Most mainstream fantasy draws from European traditions. So inserting monsters from other
cultures can seem awkward at times.
(Ogre magi, for instance, always felt a bit weird in early editions of
the world’s oldest role-playing game—after years of fighting dumb ogre brutes,
magical genius ogres felt like a dirty trick.) But others fit in more seamlessly—the penanggalen has always
worked well, and the jorogumo, given a name change, would fit in with any drow,
ettercap, or aranea encounter.
Plus, anime series like Record of Lodoss War and Claymore have
nicely blurred the lines between West and East anyway.
So even if you avoid using oni, kami, and the like, the
jiang-shi vampire has a place in your campaign. You can take it as written, or tweak the cosmetic
elements. Your hopping vampires
might hate flour or barley. Their
prayer scrolls might remain as such or be pennies in their eyes, funereal
shrouds, prayer medallions, or other visible tokens. If hopping doesn’t work for you, they might pounce or lurch
madly out of their dire hunger, for essentially the same effect. In a hobby with undead that go back
30-plus years, jiang-shi vampires are a breath of fresh air at the gaming
table—or at least, a breath of graveyard rot…
When the Wu family
emigrated to Windholm, they found peace and prosperity that eluded them in their native Ping,
and the clan’s Twelve Mighty Sons each sired more than a dozen heirs. Now the Wu run an enclave of merchants,
tailors, and barristers that has acclimated well into Windhovan society. But as the eldest members of the clan
die out, their spirits find it hard to rest so far from home, rising as jiang-shi
vampires. Out of respect, the Wus
may not raise their hands against their undead elders, but they can hire adventurers
to put them down—with prayers, peach stakes, or steel.
The nation of
Farstead has a tradition of binding or crucifying criminals to T-shaped
posts and leaving them to die of thirst and exposure. This agonizingly slow death tends to create vampires of
appalling strength. Strapped to
their posts even in death, they resemble horrible hopping scarecrows, pogoing
(a gnomish word) toward victims and raking them with the long claws of their
still-bound hands. Most of these
hopping vampires still have their names and respective crimes on signs hung
around their necks.
On the world of Erets,
the written word resonates strongly.
Every magic item has a name, golems are powered by the scrips in their heads,
and all calling and summoning spells have some sort of written component. But with this power comes costs. Debtors, oath-breakers, and
spellcasters who die with their name attached to too many constructs or
outsiders often rise as milah (word) vampires, with their outstanding
obligations marked in parchment on their brows.
—Pathfinder Bestiary 3 278–279
Hebrew-speaking readers, forgive me if I’ve just butchered
your language. Nothin’ but love
for all the members of the Tribe.
Looking for the jellyfish swarm? We did that already.
Finally, last week filbypott rose to the defense of the
slaadi after I dissed them, and offered a compelling case for putting both slaadi and proteans in your cosmology.
See his thoughts here, and stay for his Pathfinder conversions of
favorite D&D monsters.
Behold! The
first episode of The New Indie Canon
for the fall semester. Download it
and feel joy. With new Eternal Summers, old Guided By Voices, new Flock of
Dimes, and
“The Best Ever Death Metal Band in Denton.”
(Music starts just over two minutes into the file. Remember, the feed can skip, so for best
results load in Firefox or Chrome, Save As an mp3, and enjoy in iTunes.)
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