar a inteira gama da experiência humana. A fc engloba tudo” (TAVARES, 1992, p. 72). Mas e daí? O que vale dizer “que engloba tudo” se o leitor/telespectador não tem interesse em homens verdes de anteninhas e dobras espaciais?

A ficção lida com dramas humanos, e nos ajuda a compreender, com empatia, as dores do viver alheio. Podemos fazer isso lendo os jornais, se compadecendo da penúria sofrida pelo outro, mas o noticiário tem suas limitações. Como entender o que se passa na cabeça de cada sujeito, sentir o que ele sente? Aí que entra a ficção. Um bom escritor transmite imagens interiores, os sentimentos das personagens, faz o leitor confundir o seu “eu” com o “eu ficcional” que é apresentado.

A parte científica da ficção é trazer uma roupagem moderna aos problemas antigos. O clone da novela é só mais uma forma de expor velhas questões de bebês trocados na maternidade, ou pobres mendigos, que por obra do acaso, são iguais a príncipes, como Mark Twain já descrevia no livro “O Príncipe e o Mendigo” de 1881.

Se fôssemos “atualizar” a história de Twain, poderíamos dizer que o mendigo da história é um clone clandestino do herdeiro de um grande conglomerado industrial. Algumas personagens secundárias, como o cientista louco obrigatório, seriam adicionadas, mas a história seria a mesma.

As adições temáticas feitas pela ficção científica também não a torna inferior a outras formas de literatura… “Um conto ou poema não está ‘mais próximo’ do mundo real do que um artigo de jornal ou uma autobiografia – assim como uma fotografia não é mais nem menos realista do que uma pintura. Tudo isso são signos, verbais ou visuais, combinados de acordo com determinados código; alguns deles nos evocam de forma intensa o mundo que experimentamos no dia-a-dia, mas nem por isso existe uma hierarquia entre eles” (TAVARES, 1972, p. 11).

Como dizer que a peleja entre Mezenga e Berdinazzi no “Rei do Gado” é mais real que as lutas entre Montecchios e Capuletos em “Romeu e Julieta”?

A difusão da noção que mesmo o melhor dos noticiários deve ser entendido em seu contexto, levando em consideração quem está dando a notícia, talvez ajudaria a segurar a onda das fake news, desacreditando fontes que nunca se revelam e emissores com propósitos escancarados.

Mas tudo isso serve para dizer que “Eu, Robô” é um livro excelente, que não lida com robôs, mas com seres humanos.

Asimov era cientista, Ph.D. em bioquímica, chegando a exercer profissionalmente este ofício. Apesar disso, para ler seu livro, e a ficção científica em geral, não se exige conhecimentos mais avançados do que aulas de química e física de colegial.

Isso porquê, como no caso do clone novelístico, a ciência é inspiração, mais ou menos racionalizada, dos acontecimentos e dificuldades enfrentadas pelas personagens de Asimov. O “cérebro positrônico” que permite o raciocínio dos robôs não é explicado, exceto pelo linguajar pseudotécnico empregado pelos homens-máquina, mas dá azo à criação do campo da psicologia robótica, área de estudo de uma das personagens principais do livro, a Dra. Susan Calvin.

Disso já transparece uma das questões mais interessantes na obra: os heróis não são “homens de ação”, combativos, ágeis e esbeltos. São técnicos e cientistas, matemáticos e mecânicos, pessoas com empregos e patrões. Nada de Will Smith saltando entre carros com uma pistola na mão, como na adaptação cinematográfica! Aqui encontramos Gregory Powell e Mike Donovan tentando usar reações com ácido oxálico, e andando na superfície do planeta Mercúrio, para influenciar os receptores defeituosos de um robô.

Mas os feitos científicos não são o foco. O drama pessoal, mesmo dos seres que não são pessoas, é que dá o tom. Mesmo sendo um bioquímico, Asimov dá suma importância ao papel da ética e psicologia no trato com as mentes artificiais.

Susan Calvin, uma das principais protagonistas, do alto dos seus 38 anos, não é jovem, e nas suas próprias palavras, não é bela. Mas ela é competente, e isso é o suficiente para seu lugar de destaque na obra. A psicologia que ela exerce é fundamental para entendermos o tema subjacente do livro: a relação dos robôs com as três leis fundamentais da robótica.

Essas leis hoje são lugar-comum em várias obras de ficção e especulações sobre o uso ético de robôs, como no caso de projetos de drones militares independentes, mas foram criadas por Asimov há décadas. Elas são três:

1ª Lei: Um robô não pode ferir um ser humano ou, por inação, permitir que um ser humano sofra algum mal.

2ª Lei: Um robô deve obedecer as ordens que lhe sejam dadas por seres humanos exceto nos casos em que tais ordens entrem em conflito com a Primeira Lei.

3ª Lei: Um robô deve proteger sua própria existência desde que tal proteção não entre em conflito com a Primeira ou Segunda Leis.


Estes três dogmas, segundo o autor, são implantados na mente de cada robô capaz de autodeterminação, e não são nunca apagadas ou alteradas. À primeira vista parecem uma solução infalível para coibir catástrofes causadas por estas máquinas. Sua natureza lógica e autorreferencial nos faz pensar até no seu uso como um código ético aos próprios seres humanos! Imaginem um mundo onde o mandamento moral fundamental fosse “Um ser humano não pode ferir um ser humano ou, por inação, permitir que um ser humano sofra algum mal”.


Mas as coisas não funcionam bem assim. Os contos que apresentados no livro são uma coletânea de casos onde o pensamento racional próprio dos robôs, cada vez mais avançados conforme o livro progride, se presta a gerar contradições entre essas leis, criando situações inesperadas aos seus mestres humanos.


Esta é a genialidade da obra de Asimov. Inicialmente ele nos apresenta três leis infalíveis, que até poderiam ser encontradas em todas as religiões e sistemas éticos, para então mostrar como elas podem ser mal interpretadas, como a relação mestre-máquina distorce as regras e cria buracos no que pode e não pode ser feito com um ser humano.


Estas questões me parecem uma alegoria sobre a condição humana. Nós somos, ao mesmo tempo, os robôs e cientistas de Asimov, cientes de nossas falhas e estudiosos das próprias regras que criamos para ordenar a nossa convivência. No entanto, apesar dos dogmas comuns à nossa civilização, ferimos uns aos outros, justificamos nossas ações, defendemos nossas posições, e permanecemos com os mesmos mandamentos instalados em nossos cérebros positrônicos.


Obras consultadas:

“I, robot”, de Isaac Asimov (edição de 1961).

“O que é Ficção Científica”, de Bráulio Tavares.


Feliz Natal! Role 1d6:

1. Você foi um mau jogador. Vai ganhar um escaravelho devorador de carne, que no meio da noite vai furar um buraco na sua mochila e comer o seu coração (Role CON vs. Morte)
2. Você não foi lá essas coisas. Ganha meio frasco de óleo flamejante.
3. Parabéns! Teve alguns momentos de valor…ganha uma corda de seda – 30 m.
4. Mandou muito bem, matou o chefão e mapeou a masmorra! Ganha um par de botas de andar no ar.
5. Jogador parça! Ajuda os novatos, conhece as regras e tem boas idéias. Ganha uma espada +1/+3 lendas natalinas.
6. Você é uma lenda, e bardos cantarão seus feitos. Ganha uma trombeta de Valhalla e um nível!

Titanic Tardigrades and the circle of life (how to kill, cook and breed ’em)

dire tardigrade

The mold grows on carcasses, the rats eat what’s left, giant centipedes scour the darkness while transparent Cubes strip conveniently shaped corridors of all organic matter.

Dungeon ecology has been a staple of all well written dungeons that don’t go the fun house route.

But as dungeons get more weird, the environment deadlier and the challenges gonzo-y, dire rats and giant spiders seem out-of-place, or at least out of their level.

Maybe something different is lurking in the dungeon’s lower levels.

The Tardigrade, or water bear, is a microscopic organism renowned for its resiliency and rugged good looks.

It can be frozen, heated, bombarded with radiation or subjected to vacuum. It’ll just spring back to life when the right conditions arise, or may never even stop.

However, the tiny size doesn’t lend itself to a verifiable target in most RPGs (unless your group is playing a very specific kind of hard sci-fi games were the goal is to perform biological research).

Titanic Tardigrade Lore

As such, wizards, demons and bored gods took notice of the little monster, and started experimenting with them.

At first, organic alchemists applied their knowledge and produced the Dire Tardigrade, a coin sized monstrosity that was a surprisingly good substitute for olives in a dry martini.

But the creation of the Titanic Tardigrade can be traced to the works of the Dungeon Dressing Design Department, at the Invisible School of Thaumathurgy, in Minaria.

The team, using a bit of powdered giant’s teeth, yeast and calcium gluconate, managed to turn the tardigrades into dog sized monsters, although less vicious than the standard dungeon carrion eater.

After that, due to its resiliency to magic and the elements, the Titanic Tardigrade spread through the known lands and beyond.

Titanic Tardigrade Stats

Sharp Swords & Sinister Spells

HD 1+1

Special Abilities: 1 bite attack, 6 talons (1 hp damage each), hard shell (-1d Damage Reduction), immune to magic, illusions, radiation, extreme heat, cold, acid, possession, compliments and gossip. Takes half damage from fire attacks.

Sword and Wizardry Core Rules

Hit Dice: 1+2

Armor Class: 4 [15]

Attacks: bite (1d4), 6 talons (1)

Saving Throw:  3

Special: Immune to magic, illusions, radiation, extreme heat, cold, acid, possession, compliments and gossip. Takes half damage from fire attacks.

Move: 4

Alignment: Neutral

Challenge Level/XP: 4/120

Tunnels & Trolls 5th edition (7th printing)

MR 32

Special: Immune to magic (including TTYF), illusions, radiation, extreme heat, cold, acid, possession, compliments and gossip. Takes half damage from fire attacks.

# Appearing 1-12

Dungeoneer (Advanced Fighting Fantasy)

Magical Beast – Underground – 1 to 12 – Neutral – Low – SKILL 6 – ENERGY 11 – Bite and 6 talons.

Immune to magic, illusions, radiation, extreme heat, cold, acid, possession, compliments and gossip. Takes half damage from fire attacks.

Titanic Tardigrade Behaviour

These beasts can be found in the lower levels of dungeons, caves, ruins, lost cities and basically anywhere with an access to their deeper lairs.

Largely indifferent to their surroundings, they will move slowly until attacked, although a bit of food or drink can keep them occupied or divert their attention.

Erradicating a Titanic Tardigrade colony is near impossible, as their breeding chambers are usually harmful to most creatures, and accessible through narrow cracks and passages. Roll 1d6 to see the general aspect of the lair:

  1. Volcanic vents: intolerable heat and toxic sulfur clouds (roll CON or equivalent every 5 minutes to avoid passing out), gusts of hot air deal 1d6 damage.
  2. Magical cold caverns: -50 ºC/-58ºF. Lungs freeze, metal adheres to the skin, slippery and devoid of life (except for the tardigrades).
  3. Radiation meltdown tunnels: strange invisible energy deals 1d4-1 damage per round (no resistance allowed). Roll twice on suitable mutation table after leaving.
  4. Permanent sleep catacombs: the whole complex is subject to a permanent sleep spell (affects up to 50 hp of creatures).
  5. Vacuum pit: an infinite vertical shaft, where unnatural vacuum suddenly appears. Eardrums explode, eyes pop out, breathing is impossible (1d12 damage per round, roll CON or equivalent for half). May climb up to avoid damage.
  6. Flooded complex: extremely cold water, high rate of floating debris and sand impair vision. Navigation nigh impossible.

Titanic Tardigrade cookbook and uses

Although voracious eaters, the Titanic Tardigrades can be herded, and are a staple food of many deep underground cultures.

Tardigrade shells can be cured as leather, their flesh tastes like cardboard but is mildly nutritive.

A very rare delicacy is dried and pressed Tardigrade nervous bulbs, used as seasoning or ice cream toppings.

No-Bake Tardigrade Icebox Pie



1 1/2 cups lembas bread crumbs (1 to 2 whole breads)
1/4 cup packed light or dark brown sugar
Pinch of salt
6 tablespoons unsalted rothé butter, melted


8 oz cream cheese, softened
1 can (14 oz) sweetened condensed leucrotta milk
1/2 cup freshly squeezed titanic tardigrade meat
1 tablespoon grated titanic tardigrade shell


In medium bowl, mix Crust ingredients. Press evenly into ungreased 9-inch pie plate. Refrigerate 1 hour.
In large bowl, beat Filling ingredients until smooth. Spread evenly in crust. Refrigerate 4 hours but no longer than 8 hours.
Serve with dried Titanic Tardigrade nervous bulbs if desired.

Itty bitty tiny post – Magical Item!

I’ll start this series as a way to share snippets of stuff I’m writing in portuguese, that might never be fully translated.

Today we’re having a magical weapon!

Not your regular Minecraft Youtuber weapon

The Fabulous Pickaxe of Eris

This pure gold pickaxe lies stuck on a rock, in a sacred grove. Emanating holy energies, it is virtually indestructible, and can be pulled free by anyone. It has the following effects:

a) Changes the biological sex of any humanoid or goblinoid that touches or is stricken with the weapon. The change is instantaneous and permanent.

b) Changes any sheep into a wolf, and vice-versa, in the same manner above. (May work on werewolves)

c) Changes any fruit into an apple.

I’ll be running this with Maze Rats, where it’s a two handed weapon. Apart from being indestructible, thus making it a great tool, I’m expecting enemies getting quite a surprise mid-combat, and some very confused authorities if this falls into the wrong hands.

Ganchos para DC&G

Senta aqui no colo do tio que eu vou te contar três historinhas…

Cada gancho desses pode ser utilizado numa campanha longa e suada, ou numa rapidinha proveitosa.
Cerco em Ponta Fina

Um dos curiosos ídolos do templo

Objetivo geral: aguentar as investidas traiçoeiras de uma tropa de Robin-Bóglins, armados com um grande aríete rijo e roliço, que bate na portinha do templo.

Local: o templo dos Rapazélficos, onde eles guardam sua castidade e produzem a mais fina pinga chamada “Atrás do Saco” (já tomou?).

Antagonista: Machacu-Negro (Dedo +3, Cu 20, Gritaria 7), o caralhárbaro enrijecido, líder dos Robin-Bóglins.

Possíveis aliados: “Asbola”, a relíquia guardada no templo.

Possíveis complicações: a portinha do templo não aguentará tantas pauladas, e logo vai ceder. Os Robin-Bóglins, sedentos pelos Rapazélficos, lutam com +1 de Dedo.
A Racha na Escuridão

Uma entrada secreta na voçoroca

Objetivo geral: os Pititos especialistas em roupas de baixo estão de saco cheio de se perder entre os Morros Curvilíneos, e querem uma rota comercial que vá direto ao ponto. Assim, procuram aventureiros para se enfiar na Racha da Escuridão e mapear um caminho.

Local: uma voçoroca, grande, enorme, titânica (!) cercada de árvores que impedem a luz solar de penetrar a escuridão.

Antagonista: um exército de uórcos invejosos e reprimidos, que adorariam colocar as patas numa carga de calcinhas rendadas.

Possíveis aliados: PACU (Patrulheiros Autônomos Caçadores de Uórcos), um grupo de besteiros e bestóides, que querem a Racha livre, para poderem deitar e rolar.

Possíveis complicações: Ohana (Dedo +4, Cu 15, Gritaria 14), a amazona hirsuta. Exímia conhecedora de rachas, ravinas e buracos similares, ela topa um negócio quente por umas tanguinhas sem costura , mas ataca sem perdão aqueles que deixam a retaguarda descoberta.
O peru real

Não é o peru real

Objetivo geral: recuperar o peru do Rei Magnus Jontax, que foi roubado por um malvado bruxo com oitavas intenções.

Local: a Gruta Molhada, uma sinistra e apertada caverna cuja entrada fica atrás de uma cachoeira, cercada de mata virgem.

Antagonista: Priapus (Dedo +1, Cu 8, Gritaria 13), o cunjurador especialista em “Muralhis Prostacticus”. Dotado de grande poder arcano, ele teleportou o peru do rei na calada da noite, para utilizá-lo num ritual maligno de invocação da temível MantiCUra.

Possíveis aliados: Madame Bovary, a amante do rei e especialista em galiformes.

Possíveis complicações: a Rainha, que não vê motivo para resgatar o peru, que de tão magro e cabisbaixo, não cumpria suas funções reais. Ela subornou alguns boglins para atrapalhar o grupo, dando a eles dedagas do mais grosso aço, marcadas com o brasão real.

Penis stealing witches and how to counter them

Apparently penis theft was a thing, according to this article.

For those wanting to scare their players, I suggest at least three different spells at different levels.

All these spells were made with Swords & Wizardry in mind because that’s what I’m getting back into, and it also translates well with other retroclones and original editions of DnD.

Also, notwithstanding the theme, I tried making these pretty tame. My games are definitely on the humorous side, so don’t expect edgy descriptions or gruesome effects.


Spell level: Magic-User, 1st Level.

Range: 60 feet, doesn’t require line of sight to the target.

Duration: 1d4+1 days

The target is rendered impotent and incapable of maintaining an erection. The caster must know the general location of the target, but does not need to have a line of sight to him.

Notes: I chose this as a first level spell because I’d like to pester characters with it since the early stages, and I try to keep the enemies with reasonable spells, instead of just saying they can do it because of ***Magic***. This helps with the internal coherence of my game world, and the adjucation of the relation between spells such as Extension. All things considered, the idea is having witches and other miscreants cursing people by standing under their windows at night.

Member mirage

Spell level: Magic-User, 2nd Level.

Range: 120 feet.

Duration: 24 hours or until damage is made to the body part.

The target believes his penis has vanished, also losing sense of touch on the area. It may be dispelled with a swift kick to the balls.

Notes: a farewell curse of a dying low-level witch, or imbued within cursed itens, and the ball kicking gag might amuse groups looking for light hearted jokes.


Spell level: Magic-User, 4th level.

Range: 120 feet.

Duration: permanent

The target’s penis and testicles sprout tiny feet, and painlessly detatch themselves from the host’s body and run away towards the caster, whom they serve and understand simple commands. The little creature fights as an 1 HD creature, although with 1d4 hitpoints. It must be fed regularly, preferring porridge and similar foods. Any character with CHA 14+ may try to convince it to change masters, hence it is usually kept in a cage. If buried, a phallus tree will appear in 1d10 days, bearing “fruit” of all colors and size.

Notes: the most powerful spell in this list, it can have several uses in the hand of a creative caster. Penises may be kept hostage, or destroyed outright. As the separation is painless, targets may wake up devoid of their genitalia. Also, leaving no clear wounds, regenerative spells should not restore the organ. Reattaching the runaway to the host may require complex rituals, or at least a combination of Remove Curse and Neutralize Poison.

Protection from these spells is rare, and highly prized among nobles who desire their bloodline to endure.

Blessed ribbons, holy underwear and intrincate tattoos should grant a bonus saving throw ranging from +1 to +3.

Also, the Holy Undergarments of Iacus renders a target immune to all the spells hereby described. This artifact of fine silk embroidered with silver and gold thread belonged to Iacus, a king with more than 50 heirs, whose kingdom fell to a civil war after his death, due to the many factions disputing the crown.