The Head of Vecna (An Apocryphal Tale)

I've played a lot of games with a lot of different people. One fellow I played with told me the story of the Head of Vecna, though whether he had truly been the originator of this idea, or he'd simply run his groups through it as a way to test someone else's theory, I cannot say. However, the tale is worth the telling, I feel, so I thought I'd take this week to share this little apocryphal story with all my fine readers out there.

Don't try this one at home... or do, if you're really feeling it.

How This Nonsense All Began

The story begins with the DM running two separate groups whose parties' actions are both happening in the same world. While they aren't at the the table and interacting with each other, the deeds done by one party will have affected the world by the time the next group gets together. So if one party decides to wipe out the bandits in a forest, there's no bounty for the other group to collect. And it's safer to travel the highway.

You get the idea.

Well, there was a story being circulated to both groups of a cavern with an item of great power inside. So, of course, one group gets there first. They slay the monsters, trip the traps, and after defeating the guardian find a horde of swag. Gold, jewels, magic swords, shiny armor, stuff like that. But, as they're packing up to leave, one of them has a devious idea. What if they disposed of the bodies, reset the traps, and then played a trick on anyone else who might come that way.

Wouldn't that be funny?

The Head of Vecna

So, after making the necessary skill checks to put everything back the way it was, the party cuts the head off of one of the human foes they fought. They age and tan it using magic, and then affix an illusion to it to make it seem like it's brimming with necromantic power. Then they carefully make their way out, and go down to the local pub to start spreading tales about what they heard was actually sitting in the heart of that mountain stronghold.

Magic tomes? Nope, didn't see any. We did see this other thing, though...

What did they claim was waiting in the stronghold? Well, you've read the title, so you probably guessed it was the mythical Head of Vecna!

Quick history lesson for those who don't know. In earlier editions of Dungeons and Dragons, Vecna was a powerful spellcaster who became a lich. He was eventually destroyed, but for his left hand and left eye. Vecna was made a god in later editions of the game, but his left hand and left eye remained preserved as powerful relics. In order to gain their powers, though, you had to put out your eye, or cut off your hand, and replace it with the lich lord's body parts.

I'm sure you see where this is going.

So the other group, hearing tales of the supposed head of this evil undead god, wanted to kick in the door, and take its power for themselves. They didn't find any monsters, but all the traps seemed to be in working order. So they disabled what they could, and tanked what they couldn't, until they reached the head. As soon as the party had it in their grasp, the wizard (who was, of course, a necromancer) told the fighter to cut off his head, and to press the stump of the Head of Vecna to his neck before he finished dying. The fighter raised his greatsword, brought it down, and took off the wizard's head in a single swing. He pressed the Head of Vecna to the stump of his neck, but nothing happens.

That didn't deter the rest of the group, though.

The cleric wanted to go next, figuring that it must take a divine spellcaster rather than an arcane one. So the fighter brought his sword down again, but the results were pretty much the same. Despite going 0 for 2, the rogue wanted to give it a try. He figured that a high enough Use Magic Device check before the grafting would get the job done. So snicker-snack, and then there were three headless bodies in the bowels of this fortress.

The fighter had no desire to take on the powers of some lich god, and he really didn't want to take the risk that if he managed to cut off his own head that it wouldn't work a fourth time. So he wiped his sword clean, took what little loot had been left behind, stripped his compatriots' bodies, and got the hell out of there.

Once, Twice, Three Times A Killer

There was no saying if the group in question kept meeting after that trick, and the subsequent evil party not doing any of the research to realize that this whole thing was a hoax. However, I highly doubt that second group was willing to come back after they reached into the cookie jar, only to find a guillotine.

That's all for this week's installment of Table Talk. Hopefully you got a laugh out of it. If you've heard this story before, feel free to leave the who, where, and when in the comments! If you'd like more content from me, check out my Vocal archive, or head over to the YouTube channel I contribute to, Dungeon Keeper Radio. If you want to keep up on all my latest releases, then follow me on Facebook, Tumblr, and Twitter. Lastly, if you'd like to support Improved Initiative, all you have to do is head over to The Literary Mercenary's Patreon page, or click this link to Buy Me A Coffee! Either way, there's some sweet gaming swag that will come your way as a thank you for your help.

Table Talk: That Time When My Paladin One-Shotted the Campaign's Final Big-Bad

We've all got a few of those stories. That one time where the dice were in our favor and we couldn't be stopped, that great exchange that left the room silent, or that session when the most ridiculous course of action worked for no reason other than you popped up a natural 20. Table Talk is the newest addition to Improved Initiative, and it's where we brag, boast, and perhaps share an embarrassing fumble or two. To lead us off I'm going to tell you a tale of how I accomplished the unthinkable; I one-shot killed the final enemy of a huge, published campaign.

I was pretty goddamn surprised, myself.

You Did What?

Okay, so this story's going to take a wee bit of background before we get to the good part. Several years ago a friend of mine by the name of Justin Duncan got his hands on the Carrion Crown adventure path. For those of you not familiar with it, it's essentially an entire campaign where you're facing nothing but undead horrors, eldritch abominations, and every blasphemous, squamous thing the Pathfinder bestiary can fling at you. I figured it would be a good time to stretch beyond my usual fighters and barbarians to try out a paladin. But not just any paladin; I wanted an Undead Scourge. Essentially a paladin so dedicated to fighting the undead that many of his abilities were ineffective on living, but undoubtedly evil, creatures, while at the same time wreaking pure havoc on the living dead.

Valgard Grimwald

Valgard was once a peasant farmer, living with his wife and working the cold, unforgiving ground of Ustalav. She died of a sickness one winter, and despite the frigid temperatures Valgard dug her grave and saw her safely beneath the snow. When spring came he found her grave had been defiled, and her body stolen. He roamed the mountains, following the signs and stink of the living dead until he found the necromancer who had been using his Ilyena for his own, twisted pleasures. That man was a long time dying, and once his wife had been placed back in her bower Valgard dedicated himself to wiping out the living dead by taking up arms in the service of Pharasma, goddess of death.

But Paladins Have to Have a Lawful Good Goddess, Don't They?

Yes, don't interrupt me. I asked Justin whether he would allow me to play a paladin who served a neutral goddess, provided I kept his alignment lawful good. I was willing to follow Iomede, or even Erastil, but I felt that for story reasons Pharasma made more sense. He agreed, and acquiesced to my request.

Back to the story. So we begin in the Town of Harrowstone fighting ghosts, move onto another town where a sentient flesh golem is being put on trial for murder, and the party eventually goes beneath the waves to fight a horde of horrors that would have been right at home outside Lovecraft's Innsmouth. In addition to Valgard we had a bard detective, a rage prophet, and a titan mauler who had picked up a lycanthrope template somewhere along the line. Not a party to be messed with lightly. In that place beneath the waves though, the DM decided to pull some shenanigans on my behalf.

I had made it known from the beginning that one of the goals I had for Valgard was to find him a holy avenger. It's possibly the most stereotypical paladin thing you could ask for, but I wanted to do it. Rather than just taking something straight out of the book (Justin's flare for the dramatic simply would not allow something so plebian), he decided to craft a relic that fit Valgard, as well as his goddess. What I got was a holy bastard sword that increased my lay on hands, dealt extra damage to anything undead, and which had disruption on it. I pointed out that disruption was sort of a blunt-weapon-only ability, to which he told me it's a relic, it has the properties on that sheet. I nodded, having done my duty as a conscientious player, and took the sword with something approaching unbecoming glee.

Then What?

Right. So the party hacked, slashed, diplomacized and intimidated its way through half a dozen books (the vampire chapter was particularly short, as we took on a CR 18 challenge at level 12 and came out the victors. That's a separate story all by itself), and we wound up at the final encounter of the whole campaign. A wizard on a mountaintop preparing to steal the power of the Whispering Tyrant, and to become the most powerful lich the ages have ever seen. As we advanced on him to stop the ritual (Spoiler Alert, in case you haven't guessed what the final boss in an undead-centric campaign is), a dracolich crawls around from the mountain peak and throws itself between us and the soon-to-be-lich king. Justin places a colossal size red dragon mini on the map, an excited grin plastered across his face. Roll initiative!

By sheer, stupid luck Valgard goes first. Since the dragon is flat-footed and its reach rendered moot, the paladin declares his smite, then charges with sword raised high and calling out to Pharasma to guide his hand. He swings, and hits only because of the +2 from the charge. First blood! I start gathering my dice, preparing to list out the way I'm using channel smite, and calculating how many dice I have to roll. Then I remember it's a disruption weapon, and off-handedly say, "Hey Justin, roll its fort save. Yeah I know it has to roll a 1 for it to matter but there's a 1 on every die."

Justin rolls, and the smile fades from his face. He's staring at a natural 1, an automatic failure. He takes the dragon off the table, and gestures to me. We sit there, stunned, staring at what just happened. In the game world the dracolich bursts into smoking bone shards and ancient dust, and when the cloud clears Valgard stands with nothing more than forty feet between him and the wizard who would enslave the world.

Don't go anywhere, this gets better.

The newly made lich, who is realizing that the odds have suddenly and drastically shifted out of his favor, goes next. He casts mage's dysjunction on Valgard's sword, which as an artifact gets all kinds of chances to save. It fails those saves, and is destroyed. The lich manages to keep his magic, but destroying an artifact of a deity has a chance to draw said deity's attention. Not much of a chance, something like 5%. So Justin rolls percentiles, high is good for us. 98%. Pharasma is now paying very, very close attention to what's happening in this pitched battle.

The rest of the party advances on the newly made lich, and things go very poorly very quickly for him. Holy energy is thrown through Valgard's fists, lightning brought down from scrolls by the bard, and sheer, brutal blows from the barbarian are cutting him to pieces. After the third round the lich falls apart, but we know he'll reconstitute soon. We also know that, for story reasons, destroying his phylactery could kill the person who does it. Valgard, who has sought nothing more than to be granted an afterlife with his wife, destroys the phylactery without hesitation. He sacrificed himself to save the country he loved, and Pharasma made him one of her eternal guardians.

This remains, without question, the most epic thing I have ever done with a set of dice.


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