Last time I looked into a whole new ruleset. Now, I’d like to put all the rules I’ve come up with so far in one place, slot in some numbers, and see if that shakes anything out. The following are three different rulesets with…wait, three?

I told you this would happen. After the last post, my mind kept working, and shook out a few more ideas, as well as some polish to previous ones. When my brain gets wandery, it gets wandery.

First, let’s go over the universal basics of all the three rulesets:

Time passed slowly for me. I studied, practiced, plied my trade while scraping together what living I could from the surrounding lands. I often went hungry if I could not find simple work in the nearby towns, and every moment spent away from my practice was a blade that pierced my heart.

As the years passed I created more spells, discovered minor tricks and cantrips that provided me some amount of comfort. I delved into the old artifacts and found a measure of their use. I even managed to provide meager repairs to the tower, enough to keep it from collapsing down on my head. It was something of a home now; not nearly as cozy or friendly as Trella’s, but certainly better than a tent or cave.

Things might have continued in this manner, steadily improving as I toiled towards greater and more exotic astral power, had I not found the gemstone.

In the end, I decided to ask Trella if I could stay for a time, to both peruse her small library and help in any way I could to repay her kindness. She seemed delighted at the suggestion, and so for several months I shared her house, spending my days tending the yard or working in the nearby town, or studying the books in her library. The more I read, the more facinated I became by this strange and wonderful world. She had books on flowers and trees, books about animals and insects, books about stones and how rivers moved and even some on the secret ways of the guilds. Books about making iron or tanning hides. Books about brewing ale or making candles from wax.

I kept up my practice from my own book, late at night after she had gone to bed. I had looked long and hard through her library for books on magic, but only a few volumes provided any minor insight, and they were written by Royal Witchhunter hands.

The most useful book was a diary by the old Royal Witchhunter Primus, Fenlark the Bloody. In it, he went into solacious detail about rituals he had disrupted, profane acts he had prevented, and provided far more information than might have been prudent. His descriptions of magical instrumentation and unholy sigils provided me with keys to unlock hithertoo unknown secrets in my book, and as such my abilities grew in strength.

I knew this would happen.

My brain goes through phases. I tend to get interested in something, and then as my excitement starts to wane, a new idea drives me in a new direction. In some cases it’s a whole new subject or project. In other cases, its a fundamental rework of the project I’m working on.

To explain: After describing the system to one of my friends, he made a suggestion that grabbed my attention. I liked it enough that I started rethinking the entire Power Roll mechanic. The idea that my friend gave me was “what if the Manifestations give you a pool of dice that you can distribute between them for actions? That way you can decide where to put your energies.”

Now, I had given a fairly bare-bones description of the full(ish) ruleset, so I needed to adjust a few things, but the result is…well, I could say simpler or cleaner, but really what appeals to me about it is it’s different. I’d had a good length of time to get used to the other way of rolling, so this new idea was, if not better, at least new.

My name is Mari. I had a family name, many years ago, but once I chose to abandon my family’s path in the world, to strike out on my own and master the mysteries of the unknown, I thought it best to forsake any connection with this past.

Magic is a forbidden thing. The high churches burn witches and warlocks, while the high sorcerers — too powerful to be stopped, even by the armies of the united Kingdoms — are quick to destroy those who appear too eager, ambitious, or dangerous. There is no confusion as to why; Magic is a powerful and dangerous thing. The fae and enchanted creatures of the wild use magic freely, and their corruption causes daily strife. The dark mage-lords of old destroyed kingdoms with their power, and the High Sorcerers are too powerful to hinder.

Six Trials of the Weavers, along with 1888 Amenti, was an experiment to see what short-stories could be created through solo journalling RPGs. The following is the behind-the-scenes dice-rolls and card-pulls that created the short-story, along with some final thoughts.

Wretched thing.

Holly opened her eyes. The bugs were gone, her flesh was whole. The path was nowhere to be seen.

We are not Spiders. We do not Lie.

The mists slowly began to receed, drawing away like reverant priests. Holly stood up, her eyes scarcely believing what they were seeing.

We are Weavers, and we have tested you thrice.

The three figures were there, standing at the other side of a long bridge. The buzzing that had once filled her head now echoed from deep below in the chasm.

One final test awaits you.

Last time I explored the strategic impact Agents had on the game. This time, I’d like to get down to some brassy tic-tacs, and look at one of the most important and fundamental aspects of Manifestation Combat: Abilities.

Abilities are anything from basic moves to special attacks. Each Manifestation has at least 1, possibly 2. They can be active, passive, reactions, stances, or anything similar. They are, in short the possible actions any Manifestation can make.

Each active Ability also has a Sync ability: when a Power Roll is made, any die that shows equal or less than the Manifestation’s Bond level causes a special effect. This can be adding damage, conditions, free movement, or anything that a regular ability can do.

On second thoughts, we could turn Sync from an Ability bonus to a Manifestation bonus: the effect will therefore be the same whichever ability the Manifestation uses.

At last, Holly couldn’t take it any longer. She collapsed to the ground, rolling onto her back. The world danced around her in a flurry of sights and sounds. She turned away, clutching at her head, struggling to breathe steadily. She could feel herself vibrating as she spat up the contents of her heaving stomach.

Finally, the world began to slow its dance, the music and sweet savory fading into memory. Holly rolled onto her back once more, at once grateful and at the same time struggling to hold on to a bit of the strange and horrifying world she had seen. Strings of atoms wound around each other, webs of cause and effect causing vibrations, waves that carried flotsam and jetsam to far and distant shores.

The needle was made of old dry bone, and the thread was a thin strong silk. The fabric had a pattern already sewn into it with the same white silk, and the paper — the paper was thin dry leather, skin from some animal. Holly struggled not to think about what kind of animal it might have been.

On the parchment, a strange and scratchy handwriting surrounded bizarre symbols. It was writing of some kind, possibly a language…diagrams? Were these instructions? Holly looked at the sewed pattern on the fabric; it certainly appeared incomplete to her.

She studied the needle carefully and observed the spool for markings. She flipped the fabric over, checking the stitching from both sides. She gave the strange language only a cursory glance — she knew she wouldn’t be able to decipher it — and focused on the ornate symbols.

“I don’t suppose you offer hints?” Holly couldn’t help herself. The cooing weaver shifted, the rustle of robes in the dark louder than thunder.

A sister would need none.