So how do you run your magmins? If I’m recalling correctly (always a risky assumption, but
bear with me), they were nuisances and comic relief in most editions of the
world’s oldest role-playing game.
They were never going to be the object of your quests, but they always
served to make the object of your quests harder. Fire elementals might sear you, but
magmins were the ones who burned your spellbook. If you needed to sneak silently into a dragon’s lair via the
back way, that was when a magmin chose to pick a fight.
Pathfinder’s magmins add to that by being paranoid,
querulous, and—oddly enough—connoisseurs.
They are protective of their lairs—especially their precious, carefully
spiced magma pools—and any interlopers are liable to be challenged, questioned,
and discouraged or driven off. So
they’re still potential comic relief…but underneath there is a bit more
substance, even backbone. PCs may
scoff at the magmins’ preoccupation with their magma pools, but that very
obsession gives magmins something to defend.
A party of
adventurers hires a swaggering ifrit to guide them through the Canyon of
Flame. Along the way, he manages
to insult not just one, but three separate magmin guards—in very graphic
terms. All of which is highly
amusing at first…until gang upon gang of the creatures surround the party in a
box canyon. They demand an
apology, treasure, and food for their cooking pools…which may or may not
include the ifrit and any adventurers who joined the ribald fun.
Magmins are on the
hunt for new spices in preparation for a cooking contest at one of their
conclaves. Some of the spices
include cinnamon, rubies, shaved ioun stones, salt mephit salts, construct
soot, familiar hair, and finely aged half-elf.
Asking questions—and
demanding answers—is second nature to magmins. Magmin rhetorician Xerxes
Flametongue has turned this inquisitiveness into a school of philosophy
(centered around his race’s natural paranoia). Sages, wizards, bards, and alchemists can all learn
something (including several skills, feats, and rare secrets) from Xerxes,
provided they can survive the heat of his classroom…and the attacks of his even
more paranoid disciples and students.
—Pathfinder Bestiary 3
189
Happy Thanksgiving!
Of course, the day’s almost over, so I guess I’m hoping it was happy. Better late than never. And if you’re one of my non-American readers, if you know
any Yanks, please take them out for a drink—they’re liable to be a tad homesick
this weekend.
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