(Eberron 3.5) Faiths of Eberron

 Wait, wait, wait, wait, wait. Is Faiths of Eberron (Jennifer Clarke Wilkes, Ari Marmell, C.A, Suleiman) a D&D religion supplement that's actually good? I think it might be. Is it, in fact, the best religion supplement D&D has ever released? Quite possibly. I haven't read every D&D supplement to ever exist, but certainly none of the other books in my collection even come close. Does that mean that Faiths of Eberron is . . . great. . .

No, I think that might be going a little too far. No religion-focused rpg supplement can ever be great if it contains references to the alignment system. Alignment is like what would emerge if you gave the world's worst theologian their own daily podcast and they had to keep saying outrageous shit to fill out the runtime. Jordan Peterson never played a game of D&D in his life, accidentally invented a version of the alignment system based on Jungian psychology, and as a result nearly killed himself with an all-meat diet. The alignment system inspired something like four halfway decent memes before it ruined Batman. One big reason Faiths of Eberron is so good is that uses alignment sparingly.

But "sparingly" is different than "not at all."

The Silver Flame is Lawful Good. Canonically. (Oh, wait, in this context, that's a pun. . . I just gotta play it cool. . . it's going to be all right.)

Ahem. According to the book, The Silver Flame is Lawful Good. That doesn't necessarily tell us anything about any individual member of the Silver Flame, not even the high-ranking Cardinals. Eberron in general is cool like that. But the overall structure of the church itself? The intent behind its policies and those policies' effect on the world? Lawful Good.

And all I can think is that they're really taking these guys at face value. They're a hierarchal, militant, expansionist religion that orchestrated the theocratic takeover of a modern state and their stated goal is to purify the entire world, down even to the souls of mortal-kind, with a (sometimes literal) sacred fire and the book is like, "yeah, that basically tracks." They see the world as filled with evil and themselves as the only ones who can defeat that evil and there's a sidebar that gives us a nice little two-word thumbs up saying, "ulterior motives not detected."

Not that I'm saying the Silver Flame should be secretly evil or anything. I just wonder what criteria are being used to make these determinations. A little later, the kalashtar Path of Light gets a similar sidebar and it is pegged as Lawful Neutral. Their entire religion is based around ushering in a new age of hope through unwavering benevolence in both thought and deed. Is it because the Path of Light sometimes seems ineffectual ("they led the war against darkness through regular meditation")?

An even more pertinent contrast would be the worshippers of the Dark Six, specifically the ones who follow The Keeper. According to the lore of the Sovereign Host (Khorvaire's dominant religion) the Dark Six are evil gods who represent the dangerous and unpleasant aspects of the natural world. They also believe it is the fate of every soul (whether they worship the Dark Six, the Sovereign Host, or any other deity) after death to go to the plane of Dolurrh where they waste away in eternal purgatory. The Followers of the Dark Six believe that the Sovereign Host is lying about that. Dolurrh is really a place of punishment and the gods are secretly saving the elect, removing their souls to an unknowable paradise. The Sovereign Host says that when a soul appears to go missing, it's because the Keeper eats it. The Dark Six say the souls are missing because the Keeper lifted up the velvet rope.

The frustrating thing about alignment and the reason it's so toxic to a book that does seem to be genuinely trying to approach the subject of religion with sensitivity and nuance is that we know canonically which side of this argument is correct. The Sovereign Host, collectively as a pantheon, is Neutral Good. The Dark Six, again as an overall pantheon, are Neutral Evil.

So you've got the Silver Flame, whose main deal is "We've given ourselves a license for unlimited violence purely at our own discretion, and we've determined that the werewolf genocide was completely justified" (enough that there's a whole monastic order of shifters who seek atonement for their very existence) and they're positioned as being essentially truthful, or at least well-intentioned. But the followers of the Keeper are saying "the gods have perpetrated a monstrous fraud on mortal-kind and that's why we worship the creepy death god that they've so unfairly maligned" and the implication is that they are either lying or, at best, useful idiots.

The obvious rebuttal would, of course, be that this bias is not arbitrary. The gods themselves are specific characters with well-defined personalities and if the book says that the Keeper is Neutral Evil then. obviously, he can't be the good guy his followers say he is.

I'll let the Introduction answer that objection for me:

The gods of Eberron do not actively involve themselves in the world as the gods of other settings do. They are distant - if they exist at all. A commune spell contacts outsiders such as angels, not the gods themselves. Clerics gain their spells from their own faith, not from divine intervention.

But the people of Eberron know what is true as far as their faith is concerned. Never mind that one truth might completely contradict another. The gods' presence in the world is real, although seen in different ways. This book presents religious information through the eyes of believers, often stating as fact events that more properly belong in myth or legend.

And don't get me wrong, this approach is often reflected in the text and when it is it makes Faiths of Eberron D&D's best religion book. But what holds it back from greatness is that this culture-first methodology isn't always followed with a great deal of rigor.

I'm pretty sure the sidebars are meant to be out-of-character and objective, both because they contain mechanics information like a list of cleric domains and because I'm absolutely certain that the followers of the Path of Light do not see themselves as Lawful Neutral. If a cleric gains spells from their own faith, then shouldn't their class mechanics reflect what they believe that they're doing?

An important bit of context I deliberately left out is that followers of the Keeper practice human sacrifice. And I'm sure some of you are screaming at me for wasting everyone's time with this deception, because of course the cult that is trying to bribe the god of death with ritual murders is Neutral Evil, even if they do have a legitimate grievance with the other gods. 

But the Introduction gives more context to that context - namely, no one asked them to do that. It's something they decided to do on their own. The ritual murder isn't something they're doing to appease their dark god, the character of the dark god is whatever it needs to be to justify their ritual murder. And yeah, people don't always choose what to believe, so it's not as cut-and-dried a situation as I'm making it sound, but the general reversal in the direction of causality is something that should change how you talk about these beliefs.

Most people do not think of themselves as evil. Even when they're actively hurting others in undeniable ways, they'll frame it as defending themselves from danger or punishing a crime, which is why you must always be wary of rhetoric that refers to minority populations with the language of contagion or criminality. It often comes from a dominant group trying to talk itself into committing an atrocity. If I were going to create an "evil" religion for a fantasy setting, I'd probably give it a bunch of "good-coded" trappings coupled with rhetoric about cleansing the world of evil, an unaccountable inquisition that enforces orthodoxy as interpreted exclusively by people fanatical enough to join the office of the inquisition, and then have them slot people who don't obey them or conform to their social standards into the category of "evil that must be cleansed." (The Silver Flame only openly does the first two things. The book reassures us that the third doesn't happen . . . much).

For a group to openly and willingly identify as evil . . . well, I'm not saying it doesn't happen. And I'm definitely not saying that we should be as skeptical of their self-assessment as we are of the Fantasy Church of Violent Purification's and assume they're secretly good. It's just, there's probably something deeper and stranger at work there.

The Dark Six are a part of the Sovereign Host's theology. The Nine represent forces or impulses that are believed to strengthen the dominant culture of Khorvaire and the Six represent forces or impulses that are believed to weaken it. The Dark Six exist so that the Sovereign Host can say "this is what we are not." They are antagonists and outsiders, but they are inextricably bound to the pantheon that "exiled" them. Therefor, any open worshippers of the Dark Six must be people who were encultured in the faith of the Sovereign Host and then decided to embrace an identity as antagonists or outsiders. It's the only way their behavior makes any fucking sense.

A group like the cult of the Keeper who are so antagonistic and such outsiders that they kidnap and murder people in the name of their god, they probably don't think of themselves are heroes and maybe don't even believe their violence is justified. And they are definitely not "good from a certain point of view" or any other soft subjectivist nonsense. But that sort of values collapse doesn't just happen for no reason. In the world of Eberron, the likeliest explanation is trauma from the Last War. If the religion you were raised in teaches that the afterlife is little more than a landfill where the leftover life energy of deceased mortal goes to slowly decay, and you'd just witnessed a generations'-long war, where millions have died, come to a tenuous and inconclusive end, then thought of all those beautiful young men and women, spent and wasted so callously by so-called "pillars of the community," only to earn the slow rot of the grave for their sacrifice might fill you with an incalculable rage and grief. Perhaps it will even be great enough for you to shake the hand of the devil himself and offer him anything he asks to spare you and your remaining loved ones the same terrible fate. That might be enough to explain how you became a Neutral Evil priest when it was only ever your personal beliefs that stopped you from being literally anything else.

But the book doesn't really do that. Despite the Introduction, it largely acts as if the gods are real. The behavior of their followers is determined by the character of the god, rather than the character of the god being revealed by the behavior of their followers. 

To the book's credit, this is usually just a starting point though. What makes it a "good but missed opportunity for great" supplement is the way it devotes space to talking about things like casual religious observances, weddings and funerals, calendars, and occasionally even fashion. If it doesn't quite center humanist explanations the way I might prefer, at least it remembers to present religion as culture in addition to all the fantasy nonsense. 

Faiths of Eberron was a late purchase for me, bought for more than was entirely sensible, and only after it became clear that a complete 3.5 collection was in reach. Despite all that, I'm glad I bit the bullet here. It's my favorite Eberron book yet.

Ukss Contribution: This is a book of ideas, and I fucking love ideas. My notes are longer than they've been in a long time, and I barely used any of them (I might not be the most . . . conscientious reviewer out there).

Priests of the Traveler (a Neutral trickster god lumped in with the Dark Six) will perform services in the nude. 

In the description of the Sovereign Host, it takes pains to remind us that "evil people farm the land as well as good," which is just a remarkable line. Fantasy fiction needs more evil farmers. 

The Aereni elves are back with their rainbow sprinkle princess necromancy that they insist is totally different than the Blood of Vol's chocolate sprinkle goth necromancy. 

The warforged followers of the Becoming God (alignment: neutral, presumably because "totally metal" wasn't an option) believe that they must manufacture a body for their god and whenever they find a likely-looking part they take it to a priest who attaches it to their body until such time as they find the lost First Creation Forge where the warforged were born. Experienced priests look like walking junk piles as they carry both the metaphorical and the literal burden of their people's hopes.

And all those things and more delighted me, or intrigued me, or surprised me. But there's one thing above all others that inspired me - The Blood of Vol uses a slightly different calendar than the rest of Khorvaire. One of its important holidays occurs "during Cyra, the thirteenth and 'lost' month of the year."

Later, we learn the (by fantasy standards) mundane explanation for this - the calendar was reformed after Eberron's thirteenth moon vanished from the cosmos with the sealing of the plane of madness - and the Vol calendar is just the regular year divided into thirteen months rather than twelve. But when I first read it, I flipped my fucking shit. A lost month?! What kind of high-grade time-fuckery is this? I'm thinking a month that happens between days, that you can only experience if you fall out of sync with the rest of the world, and which you can't escape until it's over. I have only the vaguest idea about how I'm going to realize this, but I'm excited to try.

(Exalted 3e) Arms of the Chosen

 Arms of the Chosen is one of those rare books where I love everything about it except certain fundamental, load-bearing design decisions so I kind of feel obligated to effusively praise it even as I propose tearing it down to its foundations and rebuilding it from scratch.

Might as well get started, I guess. Step one: explaining the premise of the book. Basically, in Exalted 3rd Edition (aka "the one with a shit load of charms") the most powerful magic items have the ability to grow in power alongside your character, unlocking "Evocations" (aka "a shit load of charms") that allow you to use appropriately themed special moves. Get yourself the Black Jade sword known as "Mistweaver" and at Essence 1 you're calling up fog in your immediate vicinity and at Essence 4, with 5 charm purchases, you're calling up climate-altering cursed mists that blanket regions hundreds of miles across. Broadly speaking, this is both cool and good. I liked it when it was called "thread items" in Earthdawn and when it was called "weapons of legacy" in D&D, and I like it here.

Now to step two: the "but." I like the idea of Evocation trees in the abstract, but scaling a magic item's power to keep pace with a character's power is not so straightforward a task in an exception-based point-buy system where your power stat is less of a strict level mechanic and more of a character advancement chokepoint. Like, to get that deadly megafog from Mistweaver, you have to both be near the apex of character power (having played for at least 40 sessions at the default xp gain rate) and you've got to spend five charms worth of xp (about 10-15 sessions depending on whether you spend general or solar xp, though potentially as few as 6 if you spend both and always get the full bonus). By my most generous estimates, that's 15% of your character advancement resources tied up into this thing, so that you can use your (admittedly impressive) super move once per story. 

On its own, that's a neutral piece of data. Maybe it compares poorly to investing in Solar Stealth or Solar Melee, but you can slow walk it by only buying Evocations with Solar xp, so you're not necessarily facing a huge opportunity cost. The worst thing you can say about it is that it's a lateral move from being a character without an artifact and that you're only getting benefits proportional to your investment, just like you would with any other form of character advancement. And even that's underselling it a bit. Generally speaking, it's better to buy charms than mundane traits, which is why Exalted 3e gives you a second kind of character advancement currency that can't normally be spent on charms. It's a significant advantage that artifacts let you bend the rules by giving you charms that you can buy with your "mundane" budget. 

Where the Evocation system loses the plot is in equating the potential to invest more xp with an increase in item power. The guidelines are Artifact 3: 10 evocations, Artifact 4: 15 evocations, Artifact 5: unlimited evocations. And the book doesn't seem to realize that a longer shopping list is simply a promise to eat up more of your resources, nor that player characters don't actually benefit from higher ceilings they're never going to reach. In fact, you could make an argument that the best artifacts are the ones with short, tight evocation trees that let you access the artifact's gimmick right away and then beeline to its ultimate form with no more than 1 or 2 charm purchases per Essence level. 

From a char-op theorycrafting perspective, the unlimited evocations of Artifact 5 might technically be worthwhile, in the sense that they would allow you to convert 100% of your solar xp into charms, but this is something we can put concrete numbers to because xp progression in Exalted 3e is rather rigorously metered out. You get 5 regular xp per session, and advance Essence level after 10, 15, 15, and 20 sessions respectively. You can also get a maximum of 4 solar xp every time you gain regular xp. So the optimal evocation progression is one that lets you spend 40 solar xp on Essence 1 evocations, 60 each on Essence 2 and 3, 80 on Essence 4, and then unlimited on Essence 5. In other words, the theoretical maximum number of useful evocations is 24 at Essence ratings 1-4, plus one for every 2.5 sessions your game endures at Essence 5. Except that you're probably not going to get the full solar xp bonus every time, and even with the potential for evocations you're probably still going to want a few dots of mundane traits to meet charm prerequisites and round out character weaknesses, and your year-long Essence 5 game is probably not going to last too much longer than 65-75 sessions. So it's entirely reasonable to cut that maximum in half and still be pretty close to optimal. That's 12 evocations at Essence 1-4 and 2-3 at Essence 5. In other words, an Artifact 4. 

But what's especially funny is that while Artifact 3 doesn't quite get you to the theoretical ceiling and Artifact 5 is likely to never need its excess capacity, the structure of the game is such that you don't even need to have your full ceiling in the form of a single artifact. You are practically guaranteed the opportunity to loot evocation-capable equipment from enemy Exalted and are only slightly less likely to get artifacts from dungeon-crawling, crafting, or bargains with terrible inhuman powers. Just the simple, nearly inevitable combination of a rating 3 artifact weapon and rating 3 artifact armor gives you a maximum of 20 evocations, which blows right past the practical limit and comes pretty close to the hard limit. 

Which is to say, I think all artifacts should allow for unlimited evocations. If a player is really going to go all-in on investing in the Distaff or the Heaven and Earth Gauntlets, I say that's a gift to the group more than anything else. The absolute "worst" case scenario is that they somehow get two artifacts' worth of evocations while only carrying around one artifact. And honestly, that's better, both from a gameplay perspective (see: D&D's "golfbag of weapons") and from the perspective of the essential genre fantasy that evocations were meant to enable - a legendary hero whose signature weapon is so iconic that it becomes a legend in its own right. If a player character is going to invest more than 100xp into the giant paintbrush with bristles so sharp it acts like a magical spear, well maybe that thing deserves a brevet promotion to a higher artifact level. It's not even lore incompatible. If an Exalted smith can coax magic from metal by incorporating essence into the forging, who's to say that's a process that has to end when the metal cools. Maybe artifacts are built with a certain inherent potential, but that potential can be expanded by channeling boatloads of essence into them every day for years at a time.

All I know is that on a practical level, a cap that is never reached is not a real limitation and a cap that is reached is a powerful message about player preferences, so I'm not sure what purpose the evocation limit even serves. But that's something to contemplate in step 4. Step three is "put another slice of wholesome bread on this compliment sandwich because I'm starting to sound misleadingly negative."

Almost all the artifacts in this book are really fucking cool. And I'm only saying "almost" as a hedge. I can't actually think of any examples I disliked. You can get something called a "razor parasol" and the example here is Rainwalker, which lets you mitigate falling damage and banish rainclouds, up to and including malevolent sorcerous weather like the Rain of Doom spell. There's a suit of armor that lets you cosplay as a demon. You can walk around hell, and the demons will be like, "oh, there goes Sozen, the famous demon who definitely really exists and is not just a demon-sona made up by some long-dead artisan and snuck into hell's census by a corrupt apostate priest." If people try to read your mind, they'll just learn the hypothetical demon's hypothetical thoughts instead. Oh, and then the last item in the book is a warstrider (magitech mech suit) that is not even trying to hide the fact that it's a bootleg Eva Unit-01. Magic item books in general are a great format. Exalted's magic item books have always had an appealing audacity besides. And Arms of the Chosen is worthy example of both.

Which is why step 4 - complaining about the mechanics some more - is going to be so painful. I talked a lot about scaling and reaching evocation caps, but 3rd edition artifacts have some much more immediate problems, the biggest and most easily dismissible of which is that the evocation trees in the book are not meant to be canonical. Theoretically, each and every wielder of a particular item is supposed to create their own custom tree based on their personal relationship with the item. Nobody actually wants this and nobody is going to do it, but it's only a problem conceptually because the ideal form of a 3e artifact is a charm tree 4-7 charms long that expresses a growing escalation of the item's basic schtick . . . and the published items mostly deliver that. A few of the example evocations have solar charms as prerequisites, and I don't love that as a mechanic, but I paid closer attention to them this readthrough and I didn't notice any solar charms acting as bottlenecks to an artifact's most iconic powers (for example, non-solars can access Mistweaver's deadly fog just fine, despite one of the evocations giving solar melee charms the mute keyword), so the book is only slightly less useful to other exalts. I'd much rather have a set suite of core functions and then the narrative permission to customize further, but since this is easy as hell to houserule ("no, you don't have to create your own evocations, you can just use the ones in the book"), the problem is more of chimera than a serious flaw.

The main thing that I'd call a problem in the pragmatic sense is the fact that evocations are Essence-gated. This is something that kind of works narratively, and has a practical justification in terms of gameplay, but which I really don't like as a genre element. 

Narratively, you could argue that while artifacts, broadly speaking, "do things," they don't necessarily do those things on their own. They could require a source of power. Hook your fog generator to a weak battery, get a cloud that spreads out a few dozen feet. Hook it to a big honking battery and you can spread a fog out a hundred miles and make it last indefinitely. And when it comes to characters in the Exalted universe, their "battery," so to speak, is their Essence rating. This makes sense and while artifacts have traditionally been powered by motes, making the permanent Essence rating more of a soft limit than a hard one, it's an element that's been in the series since the beginning. A daiklave in the hands of an attuned wielder is a majestic and terrible weapon and in the hands of a regular person it is nothing more than an extremely inconvenient slab of inert metal.

With the gameplay, it's even simpler. Character powers in general get stronger as the characters rise in Essence rating. If Artifact powers were not gated behind Essence rating, then you could potentially have a starting character tossing around effects better suited for an Essence 5 game.

The problem with both these points, though, is that they're kind of bullshit. As far as gameplay is concerned - well, this is Exalted. Starting characters tossing around haxxor super powers is, like, right in its wheelhouse. Previous editions let you start at Essence 4 (at the cost of nerfing your character in other significant ways) and even though 3e is the first to make you start at Essence 1, it also gives solar, abyssal, and infernal exalted a special mechanic to access Essence 5 effects as a starting character. So, like, I don't think it's terrible for the game's balance if a callow young Dragon-Blooded is able to take up their family's ancestral blade and test its top evocations against a solar's supernal melee. In fact, I think it's pretty badass. Sure, the kid is only a threat because of an item they carry, but this thing has been passed down for generations, it's okay if it lives up to the hype.

Which leads into the bullshit part of the narrative. Magic items are a form of technology and technology, even in fantasy fiction, is supposed to be a bit of an equalizer. It can take skill and knowledge and generalized "power" to wield to its utmost potential, but it should also be something you want to keep out of the hands of novices, lest they gain terrible power without the wisdom or experience to use it safely.

Ideally, a magic item should probably be like a real world tank. You take someone like me and put me up against an experienced tank driver in a tank v tank battle, I'm going to get absolutely destroyed, with no reasonable chance of victory. However, it is likely possible to teach me enough about tank operations in a shockingly short amount of time for me to pose a terrible danger to anyone not fortunate enough to be hiding behind anti-tank armor. I think evocations, conceptually, are a good way to model this, but by gating the big effects behind a high essence rating, you're backloading the good stuff to an undesirable degree.

Imagine - big news! A Scavenger Lord's dilettante child came back from a dig bearing the infamous devil blade, Gorgon, which has been known to consume souls and turn whole armies to stone with its baleful gaze. Oh, no, now they're waving it around carelessly, shaking it ominously at passersby. Not to worry, though, they're not an Essence 5 exalt, so the worst thing that can happen is the creepy eye on the side might open all the way.

Kind of a bummer, and not very thematic. Though the real issue is that this sick-ass blade has a really cool iconic power and your players aren't going to see it for sixty sessions, minimum. It's all very "when will we get to the fireworks factory?" I think there's room to do better here.

It's an issue that sort of dovetails with the other big mechanic I don't really care for - material resonance. Basically, it's an important bit of lore that each Exalted type has its own signature magical material and that when an exalt uses an artifact made of their signature material, they get an extra boost. Fair enough. And it is something that contributes a lot to the game's look and feel. Except that they decided, not unreasonably, that material resonance put characters into pigeonholes and cut them off from too many mechanical and aesthetic options (it also doesn't help the setting when you can look at someone holding an orichalcum sword and safely assume they're a solar exalted, because that means solar PCs are also effectively cut off from their own signature material, at least until they're powerful enough to openly defy the wyld hunt). 

But then, instead of just getting rid of resonance as something with mechanical weight, they decided to expand it by creating three states of material resonance - full resonance, neutral resonance and dissonance, and instead of downplaying the difference between these states, they made them even more important by giving evocations the "dissonant" and "resonant" keywords. And the dissonant keyword is so bad that you'd almost never take a dissonant artifact in preference to a neutral one and the resonant keyword is so good that you'd almost never take a neutral artifact in preference to a resonant one. 

I think the intent was to create a system similar to the divisions between circles of sorcery or levels of martial arts initiation, except that it completely messes up the incentives. The point is that terrestrial martial arts and spells compare favorably to terrestrial charms, celestial martial arts and spells compare favorably to celestial charms, and sidereal martial arts and solar circle spells compare favorably to solar charms. The limit of what you could access was tied to your exalt type, so that martial artists and sorcerers have options that won't unduly diminish or enhance their overall effectiveness. The resonance/dissonance split creates a similar tiered structure, except that dissonant evocations compare unfavorably to resonant evocations . . . which are mechanically identical to acquire. 

So you've got some weird outcomes where you can put a dissonant tag on a starmetal item's evocations and this only applies to liminal and (some) exigent exalted, and even then only to the ones who deliberately chose to pick the worst possible item and then invest dozens of xp into it. It's the most thoroughly useless keyword imaginable, because the only time it's ever going to apply is when a player is engaged in behavior I absolutely do not want to punish.

I figure the solution to the resonance problem and the solution to the backloading of cool powers is one and the same - replace Essence gating with a more free-form "Harmony rating" where you basically meet an item's prerequisites by checking boxes off a list - maybe there's an intimacy you can have at major/defining, a particular type of hearthstone you can socket in the item, a regular sacrifice or ritual you have to perform, or a particular deed you have to accomplish. And maybe, if your exalt type is resonant with the material, you get a little boost to your harmony score and if it's dissonant, maybe you have to buy off the penalty with an extra task, but it's all role-playing so the only real penalty to wielding a "dissonant" weapon is that you have to make it a larger part of your character's personality (which is presumably what you wanted to do when you made such an unconventional choice in the first place).

I don't know, I'm just spitballing here. I think I've gone on for too long and should move quickly to step five - closing up the compliment sandwich.

I like this book a lot. For all my complaints, it really delivers when it comes to making magic items feel like a big deal. I could see myself unironically shouting, "Holy shit! You got Stormcaller!" which isn't necessarily something I could do in previous editions. All that stuff I was talking about before are just things I might conceivably do when I inevitably write a guerilla 4th edition after the game goes on a long hiatus. For now, I respect that they tried something new and will always remember Arms of the Chosen as one of the highlights of 3rd edition.

Ukss Contribution: Another situation where I'm spoiled for choice. I liked pretty much every artifact and loved a significant portion of them - Flying Silver Dream, the sword that fights for you, the weaponized umbrella, at least three different heavy metal swords. It's almost too much.

If I have to pick just one, though, I think it will be Asphodel, the magical mace that houses the ghost of an ancient sorcerer and the ephemeral kingdom he rules. With the right evocations, you can pop in for a little visit, banish your enemies to ghost prison, and even borrow the undead sorcerer king's treasures and servants. It's like having a friendly neighbor and vacation hideaway that you carry with you at all times. Plus, the politics and metaphysics of this thing are fascinating.

(Eberron 3.5) Secrets of Xen'drik

My first order of business before writing about Secrets of Xen'drik (Keith Baker, Jason Bulmahn, Amber Scott) is determining exactly how many secrets Xen'drik actually has. Because by my least generous count, it's only one and the book should really be called "Secret of Xen'drik." 

Although, to be fair, it's entirely possible that I'm just being an asshole and my standards for what qualifies as a "secret" are way too high. Sure, there's no way that the layout of the city of Stormreach is a secret, but you could probably argue that the death giant Prokres doesn't want to advertise his scheme to reassemble the Shard of Arcane Endowment to all and sundry. However, stuff like that is only really a secret in the context of the setting. I kind of feel like the title of the book is something directed at me, the real-world human reading the book, and thus for something to be a "secret" of Xen'drik, it can't just be new information about Xen'drik that I'm learning for the first time, it has to be something that the creators of Eberron already knew before this book was written and just deliberately decided not to reveal until now. And of the stuff I learned about Xen'drik from this book, only one fact rose to a level of "surprising but fundamental backstory" that makes me consider deploying a spoiler warning before discussing it here.

SPOILER WARNING (it's not going to be blocked because I'm going to have to talk about it for a considerable length of time, so this is your last chance at turning back if you're invested in being surprised by Eberron canon):

The very first warforged were created by the quori of a previous age, to use as a weapon against the giant civilization of Xen'drik c. 40,000 ya.

Whoa.

Okay, if you really parse it down, that's actually two secrets in one, because we're also getting the first explicit talk about the cyclic nature of Dal Quor and how each turning of a Dal Quor age sort of "resets" the quori and changes the nature of their existence, with the previous age being centered around "The Dreaming Heart" instead of "The Dreaming Dark." But I'd argue that's less a secret of Xen'drik and more a secret of Dal Quor that just happens to be relevant to a secret of Xen'drik. So really, the title of the book should be "A Secret of Xen'drik and a Secret in Xen'drik and Also Some Useful Information About Xen'Drik for DMs Who Want to Run Games There, Some of Which They May Wish to Keep Secret from Players, but Which Won't Actually be All That Surprising to People Reading the Books for Pleasure 20 Years from Now."

I could just be overthinking it, though. "Secrets" is a fair enough substitute for "information" in casual usage that the title of the book doesn't actually feel like a lie. If I make too big a deal of it, it's just going to look I'm hamming it up for content. . . 

(You're welcome.)

Anyway, about that secret. I'm of two minds about it. On the one hand, I really, really like that a dangling lore question got a canonical answer. Previous books were oh so coy with their "Merrix d'Cannith claimed to have invented the warforged, but ruins in Xen'drik suggest that something very much like the warforged existed for far longer than the people of Khorvaire believe" so it's both surprising and welcome to get a definitive who, when, and why for this. I understand why rpgs do it, but I always find "the real answer is whatever works best for your game" to be an unsatisfying way to fill these lacunae.

On the other hand, thematically, it's kind of a frustrating reveal. I'd have greatly preferred it if the warforged were a novel invention of the Last War. Because that would have been a genuinely post-medieval story. New inventions leading to new weapons and tactics, with unprecedented destructive potential. Are humanity's knowledge and power growing faster than their wisdom? Yeah, you can do a story that's post-medieval by way of post-apocalyptic and frame it as "humanity reinventing a technology that helped destroy a previous civilization that once thought of itself as powerful, and it appears that they're making all the same mistakes." But that's a 20th century theme, and for Eberron I'd really prefer a 19th century theme. 

My real diagnosis is that it's just D&D's genre conservatism sneaking in. If you've got something that looks like advanced technology, it's okay only so long as it is the salvaged legacy of a forgotten golden age. People in laboratories, learning things about nature, and then writing papers about what they learned so engineers can make new inventions based on the papers . . . that's out of bounds. Because nostalgia over a lost past is a fantasy vibe, and abandoning the past for the temptation of the new is a science-fiction vibe. 

DAMNIT, WIZARDS OF THE COAST, LET ME PLAY A KOBOLD THAT EXPERIENCES MODERNIST MORAL VERTIGO! Is that really too much to ask?

I have to hope that it isn't, because there is one type of post-medieval story that Eberron seems eager to tell, and it turns out to be kind of uncomfortable when divorced from any potential discussion of technological and scientific hubris - the story of a powerful culture sending its dangerous fuck-ups into the territory of a less powerful culture whereupon they proceed to fuck shit up for the glory of capitalism. 

There's a new creature called a Dream Serpent, whose scales and fangs are valuable commodities. One of the sample adventures has an NPC sending you to the Dream Serpent nesting grounds, to bring back said commodities (via more or less indiscriminate slaughter). And one of the obstacles you might face on this mission is a run in with the native Drow or Yuan-ti (depending on the party level) who are violently upset that you ignored the clearly posted sign that said (actual quote) "the ground beyond is holy . . . trespassers will be punished severely."

So, in the real world, we have a term for the activities described in this adventure. It's "the crime of poaching." And we have a term for what the natives are doing when they attack the PCs. It's "enforcing the law against poaching." Yet the PCs will most likely end the adventure keeping the skins and getting paid. There's, like, a good ending where they had the ecological foresight not to kill the young snakes and they're able to negotiate ex post facto with the Drow whose permission they neglected to secure and they get away scott free. And there's a medium bad ending where they kill the hunters sent out to punish them and get away scott free. (The bad bad ending of a law enforcement TPK is only implicit in the structure of the game itself). And in precisely none of these does the book seem at all aware that it's telling a story where the villains win.

I can't say for sure that this sort of story would come off better if the warforged were initially created in a Cannith laboratory. The two subjects aren't technically related, after all. However, my gut tells me that you don't tell the technological story unless you're consciously building a 19th century world, and if you're consciously building a 19th century world, you're going to tell the poaching story much more carefully than you would if you're just building a medieval fantasy world where some magic replicates certain 19th century technologies. Hunting a rare monster for personal financial gain feels very different if you're a peasant trespassing in the king's game reserve than if you're a mercenary tourist fleeing fantasy-WW1 for fantasy Africa. 

I really enjoy a certain semi-canonical interpretation of Eberron, but I do not enjoy the way Eberron tries to have it both ways. Humanist enough to treat lycanthropy as a disease worthy of compassion, not quite humanist enough to examine the colonialist hypocrisy of rampantly plundering a continent's natural resources simply because the natives regard them as merely "holy" instead of "valuable" or "critically endangered." I'd tell them to pick a lane, but I don't entirely trust them to pick the right one. So I'll say instead that they should get in the lane I picked out for them - fantasy that reflects the growing complexities of a world fitfully transitioning to modernism and is self-aware enough to question whether certain historical bad behaviors were truly inevitable. The thing that draws me to the series are the occasional glimpses that they might eventually get there. I just have to ignore my common sense intuition when it tells me there's not enough of the series left for them to stick the landing.

Ukss Contribution: There's a lot of good stuff here. Like, I can't deny that there's an element of orientalist exoticism going on with the game's presentation of the "continent of mystery," but one of the frustrating things about D&D is that orientalism is one of the few consistent ways to get the game to pull the stick out of its ass. Stormreach is a city that seems tiny in scale because it's built inside the ruins of a giant city. There's a bird who has magical properties because it feeds on magical flowers. One of the sample maps has you swimming through phosphorescent algae. These are all things that could fit effortlessly into a "standard medieval fantasy" setting, but don't because the authors rarely give themselves that sort of license to invent. 

My favorite example of this - lizard folk who fly around in hang gliders. The book makes it a point to mention that they are "primitive hang gliders" and the lizard folk are using them to attack "civilized settlements" (because of the aforementioned orientalism), but I find myself in a position to be considerably more chill about it. Glide away, you beautiful lizard people, Ukss will be waiting for you when you land!

(Exalted 3e) Miracles of the Divine Flame

 Okay, I think we finally have enough information to officially call it: The Exigent Exalted are an untenable character type. I know, I know, devastating news, but we have to face facts. Miracles of the Divine Flame was as good an Exigents supplement as anyone is ever going to make (maybe even as good an Exigents supplement as it's realistically possible to make) and it did nothing but exacerbate the fundamental problems with the splat.

Which is to say Exigents: Out of the Ashes gave us a 400-page book that allowed us to play 8 distinct characters, its crowdfunded stretch goal gave us 200 more pages that allowed us to play 8 different distinct characters, and my main take-away from both is that it would be both super cool and super onerous to play a 17th distinct character. 

The new characters are amazing. Play the Foxbinder and you're in this magical buddy cop story. You can ride a giant fox! He can turn into a sword, or a hat, or switch places with you to confuse your enemies. He's also a naughty little scamp who will take advantage of your lapses in concentration to play pranks on you. It's wholesome. It's whimsical. It's funny. It's an eloquent demonstration of the strengths of asymmetrical, exception-based splat design. 

It's also an eloquent reminder that you're never going to fucking homebrew this stuff, who the fuck do you think you're kidding with that shit? I mean, each of the new Exigents had between 40-50 charms, which is on the far side of realistic, and enough to get you up to a 280xp game, even assuming you spent your xp on nothing but favored charms. That's more than a year of weekly sessions. You could pace yourself. Whip up the first 15 charms prior to session 0, then three more every five weeks. It's not like a full-time job or anything.

But that's not how these things work. You don't build a character around the selection of your first 15 charms. You select your first 15 charms based on your plans for your character. The stuff deeper into the charm tree is the bait on the hook. Nobody's salivating over the phenomenal cosmic power of getting double 9s on a persuade roll that cites a popular aphorism, they're looking forward to the day when they can scribe magical laws on floating scrolls of fire that will burn alive any who transgress against them. This sense of charm sets as, basically . . . shopping lists, that's important. In fact, it's the whole point of the exercise.

So you could probably get away with just writing the first 15 charms, but you couldn't do it without the idea of the shopping list. If you're going to be excited about the character (and you should, it leads to better games), then you're going to have to be excited about the charms you plan to write. It's dangerously close to a circular problem. You can avoid writing a whole charm set by just writing the beginning, but in order to write the beginning, you have to know how it's going to end. And it would be a lot easier to know how it will end if you actually wrote the ending. But if you write the ending, then you haven't actually saved yourself all that much time.

It's not necessarily an intractable problem, but it's something that could benefit greatly from the sort of high level design work that doesn't always come easy. The Chosen of Plentimon, God of Dice gets a cool ability called the "Fortune Pool," where they skim off extra successes from easy rolls to add them back into hard rolls and a lot of their charmset involves expanding the Fortune Pool, coming up with new uses for the reserved dice, and eventually doing tricky stuff like saving failed dice to add to your enemies' rolls. That's a whole-ass vision. It's taking the idea of splat asymmetry and using it to experiment with storyteller system mechanics. Which is wholly great, sure, but it sets a high bar if I ever want to make an Exigent of Iphira, Goddess of Fermented Apples. 

Which is why I've come to the reluctant conclusion that Exigents are untenable. They're a splat powered by the optimistic assumption that the fandom's energy and passion is effectively infinite. I absolutely want to play as Pakpao the puppeteer or Tamako the Foxbinder or, honestly, any of the completed (or mostly completed) Exigents, but the cost/benefit split for literally any of the unrealized options (even the really strong contenders like Five Days Darkness or Madame Marthesine) is simply not there. At least not for me, and I'm about as passionate about Exalted as it's possible to get.

So I guess, overall, I'd say that Miracles of the Divine Flame is a really good book, almost pure value from cover to cover and arguably the most essential of the crowdfunded stretch goal books. The fact that it's the book's high quality that winds up arguing most persuasively against Exigents as a general idea is a fascinating artistic paradox.

Ukss Contribution: Surprise! My favorite thing was Pakpao again! She gets a charm where her shadow swallows up an enemy, chokes them to death, and then spits out a puppet that looks a lot like them.

Unfortunately, I have no idea how Ukss will ever be able to handle double Pakpao, so I have to go with my second choice (which sort of resembles Pakpao's whole deal, but only coincidentally) - the patron deity of the Thousand Venoms Mistress, Whirling Lady Koro-Bana, Goddess of Self-Made Widows.

I don't know what it is, but the phrase "self-made widow" tickles me greatly. It's fun to imagine they have their own goddess.

(Eberron 3.5) Voyage of the Golden Dragon

 Voyage of the Golden Dragon (Nicolas Logue) is a short collection of 4 adventures that all revolve around the titular "Golden Dragon," Khorvaire's largest airship, originally meant for the Breland military, but auctioned off to a private company after the war, who turned it into a luxury cruise ship.

With the caveat that each adventure is incredibly short (maybe 6-8 linear encounters), it's a good cross-section of what you might do with a luxury cruise ship in a "post medieval, pulp-inspired, but not really (::wink::) world." There's a fancy gala event that gets taken over by terrorist infiltrators who want to hold the rich folk for ransom. There's necromancy-enhanced political intrigue between two of its high-status passengers. There's a shoreside adventure with an obnoxious explorer type. And there's an aerial attack from an implacable foe.

It's all pretty utilitarian. The book has a singular mission - get you to use the hell out of that damned airship - and it pursues that mission with maximum efficiency. And if that seems like a pretty bland thing for me to say about a series of fantasy adventures, consider it merely an artifact of the book's format. None of the adventures last long enough to do anything super cool, but they also don't leave themselves enough time to notably screw things up. They just work.

I guess it was a little . . . sketchy that the description of the ship's onboard casino took pains to tell us that, "Goblins in green-tailed surcoats scamper about, bringing patrons their beverages and exchanging their currency." It's probably nothing. But racial homogeneity among a luxury casino's serving staff strikes me as . . . a trope.

But that's literally just one sentence, and I'm probably only paying attention to it because there's so little else to talk about. The kitchen is powered by fire elementals. That's pretty neat. Of the eight named crew (though more, like the goblins, are implied to be aboard), two of them are spies for the Brelish crown, which is pretty funny. There's a canonical sexual relationship between a halfling and an elf. 

Overall, I guess it's just a decent location, with some decent NPCs, that is the subject of some decent adventures. Score one for basic competence.

Ukss Contribution: The first two adventures feature a reoccurring villain, Paldrith Malinko, a wealthy and powerful pirate prince who wants to destroy the Golden Dragon because it is slightly larger than his own still-under-construction flagship. That's impressively petty. I'm trying to avoid putting airships specifically into Ukss (because I got the idea that more fantasy worlds need to have actual airplanes, and because I think the early-20th-century vibe planes bring is interestingly different from the steampunk aesthetics of airships), but the same plot should work equally well with naval vessels.

(Exalted 3e) Miracles of the Solar Exalted

 Miracles of the Solar Exalted (John Mørke) is a nothing of a book, just 40 pages of backer charms from the Exalted 3rd Edition kickstarter. Some are good. Some will be repeated in the Abyssals book. Some are over-designed. The usual fare. If you like Exalted, you'll like this probably. 

I did have to laugh at some of the niche charms, included to round out the charm trees (or just because Mr. Mørke had a particular itch he needed to scratch). Like the Performance charm that lets an actor infer the entirety of their character's script based only on a few lines of dialogue. How many times in the developers' home games are they asking players to make a "script remembering" roll? When would this even come in handy? How is this an Essence 3 effect worth 8-10xp and 5 committed motes? Even in an unusual situation like a campaign that's a hard-core simulation set backstage at a theater troupe, well, you've just created a charm that completely bypasses the systems you presumably invented specifically for this situation. Also, your story hinges on a character getting up on stage and flawlessly performing a part for which they were unable to rehearse? By the rules of drama, that's a once-a-story event at best. Repeat the trick and suddenly it's not "Oh, wow, they're so great! They're able to fill in for the second understudy with no preparation whatsoever," but rather, "Damn that bastard! They never show up for rehearsals, I've never even seen them read a script, but somehow their lazy ass never suffers consequences. They always nail their performances, even when the rest of us are left pulling our hair out stressing about their lack of preparation." And I'm not saying that this couldn't be a compelling Solar Exalted character concept. Just that if you're making that character, it would make more sense mechanically for Divinely-Inspired Performance to be a permanent charm with no cost.

That's just a nitpick, though. If anything, the lazy actor build is inspirational in the best weird-char-op tradition. The only part of Miracles of the Solar Exalted that bothered me was the Apocryphal keyword. The short version - it has no mechanical meaning, it's only present to let us, the readers, know that a particular charm is non-canonical.

There are things in rpgs that are objectively worse, from a moral perspective, so I should definitely try to keep my annoyance in perspective, but this is just such a chickenshit move. You solicited money from these people on the premise that they would be able to leave their mark on Exalted by creating a custom charm . . . so compromise your fucking vision, okay?! I mean, the whole point of collaborative creation is that you surrender total control in exchange for the beauty (and yeah, sometimes, the cringe) of the unexpected. You invited randos from the internet with more money than sense (and/or the Exalted obsession that made this a sensible financial transaction) to become part of the process, so let them be part of the process. Because of your choice of stretch goals, Creation is now a weirder, wilder place where Solar and Lunar exalted can merge into a composite being and legendary warriors can wade shirtlessly into battle. Deal with it.

I don't know. Maybe I'm making too big a deal out of this. It just doesn't sit right with me. It's like he invented the keyword to say "I, John Mørke, am willing to perform mercenary design work to the client's specifications, but let it be known that I, John Mørke, in my role as developer, do not personally sanction these decisions." I guess I feel like maybe Exalted is a little bit more resilient than that.

Later books in the line would take to bundling these backer charms in with the campaign's stretch goals to make one larger supplement. That's probably a superior approach (and would likely have saved the core book, in particular, a whole lot of trouble, to the extent of changing the direction of 3rd edition's development as a whole). As it stands, Miracles of the Solar Exalted was just a somewhat useful, but utterly forgettable book. There's only one reason to consult it (you want more choices for your solar's charms), but that reason is hardly a compelling one (the corebook has a lot of fucking charms).

Overall, I approve, but only on the balance, and probably only because I'm a soft touch for all things Exalted.

Ukss Contribution: It wasn't an intended rules outcome, but setting is a bit thin on the ground and I'm a bit salty about the Apocryphal keyword still, so I'm going with the "impossibly lazy, but infuriatingly talented actor" that is implied to exist by a strict reading of the mechanics of Divinely-Inspired Performance. I think they'd be fun as both a quest giver and a macguffin.

(Eberron 3.5) Player's Guide to Eberron

 The Player's Guide to Eberron (James Wyatt, Keith Baker, Luke Johnson, Stan!) has the sort of format that paradoxically either makes me read really fast or makes me read really slow. It's divided into a series of encyclopedia-like entries that are all some precise multiple of two pages long. So I can either finish a section quickly and say to myself "this seems like a natural stopping point, I'll just take a little break" (followed by four hours of video games) or I can finish a section quickly and say, "wow, that was easy, I'll just do another one right away." There's no middle ground between these two reactions, but each one is equally likely.

The real tie-breaker in these situations is how interesting I find the subject matter. And in this case, I found the subject matter very interesting indeed . . . but like 85% of it I've already seen before. This book calls itself a "player's guide," but it's not clear to what end it's meant to guide players towards. Like, maybe it's just the case that players empirically don't read core books (let alone supplements) so they tried to manifest a similar outcome by giving a player-oriented title to a condensed lore compendium. The same thing happened in Planescape with the Planeswalker's Handbook. 

Also, frustratingly, like the Planeswalker's Handbook, the Player's Guide to Eberron is probably the best entry point into the series. It's a broad cross-section of things you need to know about the world of Eberron, but just enough that you can pluck each individual topic out of context and be done with it in a couple of minutes. You want to play a warforged, you turn to the "warforged" section near the end (they're arranged alphabetically, like an encyclopedia) and you get a bit of information from the main campaign book, a bit of information from Races of Eberron, and maybe a very little bit of information from the adventures and it's all very functional. But it doesn't actually tell you how to build a warforged character, and only offers two extra feats, so you still actually need the main book. I guess that means that the Player's Guide to Eberron is meant for people who have all the other books . . . but don't read them?

This is not as off-the-wall a theory as you might suppose. There is some novel information here - three new prestige classes, a bunch of new feats, a couple of new organizations - but the bulk of the stuff that expands the actual Eberron setting comes in the form of references to things you'd originally find in various non-Eberron D&D supplements. Want to know how to play a xeph or a raptoran? How to incorporate Magic of the Incarnum into the setting? There's a sidebar for that. I've heard it said that "if it exists in D&D, it has a place in Eberron" and this book here is the proof that they at least put some thought into fulfilling that promise. Most of these little cameos feel like an afterthought, but afterthoughts are a kind of thought, so I think it's fair to say that Eberron has earned the right to call itself a kitchen-sink setting. 

I wouldn't necessarily call it a satisfying sort of kitchen-sink worldbuilding, however. It's very uneven in the degree to which all of these disparate elements are given something significant and cool to do. Incarnum magic is largely confined to The Island Where They Do Incarnum, the thri-kreen "wander the wastes, though they are hardly numerous," and yeah, it turns out that the various nations of Khorvaire have militant philosophical organizations that resemble the Samurai class. On the other hand, the Elan get a cool new backstory (they are living prisons that trap quori spirits deemed criminal by the Dreaming Dark - the spirits are forced to possess the body, but bound to have no control over its actions, and the composite creature is an ageless, psionically-active being with no memory of its previous life), the shujenja class represents the priests of a dragon-worshipping religion, and swashbucklers are so integrated into the themes and aesthetics of the setting that they're barely worthy of comment (in a good way).

I'm in the unusual, though likely not unprecedented position of having read every Eberron book published thus far and most of mainline D&D books being referenced in the sidebars. I've got very close to maximum context (somewhere between 92% and 95%, I'd say) and what the Player's Guide to Everron feels like to me is a bunch of old-hat information sprinkled through with trifling little tidbits. On the one hand, I'm not necessarily opposed to the old hat per se, and I absolutely live for little tidbits, but on the other hand I'm hard-pressed to imagine a significant use for this thing. A book where they went through all of 3.X edition's obscure sourcebook and gave me a paragraph of canonical Eberron backstory for every random prestige class and monster with an Int score would likely be one of my all-time favorite rpg supplements (period), but wedding a partial implementation of that idea to a rather unambitious recap of Eberron as it stood in January of 2006. . . well it commits the cardinal sin of kitchen-sink worldbuilding: it doesn't make space for the new material by making the world feel bigger. Rather, the boundaries of Eberron feel very similar to what was established in the main campaign book, and it's just the margins that feel a little bit more crowded.

I have a certain experience with this very tension in the world of Ukss. It's easy to just keep adding new stuff without any regard for what has come before, and at the start it can feel like an expansive bigness, but if you don't make the effort to fit the pieces together, the whole thing can become so expansive that it loses coherence. New elements can't just be for the gaps, because that's making the new stuff subordinate to the old, but if you're always making room for the new elements, that's just the same problem seen from the other side. You need both an openness to expanding the horizons of the possible and a dedication to finding connections between your ideas and fitting them all into a single context. That's hard enough when you're scrupulously curating everything to go into the melting pot. I shudder to think of how it might feel to just inherit all of D&D's vast and sprawling canon all at once (oh, the writers of Races of the Wild thought it'd be cute to have catfolk . . . they can live in the jungles of Xen'drik, I guess).

Overall, I'd say that I have no strong feelings one way or another about the Player's Guide to Eberron. I like Eberron as a whole . . . and this is certainly Eberron, all right.

Ukss Contribution: One of the critical pieces of technology in the world of Eberron is Khyber dragonshards. Arcanists use these crystals to bind elemental spirits into the locomotive systems of airships and rail carts and a bunch of other useful items. These crystals are found, naturally occurring, in the vast system of caves that is Eberron's equivalent to the Underdark. 

The Ukss contribution for this book is a weird bit of trivia about these Kyber crystal deposits - that sometimes they will randomly ensnare passing demons. Obviously, this is mainly meant as a cool hazard for dungeon-delving adventurers, but I can't help looking at this phenomenon from the perspective of the demons. A slight, but not insignificant danger to wandering around underground is that you might get trapped in some bullshit rock. I find the cultural implications to be fascinating.

(Exalted 3e) Deeds Yet Undone

 Oh, wow, an Exalted adventure book that isn't a jumpstart . . . but does somehow recapitulate the jumpstart adventures' worst quality by putting three of them into a 64 page book. . .

Wait, am I just outright saying that Deeds Yet Undone would have been better if it was three times as long . . . 

I mean, yeah, probably. 

It's a tricky thing, because quality isn't strictly a function of length. If that were the case, then Ukss Plus would be one of the greatest rpgs ever made (instead of merely being, like, in the top 10% or so). However, one of the dangers of working with such tight page counts is that you'll leave out important (possibly even vital) information.

Take the city of Kiliran, for example. It's a completely new location, never before covered (or even mentioned) in one of Exalted's myriad setting books, but its pitch is so good that it immediately feels like it could have been part of Creation since the very beginning -  "Kiliran, upon the edge of the wheel of creation, the farthest mortal port." This is both something that would logically exist in the world and an exceptional bit of rpg utility. You'd pretty much want to use it in exactly the same way as the adventure - as a staging point for naval expeditions into the vast and endless sea that contains indescribable mysteries from the chaos that preceded Creation.

Paradoxically, it is the very strength of Kiliran's pitch that makes its presentation in the book so weak. This lonely place, this last, fragile resting point before the literal end of the world, it's going to be something with immense cultural, political, and mythic significance to the entire world. It is somewhere that would inevitably be celebrated, romanticized, and objectified by people thousands of miles away. So, naturally, you give it two and a half paragraphs, most of which are pretty vague (oh, this sea port has "a district wherein bowls of noodles and fried rice are sold to the local sailors" - I never would have guessed).

That's not a matter of design or writing skill, it's a matter of curation. The main thing a more thorough description of Kiliran would accomplish is to set the stage for all the countless different adventures that did not involve leaving town at the first opportunity. There's a world where "The Thousand Milk-Churning Strikes" gets a 64-page book all to itself, and in that book Kiliran takes up an entire chapter with its own mini-supplement, and maybe it's a beautiful world. It might even be a better world, but it's not the world we live in.

That's not necessarily a complaint. It's unreasonable for me to ask for the deep structural changes needed to make this book into a full adventure/mini supplement instead of a sampler pack of adventure seeds offered as a crowdfunding stretch goal. However, it does make me question exactly how useful a sampler pack of adventure seeds really is.

I guess the main strength of Deeds Yet Undone is that it offers a pretty persuasive cross-section of iconic Exalted plots - a dungeon crawl/creature of the week mystery that could easily be adapted to (high level) D&D, a highly abstract sandbox with a broad goal like "win this war," and a journey into absolute fucking nonsense with a weirdly mythological vibe.

The first adventure, "The Crucible of Progress" is the most traditional of the three. It's basically "CSI: Kaiju Crimes Division." A giant monster is intermittently attacking a town, but after each attack, it disappears without a trace. Can the PCs find out where it's coming from and put a stop to it? It's got some characteristic Exalted flair - the setting is described as "[taking] after imperial China both in economy and aesthetics, merging those elements with aspects of Italian medieval communes such as Florence and Venice." The main villain, who is using a First Age artifact to covertly summon and banish the monster, is the Goddess of Silkworms. Her main goal is to use the monster attacks to destabilize the town's relationship with the Realm so that the Guild can come in and take over the local silk trade (which she regards as more likely to strengthen her power and help her become the Goddess of Silk itself, instead of just the worms). One of her main strengths is that she has manipulated the Exigent Exalted of Fireworks to view her as the town's most important divinity.

It's a good use of the setting, and not quite something you could do in just any old fantasy world, but it lends itself to a linear narrative. This monster situation has a definite solution, and the follow-up plots really revolve on the players becoming invested in the fate of the town, rather than moving on to the next one. That's neither a strength nor a weakness, per se, but yeah, I kind of wish there was more setting there to work with.

The second adventure, "A Shadow Falls" is a bit more in Exalted's unique niche, in the sense that it's a zombie attack story that is framed as a slow-burn war story, requiring PCs to demonstrate their political, strategic, and organizational aptitude in addition to personal valor on battlefield. As compensation for its mechanical scale, it's probably the most generic in terms of setting elements. The zombies are under the control of some Abyssal Exalted, in service to an unnamed Deathlord, but it could be any necromancer, really. I like it as support for a particular style of play, but it was probably my least favorite of the three stories.

Which leaves Chapter 3: "Ten Thousand Milk Churning Strikes." Hoo boy. It's my favorite of the three . . . but mostly because it's the most creatively challenging. In terms of rpg-style gameplay, it's the weakest. It's a race to a magical macguffin and it's structured like it's meant for one session - 1) Meet your rivals and bargain with the monarch for your official permission to launch an expedition. 2)Some light sabotage and dirty tricks before setting off. 3)Slice of Life at sea. 4) "Random" encounter with a sea monster. 5) A three-to-four-way naval battle as all the various rivals reach the destination at more or less the same time (extraordinary success with the sabotage or the sea monster notwithstanding). 6) Get the macguffin.

But specifics matter. Somehow, it is simultaneously both maximum Exalted and something thoroughly disconnected from anything Exalted has ever done before:

"In an age unnamed, when the gods thundered across the sky like mortals would walk upon puddles, there was a distant sea of infinite milk. This milk was sweet like honey, thick and viscous like cream, and intoxicating like wine. This Milk of Immortality was once the favored drink of the gods and is what caused the gods to be immortal . . .

"To share it among themselves perfectly, the far western sky and earth gods of Kiliran decided to take a great mountain - taller than Creation itself - and turned it into a pestle, and then they reached out to Vandr, the Serpent That Encircles the World and mount of the Lord Luna, and wound them about the mountain pestle . . ."

And this is, on one level, absolute gibberish. It doesn't fit with any previous conception of Exalted's pre-history. It doesn't even mesh metaphysically. It's like a backstory from a different game. But it's also the first thing I've read in 3rd edition that came close to making me feel like I did when I was reading the game for the first time. On considered reflection, I'm not the biggest fan of the "in the murky depths of the Time Before, literally anything could have happened" approach to the setting's history, and I actively disapprove of the notion that Creation could have multiple "equally true" creation stories. . .

But there's something there. An infinite sea of milk . . . timelines that don't line up with known facts . . . a physical scale that makes a mockery of naive intuitions about mass or volume or distance . . . you could make a case for this being a new, spooky presentation for the action of the Wyld. The primordial chaos isn't just a mutation-causing radiation field or a LOL-random monster factory. It's alternate universes, alternate histories, alternate cosmologies, stitched together in a geography of dreams. The Sea of Milk is exactly as big and exactly as important as the stories say, but only in the context of its own tenuous reality. 

Or, at least, that's one possible theory. Maybe there's just a Sea of Milk out there and the stories are merely a folkloric attempt to explain why it exists. Still, it's a delightfully off-putting thing to place at the center of your macguffin race. It kind of sounds like a joke. It kind of sounds like someone's religion. Because there's a grandeur in its absurdity. There's a noticeable chain of reasoning: milk - motherhood - life - the sea. Enough, at least, to believe that it's a plausible legend that people would be plausibly motivated to pass along. And in this world, that legend is gloriously literal. An imperial navy officer, a pirate, a merchant-sorcerer, and the PCs are gearing up to launch an expedition to find it. Maybe it's mostly an allegory, but it's also a place where people can go. And that stubborn literalism around the sublime, even to the point where you start to be a bit of a buzzkill about it, that to me is the game's signature move.

But it wouldn't be such a tough sell if the book simply had enough of a pagecount to thoroughly explain itself.

Overall, I'd say that Deeds Yet Undone left me wanting more, but not necessarily in a good way. I found it enjoyable enough, but I'm not sure I want to do the necessary amount of work to actually use it.

Ukss Contribution: My favorite thing is the city of Kirilan. I'm probably going to port that into my Exalted games from now on. However, because Ukss is not flat, it doesn't actually make sense to have a "most distant mortal port." So I'll go with something from the backstory of the second adventure - "The Rain Wars." The adventure doesn't explain what they actually were (cause it's so short, you see), but the name suggests intriguing possibilities.

(Eberron 3.5) Magic of Eberron

 Oh no, I may be in trouble. Eberron looks like it's shaping up to be exactly the sort of fantasy rpg setting that's guaranteed to activate my worst instincts as a critic - a high-concept subversion of a familiar genre that nonetheless feels compelled to play it safe and reassure readers that it's not going to stray too far from genre conservatism.

While reading Magic of Eberron (Bruce R. Cordell, Stephen Schubert, Chris Thomasson), I experienced a rollercoaster of a moment that exemplified this tension. At the start of Chapter 4, there are three section headers all in a row that seemed ready to sell the high concept: "Life in a Magic-Suffused Society," "Post Medieval World," and "Professional Spellcasters." I saw those in the Table of Contents and I thought to myself, "Aw, yeah, let's fucking go!" . . . Then I noticed that all three sections were on the same page.

"Post Medieval World" was only two paragraphs. And one of those paragraphs was about the setting's resemblance to a medieval world: "The benefits provided by the wide-scale manipulation of magic are not provided by arcane factories of mass production. Instead, Eberron's magical wonders remain the purview of individual practitioners, artisans, and expert crafters."

Nooo! My (hypothetical, implied) infrastructure! If there's no mass production, what is the train for? What are you putting on that train that's worth the expense of maintaining a continental rail network? Maybe passenger service is enough to pay the bills, but that's not the main reason people built railroads historically. It also doesn't say anything particularly interesting about the changing demographics of the urban-rural divide that came about because farm work was getting less labor intensive while manufacturing increased vastly in scale. You know, the very specific sort of "post medieval" where it "shares many elements of a later renaissance society," but none of those elements are things that would make it incompatible with Forgotten Realms.

The story of Eberron is not the story of increasing volumes of cargo traveling increasingly long distances through increasingly complex networks of supply chains. It is not a story of society's adaptation to the changing nature of work. It's not even the story of the transformation of warfare from being dominated by well-armed aristocrats to being won or lost by conscript soldiers wielding off-the-rack weapons with a month's worth of training. Rather, Eberron's story is simply: "D&D, but there's also a train."

And that's sort of what I mean when I say it brings out my worst instincts. "D&D with a train" is a perfectly acceptable thing to be. I'm not sitting here thinking, "actually, I prefer D&D, but with no trains." It's like the airship in the original Final Fantasy - something that should maybe feel industrial but is really just a bit of set dressing. 

However, I can't stop thinking that maybe Eberron is afflicted with the same malaise that brought down Planescape - it breaks from one of the core assumptions of the implied setting, in a way that opens up a lot of possibilities, but it can't quite overcome its terror at the fact that in order to do something genuinely new you have to try something genuinely new. 

But Eberron has a leg up on Planescape in the fact that its claims of being about a "pseudo medieval culture [that] shares many elements of a later renaissance society" are a transparent, calculated lie. Magic of Eberron is even generous enough to provide a concrete, specific example of this process in action.

Page 91:

"While the streets of many cities are illuminated with everbright lanterns, their magic is individually cast and maintained by ranks of professional spell chandlers." 

Vs page 122:

"A House Cannith magewright might use a simple pattern to quickly create hundreds of continual flame stones for use in streetlamps."

It's the same fucking item. Thirty-one pages. That's how long it took to go from "don't imagine mass production" to "here's the magitech they use to do mass production." Now, this is largely explicable as a lack of communication between the different authors, but I also think the system itself is pulling a little trick on us. Because the section on page 122 is about "minor schemas" and minor schemas are not capable of quickly creating hundreds of streetlights. In practice, they act as a sort of reusable scroll you can cast from once per day. The magic that can mass produce items is called "patterns" and while patterns are made out of schemas (both minor and otherwise), Magic of Eberron doesn't actually give us rules for combining schemas into a pattern or for using a pattern to create larger scale effects. We know it's possible, because the book goes out of its way to tell us its possible, but it's not a feat that PCs are meant to replicate.

And I think that's the key to understanding Eberron's genre trouble. It can't present us with any sort of magic that allows individuals (or small groups) to act on an industrial scale, because industrial scale actions are not accounted for in D&D's standard power curve or magic item economy. A 5th level wizard in post-medieval times cannot be any more powerful than a 5th level wizard in a medieval setting. Perhaps just as importantly, a healing potion, a magic weapon, or generalized spellcasting services all have to cost the same amount as in the core book, in both absolute and relative terms. You've got House Jorasco, which is an entire family of people with the hereditary power to cure wounds and remove disease, and they're numerous enough to have a presence in every major city on the continent, but you can't just pop into one of their franchises and slip 'em 5gp to cure your mummy rot. You have to pay the same 150gp you'd pay a spellcaster in the standard setting. The ubiquity of magic hasn't made magic any cheaper.

Which pretty much means that the technological and social assumptions of the core book will transfer over to Eberron, whether they're meant to or not. It's called "a magic-suffused society," but the only specific magical conveniences they bother to list are lanterns and expensive transportation like airships or the lightning rail. They're missing something important about technological change - it tends to make average people significantly more powerful. In the 21st century, a person can pay the equivalent of less than 10gp (approximately 2 weeks wages) to fly halfway across the world and back. I regularly carry in my pocket an amount of computational power greater than existed in the entire world c. 1965. In other words, if Eberron is truly a "magic-suffused society" then there should be types of magic you can buy in a store and just casually use like it's no big deal. Unfortunately, Magic of Eberron doesn't tell us what any of those might actually be.

That being said, it's still a fun and fascinating D&D supplement. You can graft an elemental onto your body, gaining magical powers like immunity to dehydration (because the inside of your mouth is entirely water . . . which hurts my brain to even think about). You can play an Impure Prince, the prestige class that sounds like the title of an r-rated anime (and for good reason - it's a dark anti-hero with a symbiotic relationship to an eldritch monstrosity who hunts abominations from beyond the stars). You can magically conjure a wardrobe full of outfits suitable for any occasion, visit a castle with a giant enchanted windchime that repels invaders with massive sonic attacks, or buy a mechanical arm to attach to your belt and protect you with a shield. Some of this stuff does feel borderline-industrial, but most of it just feels like more D&D (not that that's a bad thing).

Overall, I guess my opinion of Magic of Eberron is that it's a great D&D supplement, but a frustrating Eberron supplement. I love the weird new magic, but I have desperately burning questions about the world's manufacturing infrastructure that stubbornly remain unanswered.

Ukss Contribution: The Green Spire - so-called because "the rock is home to many lichens." I just thought it was a cool image.

(Exalted 3e) Tomb of Memory

 I'll just get this off my chest, straight at the start - I picked Tomb of Memory as my next read purely because I anticipated it would be a chore I wanted to get over with as soon as possible. Not out of any shade towards the book itself, but just because the jumpstarts do not condense the core rules by enough. For one or two days, it feels like reading the core book all over again. It's almost as if someone who has been an Exalted fan for 20 years has no particular need for a minibook directed at newcomers and would only own such a thing out of a misguided (and frankly, decadent) urge towards completionism.

But that's just ridiculous . . . ha! HA! . . . ha . . .

I will give Tomb of Memory credit for being a jumpstart adventure that makes the bold choice to use an advanced adventure structure. Instead of presenting a linear story or dungeon crawl, it just gives us some locations, some characters, and an overall situation and encourages the GM to turn those elements into a story. And sure, that's generally how all Exalted games eventually turn out, but its adventure books usually like to pretend otherwise.

The story is dead simple - a First Age WMD lies buried under a sleepy town. For more than a thousand years, it was sealed so tight that people just sort of forgot about it, but now the containment is leaking and the people on the surface are feeling strange side effects. The sort of side effects that allow ill-intentioned nerds to infer the presence of something powerful and dangerous. Now, the nerds and the proxies of nerds are converging on the town to see who can get the macguffin first.

Tomb of Memory sets itself apart by having a better macguffin than most. The WMD in question is something called "The Sip of Lethe" and it has a truly mythic origin - a legendary warrior died, and as her spirit was entering the River of Forgetfulness, to peacefully transition to her next life, her heart rebelled against the thought of forgetting her true love, so she swam her way out of the river and back to Creation, to see her beloved one last time. In the process, she carried with her a mouthful of the Lethe water she refused to swallow. Tragically, it was too late, the hero forgot her mission at the very last moment, and the beloved, being a living person who was never meant to touch the waters of the Lethe, forgot the hero shortly thereafter.

But the lover was also a Solar Exalted mad scientist, so while she didn't entirely understand why this amnesiac dolphin spirit came to her home to spit water at her, she was able to recognize that the water itself was a mystic substance of unfathomable power. So she turned it into a bomb. And then accidentally detonated some of the leftover water, killing herself and everyone in the surrounding geographic region. Later, some other Exalted came along and realized they did not understand how the bomb worked or how to dispose of it safely, so they buried it underground and allowed the turning of the age to completely erase even the memory of the potential danger.

As a starting situation, I like it. It's a little afield from previous Exalted canon, which treated the Lethe as more of a metaphor than a literal river, being a state of completeness that ghosts could achieve by coming to terms with the passions that stole them from the grave, but I think you could make it work. Maybe the fact that there is no actual spatial location that contains the River Lethe is the reason a sipful of its "waters" is such a potent mystical boon. The Sip of Lethe came from nowhere and is made purely of a mystery forbidden to the living. That's why it explodes when you put it inside a bomb. . .

Okay, so maybe the Sip of Lethe and Exalted's unique brand of nonsense don't jibe together as elegantly as I might like. Exalted is a very technical game, both in rules and setting, and while "turn a sublime spiritual mystery into a bomb" is well within its thematic wheelhouse, the very fact that it's weaponizable in the first place means that the Sip of Lethe can't be quite as epochal as it needs to be. I think "Lethe water shows up in the living world and is extremely dangerous" would be an amazing plot for a modern occult game or a more grounded heroic fantasy setting, but for Exalted that's just a Tuesday.

Still, I'll give it a "better than most." The only thing really missing from the adventure is a clearer picture of how the Lethe-bomb actually works (both in terms of the in-character appearance and use of the device and the out-of-character mechanics for what happens to people in its blast radius). As it is, the Sip of Lethe's function is mainly to loom ominously over events, encouraging the PCs to do whatever it takes to keep it out of the hands of people who would use it.

My favorite aspect of this book, though, is that it delivers on the Exalted: Essence promise of making all Exalt-types playable by providing us with a whopping ten new signature characters. Well, nine technically. The Exigent representative to the PC delegation is none other than our friend Strawmaiden Janest. 

Look, she's an appealing character with a great design. And I think the world is ready for a cottage-core superhero. But every time I see her, I can't help feeling like I'm looking at the company-approved mascot for 3e as a brand. It's a silly sort of impulse, to be sure, but even in 1e when you had Dace popping into stories where he was not needed, to remind people that the "white male fighter guy" was still a viable Exalted archetype, there was less of a sense that one, specific signature character would always be invited to the party, no matter what. Maybe it just comes from reading Tomb of Memory and Three Banners Festival so close together, though.

I'm just going to take a mulligan on that. Janest is here, but I'm going to refuse to further acknowledge her presence, leaving only nine new signature characters to choose from. And I have to say, I'm pretty impressed with the design work here. It's a noticeable step up from both the Sidereals and Abyssals books . . . which weren't bad, exactly, so much as . . . lacking a certain Exalted-style extraness. Good Exalted signature characters should be designed more like superheroes than traditional fantasy protagonists. They need eye-catching elements that allow you to read the character in both high and low detail pictures, ideally in both color and black-and-white, and especially when they are depicted by different artists. Basically a set of iconic props gathered together around the shape of a person.

It's actually kind of blowing my mind how much work must have went into this tiny nothing of a book, because all nine of the new designs are better than average and I think the Sidereal, Elyntine Kesh, the Solar, Dauntless "Audacity" Aelia, and the Liminal, Tija Returned could potentially stand alongside some of the old fan favorites. Depends on whether they can get continuing exposure like a certain well-designed Exigent I'm currently declining to name. 

I guess I don't know much about the role Jumpstarts are meant to play in the line's overall marketing strategy. I tend to think of them as disposable books I could easily skip, and thus not worth investing too many resources into, but if they're truly meant as an onboarding tool for complete innocents, then it makes sense that they'd get disproportionate resources. Put your best foot forward and all that.

Overall, like all the Jumpstarts, Tomb of Memory was not for me, but between its unique, philosophically challenging macguffin and the memorable new faces amongst the PC preconstructs, it's probably the one that I'm going to be most tempted to come back and reference in a full-core Exalted game. So . . . yeah, that's a pretty good addition to the collection.

Ukss Contribution: The Sip of Lethe. I'm not sure how I'll incorporate it into Ukss' metaphysics of death (which already has both a grim reaper-like figure and a ghost train that carries the souls of the dead into the afterlife), but that's part of the challenge of making Ukss in the first place - finding out how many ideas I can actually use before it all starts devolving into nonsense.

(Eberron 3.5) Explorer's Handbook

Starting off this post with a question that sounds like it should be rhetorical, but is in fact distressingly literal - how many times can a book use unironic racial slurs before it becomes completely unsalvageable? And let's just toss some extra amoral speculation on there - would the answer change if the book is otherwise really good?

Sadly, I think I'm going to have to grapple with both questions if I'm to at all understand the Explorer's Handbook (David Noonan, Frank Brunner, Richard Burlew). Since I know I'm coming in real hot, I'm just going to clear the air right away and say what the word in question actually is - "savage." Now, technically, this is only contextually a racial slur, but, well, the context in which it's a slur is exactly the one being used in this book. Imagine a rich white hunter type, hanging out in a lushly-appointed gentleman's club, regaling his peers with the thrilling tale of his safari to the "lost continent" and when he gets to his less than convivial encounter with the indigenous population, he uses . . . that word. Full noun. 

That's how Explorer's Handbook uses the word. It's not even a metaphor or a fantasy analogue. This book is about "explorers." You know, people who live in "civilized" areas going to distant places, where people already live, and "discovering" things that people have known about for thousands of years. "You get to name stuff after yourself. Not just little stuff either: mountains, rivers, lost cities . . ."

Talk about running afoul of the monkey's paw. Over the course of the past dozen Eberron books, I frequently wished it would draw more from its 19th century influences. And here we are. Instead of old-school adventure fiction being a background element in the implied setting's DNA, the subtext is made text and Eberron just directly emulates old-school adventure fiction. One of the prestige classes, the Thunder Guide, literally gets an ability called "Serial Hero," where a newspaper (sorry - chronicle) publishes fictionalized accounts of their deeds and pays them a healthy chunk of change (1000gp per Charisma bonus) for the privilege. Because escorting "aristocrats on safari" is part of the job class' job description, it is now canonical that those aristocrats and their safaris exist in the world of Eberron.

The most frustrating thing for me, though, is that if you ignore all that, you get the best Eberron supplement yet. It has a whole chapter on transportation infrastructure! The prestige classes allow you to make a dashing airship captain or something called a "Cataclysm Mage!" One of the sample locations suggests you can start your adventure in a "smoky nightclub" where a sexy lounge singer can slip you hints about nefarious goings-on! (Yes, all three facts are equally exciting to me.)

I'm in this awkward place where I have to do some serious self-reflection. I want the vibes but I don't want the baggage. Is it okay for me to be this way? Possibly. Maybe even probably. I'm still a Mage: the Ascension superfan, and that has all the same issues, cranked to 11. But I fear there's this temptation to try and protect the vibes by ignoring or downplaying the baggage.

So, obviously, I need to not do that. The bulk of this book is a series of interesting locations, complete with maps, resident NPCs, suggested adventures, and advice on how to adapt them to different campaigns. What makes it an Explorer's Handbook is the overall curation. You have "Points of Origin" - the aforemention smoky nightclub, a train station, an airship docking tower. Then you have "Midpoints" - a selection of adventure towns and base camps that abut treasure- and monster-laden ruins and cater to the aristocratic desperados who travel across the world to plunder them. And finally, "Destinations" - a diverse selection of dungeon-esque sites where your characters can go to do an imperialism.

Aesthetically, these are universally pretty great. You've got a crystal-filled cavern where a beholder lures people in by sparing one member of an adventuring party and then mind-controlling them to go back to town and tell everyone about this motherload of magic crystals. Or you could retrace the steps of a doomed arctic expedition and track down the frozen hulk of an important scientific research vessel to retrieve the valuable information they gathered. Or there's, like, this weird magical observatory that makes planar travel much easier, but it's run by a cranky dragon who doesn't appreciate adventurers interrupting his experiments.

But I couldn't entirely escape the looming background worry - that these aesthetics I was enjoying so much were entangled with a dangerous ideology, as aesthetics and ideology often are. Take Pra'xirek, Lost City of the Giants for example.

Perfect pulp location. Great D&D location. Imagine a dungeon-crawl where everything you do is complicated by the mismatch of scale. And though the book doesn't go so far as to suggest it or anything, you could have fun altering the treasure to match. You go through some ancient giant's long-abandoned sock drawer and find only a single gold coin . . . but it's as big as your freaking head! Very cool.

Now comes the ideology to sucker punch you in the side of the head. The ruins are inhabited. Not by foul creatures of cursed magic or deadly predators with animal cunning and claws like scimitars. No, by ordinary demihumans. Specifically, the drow, the semi-aquatic locathahs, and a small community of giants who linger in, what are to them the post-apocalyptic ruins of a more accomplished age.

The drow "believe that the city was once their ancestral home . . . [and] also covet any magic items from the lost giant civilization, viewing them as a rightful inheritance from that dead nation . . . Drow scouts look to protect 'their' ruins from grave robbers from Khorvaire, attacking all foreigners they spot."

An important bit of context here - the ancient giant civilization enslaved the elves, and while the core book PC elves fucked off to other continents, the ones that stayed behind eventually became the modern drow. Pra'xirec even has some extant slave infrastructure (elf-sized rooms attached to giant bedchambers and dining halls, a covert system of tunnels that was somehow allowed to exist, either through carelessness or indulgence, etc). And while it's entirely possible that the entire slave population of the city was wiped out in the magical cataclysm that ruined it, leaving no survivors to become the ancestors of the modern drow, it's fair to say that the drow are their descendents in spirit. If they didn't originate in this city, well, they must have come from somewhere almost exactly like it. So why is "their" in scare quotes? If these ruins don't rightfully belong to the descendents of the people enslaved therein, who do they belong to?

Maybe the giants? 

First, don't let the characters think in terms of 'clearing out' an area. Traditionally in D&D, giants live at the outskirts of human civilization, raiding and destroying as they please. This behavior makes them prime targets for trusty adventurers to wipe out in the process of collecting a nice bounty. Things don't work that way in Xen'drik.

This land belongs to the giants (in their own opinion, anyway), and for the most part, they don't pose any kind of threat to human civiliation, trapped as they are in the jungles far from Khorvaire.

Holy shit! But I am, of course, selectively quoting. This passage is clearly referencing Against the Giants and echoing Gygax's "fight to the finish" rhetoric, setting up a clear contrast between the Viking-coded giants whose babies the founder of D&D encouraged us to kill (seriously, it was gross) and the African-coded giants whose "alignments are not set in stone." Maybe it's building to something. A statement about how heroes don't generally bust into peoples' homes and kill them in order to loot their valuables. A strong conclusion could save the passage. I'll let you be the judge: 

"Wiping out an entire giant settlement will thus be as unnecessary as it is unwise. . ."

Yeah, that's ideology all right. But more than that, it's the dark side of Eberron's otherwise forward-thinking habit of downplaying racial alignments. Standard D&D uses racial alignment as a sort of narrative tag. "Hey! Good news! We've invented a make-believe type of people it's okay to genocide, so you can keep telling those fun, action-packed genocide stories we all love so much!" And there's just enough plausible deniability there that a certain segment of the fandom is going to look at that last statement as an egregious straw man.

Except when it comes to Eberron. The Explorer's Handbook explicitly ditched the tag . . . but it kept the stories. Just standing out there in the full light of day, made all the clearer for its 19th century influences. You've got a world where your fantasy adventurers from Khorvaire can go out and do in Xen'drik exactly what the Europeans went out and did in Africa and it's barely even coded. You can be sent to the ruins by a university to collect antiquities, and the first leg of your journey will be on a train to a port where you'll take a steamboat to "The Lost Continent."

Yikes.

Overall, I'd say that the Explorer's Handbook was mostly pretty fun. But the thing about being mostly fun is that you are also partially unfun, and the unfun in this book is as bad as anything I've ever seen. Proceed with caution, I guess.

Ukss Contribution: I gave Grasp of the Emerald Claw a reluctant pass, because its geneological connection to racist adventure fiction was largely relegated to subtext. The Explorer's Handbook made it into text - the cheeky in-character sidebar "Wayfinder Foundation Travel Tip: How to Deal with Dark Elves" is basically recreating the Hovitos chase from Raiders of the Lost Ark and . . . it uses the word. 

Maybe, if there were some indication that the Wayfinder society was an unreliable narrator meant to be opposed, something could be salvaged. But there's not. I've looked. As I've said before, sometimes there's a turd in the punch bowl and there's no kind of punch where that's acceptable.