Burrowowl

Healing potions are a cornerstone of D&D and have been since the 1970s when the game was first produced. They allow a battered party to refresh themselves and press on during an adventure when the Cleric is pressed for spells. In parties lacking the healing prowess of a Cleric (or even a Druid, Bard, or Paladin, for that matter), healing potions are an essential safety-net that makes the inherent risks of dungeon-crawling, treasure-seeking, swash-buckling, and evil-vanquishing more feasible.

The Iron Kingdoms campaign world is rich in Clerical tradition, and its priests and Paladins are afforded great respect everywhere you go in Western Immoren. However, the responsibilities of a Cleric of Morrow or Menoth are many and varied, and an adventuring party cannot always avail of one to accompany them in their travels (or perhaps their quest is contrary to the goals of the local church). Traditionally any magic potion in D&D is effectively a spell-effect in liquid form (this doesn’t hold true with a handful of special-use potions, but is generally the case). Healing potions traditionally act as a Cure Light Wounds, Cure Serious Wounds, or directly analogous spell taken orally. A potion is made by somebody with adequate class levels to cast the given spell.

But since when did a Morrowan Chaplain have time to brew up magical soft-drinks for sale from behind the pulpit? The demand for anything greater than a Potion of Cure Light Wounds is likely extremely small, and would likely be the only ones available without custom-ordering them for a hefty “donation” to the church in question. So where does an intrepid adventurer go to get his over-the-counter meds?

The alchemist. That’s right, I propose the introduction of alchemical healing potions. As with other health-influencing alchemical substances (namely poisons), these will be available for purchase in any major city wealthy enough to support a well-trained apothecary. Unlike magical healing potions, which literally contain a divine spell effect, alchemical healing potions are slow-acting and inexpensive. But they have side effects. In my upcoming Iron Kingdoms campaign (in which I will finally act as DM in this setting), alchemical healing potions will be available and have the following characteristics:

1. Upon consumption, roughly 1/3rd of the potion’s benefit will kick in
2. As with a poison, one minute (10 rounds) after consumption, the imbiber of the potion will wil subject to a Fortitude save against poison. Difficulty varies with the potency of the item.
3. If the Fortitude save is unsuccessful, a negative side effect will kick in (as a poison effect) affecting Constitution, Intelligence, and/or Wisdom. Which attribute is affected, and the amount of ability damage done will vary depending upon the strength of the item. Ability damage from multiple potions is cumulative.
4. Regardless of the outcome of the Fortitude save, the remaining 2/3rds of the potion benefit kicks in immediately after the saving throw.

An example would be a Alchemical Healing Potion, which cures for 1d4+1 / DC12(Wis 1) 2d4+2, market price 50 Crowns. This potion is, in the long-haul, more valuable than a Potion of Cure Light Wounds (which heals for 1d8+1 hit points as opposed to 3d4+3) but takes 10 rounds for full effect, with the possibility of 1 wisdom damage.

Scrapped Princess has been on the air for eighteen episodes so far, and has been positively received amongst my personal anime-sharing buddies. Since last I wrote regarding this sword-and-socery sometimes-comedy, sometimes-drama, six episodes have hit our shores via a handful of fansubbers. Most significantly, what initially appeared to be an episodic series of mini-adventures is starting to come together into something much grander in scale. By the 15th episode, the loose ends start clearly converging, and by the 16th episode, every character from the Heretic Inspector to the Assassin Bard to the army Weapon’s Master that the Castle family has left in their wake is converging in an increasingly clear way.

What the final resolution will be remains cloudy: How will Pacifica Castle, the poison that will destroy the world, fare against the many and varied forced rallied against her? What will Christopher do with his special task force, with his conscience increasingly set against his duty? How will Shannon protect his sister with Shizu hounding him everywhere he goes? I really don’t know, but if the writers handle the rest of the series as artfully as they’ve scripted the last three episodes, I’m sure we’re in for quite a show.

The next episode airs on August 26th, so I hope to have a copy within the week.

Go, go gadget counter-worm! Apparently some clever monkey out there decided to use the RPC vulnerability inherent in unpatched Windows 2000, XP, NT 4, and Server 2003 systems to counteract the effects of another worm that has been in the news lately and causing all manner of problems for folks that don’t keep their systems updated, their computer consultants, and their overburdened ISP tech support departments. Some will say (and probably have for a few hours already) that fixing a worm with another worm is highly unethical. By what ethical standard, I am unsure. If well-executed, it would seem to fulfill the criteria of the Principle of Utility quite nicely. This is widely accepted as one of the most reasonable ethical yardsticks available these days, so I’d be interested in seeing where that debate ends up taking us.

The guy who wants to eat Fugu has taken an enforced break from translating Tenjo Tenge (volume 10 isn’t in print yet, and who really wants to scan off the original serial? The paper sucks). Instead he is bringing us some love in the form of Vulgar Ghost DayDream, what he describes as a “Shounen Horror” manga. I think he has put it rather well: the plot revolves around a shapely female who starts the comic in a short skirt and thigh-high boots (hence the Shounen). Additionally this female, the main protagonist Misaki Saiki, happens to be a “necromancer.” From the first chapter, we can glean that a necromancer in this context is somebody who is able to see and converse with spirits, is qualified to perform exorcisms, and has crazy bondage gear on under her clothes that act as an impromptu bodyguard as the need arises.

If you are offended by references to people pissing on each other, or humor about panty-sniffing stalkers, stay clear of this series, as I’m sure that’s just the tip of the iceberg here. As always, when you use BitTorrent to download a copy, please leave your client on for a couple of hours to help with the distribution process.

Very little in the wild, wooly world of the web arouses my ire quite so much as the misapplication of “science” visa vis “philosophy.” It is common in this era for the socially-indoctrinated habit of leaning heavily upon all that is labeled “scientific.” The S-word lends an air of legitimacy to a topic that discourages criticism from those who do not consider themselves to be “scientists.” I feel that this is intellectually disingenuous in regards to public understanding of a subject, and ultimately leads to (or stems from, but certainly co-occurs with) self-deception.

The “science of signs” or Semiology is one such topic. It consists largely of attempts to create systems (some orderly, some not-so-much) around language. By definition this is philology, and one would expect a scientist concerned with the workings of language would heed such things. Semiology aggrandizes itself by dipping a little deeper into what has typically been regarded as the domain of philosophy by expanding philology into what has been (since the late 1800′s) a popular subject for philosophers: signs.

By a “sign” here we mean something that represents something (widely thought of as something other than the sign itself). As an example, the word “cat” would be a sign, with signifies an actual “thing” out there (the nature of the word “cat” and the “thing” represented is highly debatable). The signifier is not necessarily the thing signified, and frequently is not. An excellent example would be a very literal one: A sign that reads “restroom” is not, itself a restroom. Instead it indicates something when interpreted by an observer, namely that there is a restroom nearby (the sign may feature an indication of direction towards the restroom, or may be mounted on the door to the restroom). When one feels the need to use a restroom, such signs can be most helpful in avoiding discomfort or embarrassment.

How does one apply science to the relationships between the signifier, the signified, and the sign itself? Empirically? Mathematically? Direct observation and mathematical logic are typically inferred when one claims “science” as the nature of his endeavor. Yet the science of signs relies upon the same mechanisms that philosophers have used for thousands of years: reference to prior literary works, a touch of abstraction, hopes for a dash of inspiration, and a lot of long-windedness.

This article will likely not influence many (if any at all), but please, if you consider yourself to be engaged in a “science,” either in the development or application of it, do not take too seriously the supposed facts and laws that govern things. Science remains a realm of theories, though we’ve been conditioned to believe otherwise.

As a footnote, you can blame boxesandarrows.com for this outburst on my part. The introduction to their recent upselling of semiotics was worded in such as was as to infuriate a small, noisy part of my personality. The primary culprit was the following sentence: “The disciplines involved in semiotics include linguistics, philosophy, psychology, sociology, anthropology, literature, aesthetic and media theory, psychoanalysis and education.” Each of the disciplines listed in that assertion (with the exception of aethetics which is itself a philosophical discipline) spinoffs of philosophical disciplines, as are most sciences. Ever wonder why we would assign the “Ph.D.” to the name of somebody of great learning in a given field?