Drow & Lloth - A Retelling of these Poisonous People

This blog post is a reimagining of both Drow and a different lens then "gods are people too." This draws on religious symbology similar to the Nahua (Aztec Empire), where gods are ideas and symbols to be worn, channeled, and used.

The Nature of Divinity

This post cannot continue without a quick meditation on how I see divinity.

The divine, ie gods, angels, and their various servants and miracles, are not single-bodied entities. A god is unlike a creature; they do not have one form, one face, one name, nor one identity. To believe that a god has a stable form is the same as believing that water is water and ice is ice and that there is no overlap. In truth, there is nothing but overlap.

Let us ground this idea a bit more. When praying, you are not praying to a distant - albeit powerful - entity in another dimension. Instead you are praying to a flowing Power that manifests as you need it to manifest. This is what a miracle is - a manifestation of that Power. Thus, if someone were to see a god walking the world on two feat, what they are seeing is a miracle, no different than seeing someone brought back from the dead or water turned to wine.

This flowing Power has a personality. Just as the Power is too great to be stuck in one form, so too is the personality too mercurial to be defined as one thing. In this way, a divinity can display many different traits and identities despite being the same thing. Most pantheons are in fact a single Power interpreted through a suite of different perspectives. Religions based around a single Power are no different in reality, despite their seeming desire to be seen as one instead of many.

In a desperate bid to weaken divinity some have stated that worship is their lifeblood. This is untrue. A divinity has wants and it has limitations. Though it it incredibly powerful, these limitations are unique to it as opposed to creatures such as ourselves. So then, why is worship seen as a fuel for divinity? Worship is the act of communing and making Power manifest. In other words, it is the only way the Power can communicate with the world. So, if more people worship and pray, there is more communication, thus more miracles, thus the divinity is in a better position to get what it wants.

Worship and prayer need not be limited to only verbal orisons. Rituals and symbols are just as good. Thus, any religion worth its salt is filled with both in order to maximize the manifestation of miracles. These rituals and symbols, of course, must be relevant to the divinity in question. And though some symbols may be shared between divinities, it is wise not to try and mix and match. Heresy is punished wrathfully by the Powers that be.

I guess if you could "see" a divinity's true form, it might be something like this?

The Origins of Lloth

Drow are old and ancient and spiteful beyond comparison. It is ingrained in their flesh and blood, in the very heat of their bodies - that is, their souls. And living as they do buried in the bedrock of the world, where neither sun nor star nor moon can see, surrounded in the veins of the earth with things terrible and undeniable, things that gnaw at the world's roots like worms in the rotten tree, they found themselves horribly alone . And to be alone, with just their magics and their spite to protect them, they were prey to any and all else.

This is how Lloth found the drow: alone and desperate and dying faster and faster.

She came to them as a miracle. Their infravision saw a great heat surround them and that heat turned into spiders infinite and these spiders joined to form the woman known as Lloth. There She banished their predators and hollowed them a cave to call home. She protected that cave with the daemons that served Her, and with knowledge older than any living creature she helped the drow fashion a city deep in the veins of the earth.

But for one thing did Lloth ask and this She wanted above all else: food. The first sacrifices were thus of beautiful drow women and then rebellious drow men and then of the many predators that still harried the drow, even in their new utopia. This led itself to a culture symbolic of Lloth; a culture of trickery and lies and slavery and ritual sacrifice. From their Spider Queen they learned to weave webs of enmity and bloodlust and these webs have not stopped catching the doomed since their very first making.

Eons passed. The drow are long lived, you see. And communication with Lloth grew ever more detailed. Thus, the religion has taken on the form it has today. 

A miracle-manifestation of Lloth.

A Quick Summary of Lloth Worship

Below is a quick summary of Lloth Worship's core ideas. Though the drow have no name for this religion (for it is interwoven with their identity now, and thus to be a believer is to be drow) you can refer to it in your games as "Web Worship," "Spider Heresies," "Ink Belief," "Llothism," or "Drow Major."

The Mother is Matron & Heart. Lloth's primary identity is as a mother, matron, and queen. Thus, drow women exist in a society that puts value on them above that of males. It is believed that the femininity of a drow empowers them with a cunning mind, a quickness to learning, and an ability to more effectively manifest any of Lloth's many miracles. A drow woman may have many mates, is seen as virtuous if she has many children, and is considered powerful if she has destroyed rivals and subsumed their own legacies. Drow men who are born intersex, transsexual, or non-binary occupy a similar but different status. These individuals are seen to live in the same holy fringe as Lloth herself. Often times this leads to them becoming oracles and soothsayers, aids and confidants, and other similar positions of shadow-power.

Heat & Touch are Holy Language. Drow are famed for their highly detailed infravision, which allows them to see even minute details in the Veins of the Earth. Compounding this is their highly developed touch. A drow can know a person by their footsteps, and distinguish materials by simple touch. This has become interwoven with the idea of the spider's web, which in turn has lent itself to a philosophy of omniscience and omnipresence. Drow sacred text, which take the form of different gems and stones being heated in different ways, are worn by drow as symbols that communicate their feelings, their loyalties, their thoughts, and their believes. Amethyst earrings heated by spell to room temperature is a warning that the wearer will curse any who cross them, whilst quartz amulets drastically cooled are a signal that the wearer seeks violence, war, or bloodshed. As drow can percieve these signs from some distance and sometimes even through walls, it has led to a society who debates not through speech but through symbol. Likewise, heatless creatures, such as the dead, are seen by drow as being unknowable and dangerous. Creatures that exude great heat - but not enough to be fully inflamed, as that is blinding - are considered perfect sacrifices to Lloth and the matrons. Drow skin, with its cool colors reflecting little heat, has also led to a stratum of stereotypes. Darker skinned drow are seen to be chosen by Lloth herself to bring food and virtue to the drow, while drow with violet or grey skin are thought to be bastions of vitality perfect for miracle-work and self-sacrifice.

All Life is a Web Spread Far. The hunt for food is never ending, and thus the trickery needed to capture it must be the same. From the moment a drow is born they are given true names and false names. They are taught lies and then have their worldviews shattered to better show them what they must do to others. They are put into situations where they must make quick decisions about the lives of others and that if these decisions do not benefit the drow then they must suffer the consequences. This has created a culture of silver-tongued, quick-witted, and overtly roguish people. Their communications are encoded and their minds are trained to concoct schemes interwoven with other, deeper, greater schemes. It is virtuous to create conspiracies to sabotage other drow houses. It is a sign of great strength to wage a war of disinformation and to win. And it is an act of self-actualization, of true and utter drowness, of complete euphoria to reveal to a victim the drow's trickery at the moment of the victim's destruction. To not do so is a slight; it says to the victim, you are so inconsequential that you need not know of this moment. Were it not for such an act being capable of materializing miracles, it is doubtful such a conniving, pompous people could thrive as they do. But there is another layer to this too. The web is connected. All who are on it respect all others who are on it. If a plan fails, then it means many more have failed too. In this way, drow will help each other with their conspiracies, for to do so is to both help themselves and the drow as a whole.

All is Food. Feeding Lloth is a holy act. She is a divinity with a deep and great appetite, however, and one that is not easily slated. Thus, all things must be seen as food in order to appease her (and the matrons who rule in her name). Such a viewpoint has led to the drow seeing all living things, including each other, as a potential sacrifice to keep their people alive. In turn this has enabled them to commit great atrocities. When one no longer sees another as something sacred, special, and worth preserving, they are quick and absolute in their destruction of it. All the tales of the horrific things drow have done owe their truth to this one universal belief: all is food, and food must be eaten. Do not expect mercy from a drow because of this. Do not try and conceive of lengths they cannot go to. If it means attaining sacrifices and slaves, the drow will sin blacker sins then any ever before witnessed.

Wearing Symbols is Deific. To wear the symbols of Lloth is to become Lloth. Matrons and other religious leaders are thus treated as if Lloth herself is communicating to the drow. Generals, slave masters, and other important drow likewise adorn themselves in these symbols, and thus too are Lloth's physical manifestations. Below, a list of possible worn symbols:

1. Manifesting two additional pairs of arm, for four total limbs.
2. Embedding six gemstones into the forehead and face, representing the eight eye's of the spider.
3. Keeping venomous spider pets underneath one's tongue.
4. Adorning one's limbs in dangling glass and jewels, mirroring captured prey wrapped in cocoons.
5. Wearing the shrunken heads of sacrifices offered to Lloth.
6. Flowing garments of spider silk.
7. Fungal incenses and perfumes with a scent similar to blood mixed with roses.
8. Curved daggers, similar to a spider's fangs, hanging from the neck and shoulders.

Drow Miracles are Predatory & Spiteful. A drow survives because others do not. That is the way of the Veins of the Earth, where life cannibalizes life, uncaring of how precious or rare it may be. Thus, all drow miracles are then predatory and fueled entirely by spite. The more a drow hates a victim, the more it feels wronged by it, the blacker the thirst for vengeance in their mind the more potent, the more poignant the miracle that they manifest. In this way, there is little difference between a drow miracle and a drow curse. Below in the section detailing Drow Predations & Spites, you can find examples of these miracles. Note that a drow prayer will never ask for forgiveness, mercy, or compassion. Instead prayers will ask for opportunity, advantage, and insight.

In the Greater Cosmos, Naught But Danger. Lloth has taught the drow paranoia. In her scriptures, the entire cosmos is a place of endless danger, where all things will wrong the drow, all things will hurt the drow, and all things will destroy the drow - all to simply be above something else. Locked underground in the Veins of the Earth whilst filled with spite endless it is hard to shake such a primordially violent belief. Their home, Menzoberranzan, is the only haven in all the universe where drow are free to live unshackled by the hatred of other peoples. Though this is untrue, such a xenophobic mindset has only whet the blades of drow imperialists. They destroy other cultures they find, enslave and sacrifice what they can, and leave peoples alive only so that they may continue to provide them tribute. 

Rebirth For All Drow, Always and Forever. A drow that follows Lloth (for there are other drow, on the surface, who worship the moon and have secret afterlives on the dark side of that celestial traitor) will be reborn by Lloth after their death. All drow souls are connected to her through a spiritual web; when born, a blood sacrifice is done, where in some of Lloth's daemonic essence infests the drow. This is why drow are so accepting of assassination amongst each other, and of drow-sacrifice to Lloth. Every soul will be reborn, and so long as she exists, nestled in Menzoberranzan's shrines and idols, in her people's symbols and prayers, the drow will never go extinct, their predations never ended.

A matron of Lloth who embodies all of Her divine poison.

The Eighty-Eight Prisms

The Eighty-Eight prisms is the name of the Lloth holy text, created by the first generation of drow to serve Her.

As the name implies, these are eighty-eight gemstones weighing roughly 10,000 pounds each. The prisms are cut with a near impossible level of detail, and are heated to turn each one into another chapter of the overall holy text that comprises the core of Lloth's worship. From a young age do Drow spend countless hours touching and meditating around the Eighty-Eight Prisms, divining the secrets of their heritage, their afterlife, and their core belief. Likewise, at the heart of each prism is another daemon; a servitor of Lloth who whispers into the ears of entranced drow who come here to worship or learn. These daemons are called the Psalms.

While the full contents will not be disclosed here, every drow is taught to recite different prisms by heart depending on their trade. Matrons are forced to learn the entirety of the text by heart in order to gain access to the High Miracles (7th level +). Other drow carry small gemstones embalmed with choice bits of information that they can draw from with but the barest brush of a finger.

This technology has revolutionized to all forms of drow communication. Every home carries prisms inside of it encoded with different information. Essentially, these prisms are the books of drow society, containing stories, tales, facts, and secrets. And inside each personal prism is another daemon, allowing Lloth to know all that her people know, forever more.

A saboteur turned oracle late in their spiteful life.

An Assortment of Angels

Lloth is an old divinity. During the course of her existence she has birthed many a great creature to serve her, and these great creatures remain now, her angels, her daemons. Their forms are crafted from the molten earth below the Veins of the Earth and their souls are but a sliver of Lloth's own. Occasionally truly virtuous drow are ascended too, joining her pantheon of daemon-angels.

Their core form is a melted rush of eight-eyed flesh. It boils and roils about, tentacled, watching, like candles made of meat forever burning an invisible flame. When given purpose they take a form.

• The Sabouteuth look just as drow do, though without faces. They speak through whispered telepathy and weave webs between their fingers that burn with heat. A Sabouteuth will capture whatever it is Lloth wants captured - usually a sacrifice of some sort - wrap in her divine web, and spirit off to the demon pits at the center of Menzoberranzan. They have 1 HP, a thac0 of 9 (or an AC of 10), and no method of attacking. Sabouteuth move through shadow and stone as if it were open space.
• Eggsacks are just as they sound. They appear mysteriously inside of corpses or in hidden places and hatch. Each spiderling carries a message and they will swarm a drow to tell them some desire belonging to Lloth. Then, they will fade into green vapor and then into nothing, only the bitter smell of rot left behind.
• Drider's are half-drow (who are faceless) half-spider monstrosities. Each is fashioned from the heat-soul of a heretical drow and the daemon-angels that Lloth has spawned. They appear only to destroy heretics, to fight off predators too great for normal drow, and to enforce her will upon the rebellious and foolish. A drider has no face and does not need to breathe. They have 6d6 HP, a thac0 of 2 (or an AC of 18), and attack with spear-sharp legs (1d8 * 8) or a greatsword fashioned from the bones of their once-drow lower half (2d6).
• Messiah Daemon are rare, only called upon when the drow beseech Lloth to eradicate some great foe. A daemon will manifest and sleep with a matron, impregnating her with itself. The birth is a six-armed, white-furred monstrosity that grows to an abominatable eight feet in height within eight hours of time. Loyal only to its matron mother (and to Lloth), the Messiah Daemon will speak only the Eighty-Eight Prisms and move to violence against any who oppose its creator(s). A Messiah Daemon has 10d10 HP, a thac0 of 0 (or an AC of 20), and attacks with all six arms in an attempt to rip its victim apart (each hand dealing 1d10), or utilize its breath weapon: a silver, heatless fog that fills a target's stomach with dozens of eggsacks that hatch, swarming the victim's innards with spiders.

A Sabouteuth carrying a sacrificed artifact back to Lloth.

Hierarchy of Drow

It took generations for a hierarchy to form. As the drow expanded, and as their power required more structure to be properly used, a hierarchy formed amongst them. This system of class-power is stratified but it is not impossible to move up and down the ranks.

1. Matron Marqueeses  - The eight matrons who are either oldest, most pious, or most powerful of the many matrons. Their council speaks as one, and speaks as Lloth.
2. Messiah Mothers - The various matrons who have birthed Messiah Daemons. They cannot be commanded by any save the Mother Matrons, but each has their own mission which they must attend to with their spawn.
3. Matron  - The title given to the female head of house. A house consists of eight drow families united by either blood or oath.
4. Oracles & Diviners - Non-binary and MtF drow more often than not become oracles, soothsayers, and similar such figures.
5. Silk Countesses - The formal title of drow who are both masterful hunters and faithful religious acolytes. 
6. Daughters - The name for the standard acolyte of Lloth. Daughters lead rituals for other drow, and are the go-to liason between divinity and drow.
7. Cocoon Marquis - Male drow who hunt, fight, and enslave for Lloth. The Cocoon Marquis are males who, unlike the others, have been blessed by Lloth with authority over others and some measure of miracle.
8. Whispering Brood - Young drow who are slowly being initiated into the secrets of Lloth attend to the older daughters and various other members of the hierarchy.

Beyond this, drow positions are based on role and duty, and not so much their religious connotations. 

A Silk Countess - the blend between warrior and holy woman.

Drow Predations & Spites: Miracles of Lloth

If you play a cleric, than these miracles are for you.

At 1st, 3rd, 5th, 7th, and 9th levels, instead of learning a spell, you can instead learn a miracle. Consider these more powerful than normal spells, themed to your divinity of choice, and gated by more than just spell slots. These miracles are level gated; higher level characters who sacrifice more wealth and power to Lloth are rewarded with one of her many secrets. A miracle may be used by rolling 1d8. Add to the roll a +1 modifier if any of the following conditions are met beforehand:

• 1,000 gp worth of wealth, or creatures totaling 20 HP, were sacrificed to Lloth less than an hour beforehand.
• The would-be victim of the miracle has defaced a holy object or is a heretic in the face of Lloth.
• More than 100 drow will die as a direct result of the miracle not manifesting.

If the roll is an 8 or higher, the miracle manifests.

Miracles work essentially the same as spells, but produce effects purely in line with what Lloth as a divinity is. Once any miracle is granted, another cannot be granted that game session - divinities are strange and fickle in their responses. Likewise, if a drow beseeches a miracle and does not roll an 8 or higher more than twice, they cannot beseech another; Lloth has forsaken them for now.

LIST OF MIRACLES BY LEVEL

1st 

• A Song to Share my Pained Destiny to All ; a Hymn to Earn their Vengeance
• Crawling Forward in a World of Hateful Heresy 
• Punish Them for Denying My Righteousness, My Life, & My Truth

3rd

• Blood-Hot Trail of Those that Curse Revealed to Me
• Incense that Creeps with Secrets
• Wounds Upon Thy, Overflow with Poison

5th

• All my Spite ; a Dirge of my Vengeful Suicide
• From About Me Comes HER Hunger-Revenge
• Overflowing Secrets Pool in Mine Mouth

7th

• Demise Comes for Me, but to You Has It Loved
• From Your Webs Hang All You Love
• YOUR Children, Here Now, For All to See

9th

• Cocoon of Faith to Rebirth All the World's Spite
• Here Be the Haven, the Nest, the Future
• SHE Places a Kiss Upon Thy's World

A Daughter performing a ritual honoring the spite of all her kin.

MIRACLE DESCRIPTIONS

1st Level Miracles

A Song to Share my Pained Destiny to All ; a Hymn to Earn their Vengeance

You must view your life as the life of the oppressed, the attacked, and the lonely. Your must see your friends as enemies, and you must see everyone's friends as their enemies too. Appalled by the bloodthirsty nature of all bonds, sing. Sing loud and sing keenly. Sing to Lloth of your disgust at this treacherous cosmos and sing for her to show to all who walk it that your vengeance is owed and they must learn why. In answer to your vindictive hymns, all around you will be envenomed by your worldview. They will grow hostile to all that they see, save you. And they will act to destroy each other in order to accomplish the revenge they never knew they needed. When this miracle manifests, its divine effect does not end for 10 minutes, after which all involved are aware of the atrocities they have now committed. First used by a generation of drow enslaved by surface dwellers and who sung to Lloth for freedom.

Crawling Forward in a World of Hateful Heresy 

Why is it that you are so righteous and yet so beaten down by all that exists? Why do you suffer? Why are you dying? And it is at that moment, where you are fearful of death, where you feel that there is no way forward, that the miracle manifests. In these conditions you must reaffirm to Lloth the truth of your drowness - that no matter what, you will crawl forward, to give her food, for Her, for all the drow. And in response to your devotion, She will turn your body (and all you carry) into liquid shadow, and you will melt into shade. While in this heatless, textureless existence, you crawl forward. Those who see you see shadows of spiders on the wall with no source. Nothing can hurt you. Nothing can stop you. And until you feel safe again, you will not resume your existence as a drow. First used by a young hero who had food in a time of starvation but was blocked by an enemy too great for them to conquer.

Punish Them for Denying My Righteousness, My Life, & My Truth

When someone or something has tried to kill you and no retaliation works know that Lloth will come to your aid. Curse that murderous thing with all the spite inside of you. Hate it truly, utterly. Your hate will bring Her attention to that creature and you will find, in your garments, hidden as if it were always there, an amethyst dagger, warm as if alive, writhing shadow burbling inside its countless perfect facets. Attack with the dagger. It will never miss. When it slides into the body of whatever bastard sought to end the life of a holy drow, the blackness will invade it - Lloth will invade it. Their eyes will turn black, their skin too if they have it. Their bones will become hollow and brittle. For  eight months and eight days and eight hours of time will the antagonist suffer with every movement and thus go rigid and still. Prepared perfectly for sacrifice. First performed by a Cocoon Marquis whose sacrifice rebelled mightily.

3rd Level Miracles

Blood-Hot Trail of Those that Curse Revealed to Me

Something has evaded you. It has left you in a state most compromised. You cannot find it. Revenge cannot be exacted. You have exhausted every resource at your disposal and still it is gone. How dare it. The audacity. Name this temerity and beseech Lloth. Offer a bit of your blood from the tips of each of your fingers - no more than eight, though. Touch your eyes directly. Pull them away and your infravision has changed. You see brighter then all else the heat trail of the fiend who wronged you. It could be prey for a sacrifice, or the assassin of a cherished kin. It could be the trail of someone who took from you a prism, or who overheard a secret never meant to be uttered. Their trail leads directly to them, and so long as you move upon it you move with great speed - thrice that you normally could, as do any companions with you, and none of your lot grow tired either. The trail disappears when the spite fades or the creature dies. First performed by a young girl whose Matron was assassinated and who was denied her revenge.

Incense that Creeps with Secrets

Lies thick as stone barricade you in a prison of conspiracy. There are things you must know. All who keep those things from you keep them from Lloth and they must be taught the vanity of their impudence. Take the skull of a drow assassinated. Break it to pieces in your hands. Ask Her why the names of these fools insist on lying to you. Discover with surprise that the skull breaks into dust, into fine grave dust, into grave dust so fine it blooms outwards, is alive, moves with purpose. Inside this grave dust float Lloth's children. The smell of roses and blood twinned. All who know the secret that you wish to know will smell this incense. Lloth's children crawl into their ears, their brains, bite their thoughts. Whispers fill your head. The truths that were hidden from you for so long. Only answers a single question, but will bring you the thoughts of eight creatures to solve this riddle. First used by an Oracle-Vizier whose matron was surrounded by politicking enemies.

Wounds Upon Thy, Overflow with Poison

For one creature whose heart still beats and whose heat still burns does your hatred overflow. You see it. You see that it is hurt but it has not the grace to die or be sacrificed as it should. But it is hurt. It has suffered a wound to its flank or its arm or its face or something else entirely. If that wound would respond to your hatred it would overflow with poison. And so it does. Reach towards the wound. Tell Lloth how much you hate this thing. Tell her how it should be blighted and torn apart and left here in the bedrock of all creation to rot and rot and die and rot. Your eyes glow violet with heat. Poison bubbles in the open wound of your victim. It screams in pain. Poison flows from it, burning flesh black as drow skin. For every point of damage it has received so far, it receives it again so long as you remain conscious to hate it. When it dies, no soul is released; the poison damns it to lie here, forever suffering, until the end of all time lest an exorcist appear. First used by a Daughter whose mates killed her pupil and left her half-dead.

A Cocoon Marquis emerging again, reincarnated into something spiteful - a miracle indeed!

5th Level Miracles

All my Spite ; a Dirge of my Vengeful Suicide

For so long have you nursed in the core of your heart, in every ounce of blood, through every iota of heat you produce - you have nursed an enmity for all things. A spite so deep and so justified that try as you might you could never communicate it truly. And from just the barest spark of resistance from someone or something else does this hate becoming an all-consuming rage. A conflaguration of damnation. And it makes you sing. Sing as beautifully as you can. Lloth will sing with you. Your voice will change to hers, and inside of it the voice of all drow can be heard. Singing itself is a ritual. A spell. You are trying to communicate what you are to some wretch before you. And in the midst of the song, its mind will drown in the beating waves of your anathema. Unable to cope - for what living being could other than the holy drow? - it will suicide. It will slit its own throat in order to stop the madness. There is no other course, lest it plug its ears and pray to its own distant divinities.  First used by a Matron whose daughter was taken by some drake. The drake learned its lesson from her sorrowful rage-dirge.

From About Me Comes HER Hunger-Revenge

All the world has turned against you. You are broken. Your weapons are shattered. Your poisons are useless. You are hurt. Death comes for you; predator in the gloam, eyes twinkling with heat, with fire, cool as black. On your hands and knees you must go. Beg for Lloth to kill this thing. Beg for her to eat it. Not to save your life, but because you cannot do your duty, and you must invoke her to do it for you. Mercy through servitude is blessed. The walls will melt. The ceiling, the ground. Spiders the size of cavebears will emerge. Do not look. Do not dare look upon HER when you have failed to uphold your end of this bloody, eon-long bargain. Listen only. As everything around you is killed and devoured by these arachnid angels. Then they fade - the cave left empty as if you were ever the only one there. First used by a Matron whose entire house had abandoned her. They paid the price for their selfishness.

Overflowing Secrets Pool in Mine Mouth

There are things no living thing can know. Things only Lloth can know. Lie down. Fall into a trance. In that trance, see yourself standing on a great web in the deep darkness, a web that glows with heat, a web that stretches out into the infinite abyss. Ask this void a question. A true question. A question on the nature of the cosmos. A question of complete knowledge, esoteric and eldritch. Wake in pain. When you come out of your trance do not close your mouth. Inside of it, spiders swarm, and one by one each turns into a drop of poison that singes the tongue black. When they are all gone, speak - and what you speak will be the answer that you seek. First used by the original Messiah Matron, who knew not how to get the revenge she so lusted for.

7th Level Miracles

Demise Comes for Me, but to You Has It Loved

Wrap a thread of spider silk 'round your neck. When you die, with your dying words, ask Lloth to take as sacrifice not you but that which has killed you. Undone comes the silk from your neck. Your wounds disappear. If you had lost hit points, or were cursed or diseased or poisoned, you are no more. Instead, that thing that struck you a mortal blow suffers from every ailment you have ever suffered. That spider silk is wrapped 'twixt its neck. Watch as it is pulled upwards, into the stone, into the shadow. See a great heat there. Feel in your bones the mighty presence of something truly Impossible. That is Her. Lloth. You cannot look away as she eats that which has killed you. Never in your life will you feel as vindicated as you do now. First used by the very first drow that encountered Lloth and became her mate.

From Your Webs Hang All You Love

For a foolish reason has another living thing placed a curse upon you. Aware of this, you sought Lloth to dispel and turn such wicked evil. Name that which has cursed you, or name the curse itself. On a prism, create an effigy of love. Name it after the curse. Wrap it in spider silk and consume it. Wait. Eighty-eight hours later, the first will come. A spider the size of a drake will crawl from the ink of the underdark and with it will be a eight cocoons. It will leave them here, hanging from the shadow. Each cocoon has inside of it the still conscious, barely alive loved one closest to the curse-giver. Do with them as you will, so long as they are eventually sacrificed to Lloth proper. If the curse-giver comes for revenge, their loved ones will plead for them to stop, knowing that the curse-giver's life can be taken for theirs to continue. First used during a war between houses. Lloth manifested this miracle for the one that fed her better drow,

YOUR Children, Here Now, For All to See

With eyes seeing only hate gaze upon the heat of a thing that has killed eight drow. Knowing that you yourself are too infantile to take revenge, instead fashion a prism and take it to the Eighty-Eight. There, listen to the Psalms. Listen to their anger. Take the prism in hand and offer it to one. Watch the thing in your hand turn black as a heatless cave. Crush it into dust, beseeching Lloth for the most virtuous child she can spare. Watch as the dust rises in whirls and know that those whirls are your miracle. They solidify. The Drider stands before you seething. It sees only that thing that you have gazed upon, and it leaves with haste to destroy it. If it fails, know it will reform eight days later before you. It will drink of your blood, leaving you only half-alive, before going again to kill its foe. So it will do, again and again, until its victim is dead. First used by a Marquees to doom a wyrm most horrible.

Your Brother; your Savior

9th Level Miracles

Cocoon of Faith to Rebirth All the World's Spite

In your hands is the corpse of a drow most honorable. Flay the skin, devour the meat, break the bones to dust, and leave the skin out for an hours time. Watch as spiders flock to it. They will wrap the skin into a ball and seal the ball into a cocoon. Silk so thick that it is mucous. Touch it. Feel a heat inside. See a heat inside. The ball swells pregnant. Eight days pass, then eight more. It is the size of a drow now. It is one thing, slime-encased, an egg just laid. The heat inside is formless. Boiling like poison in the pot. Cracks open and gunk slithers out. The rebirth steps afterwards. Drow, reincarnated, reborn into the world for one reason: to destroy that which led to its death. A revenant of scorn. Empowered with all the miracles of Lloth and capable of wielding them without mistake. Chosen by Her. Loved by Her. This drow will continue its mission and every time it is destroyed it will be reborn again, here, at this spot, emerging ever more spiteful, ever more powerful. First used by a Messiah Matron to return to life her daemon child.

Here Be the Haven, the Nest, the Future

There must be eighty-eight of you, just as there were eighty-eight drow in legend when Lloth blessed them. The eighty-eight of you must hate all else. You must be alone. You must be on the precipice of death. Sacrifice one of you. Then another. Do this for eight days. When there are but eight drow left, the cave they are in will expand. Lloth herself will shape it. She will turn stone into home and darkness into love and air into web. A new city will be created and those sacrificed reborn and the eighty-eight of you will repopulate this new haven. The future expands. The drow continue. First used by Lloth herself to make Menzoberranzan.

SHE Places a Kiss Upon Thy's World

As you lie dying, say this -

"O, Lloth,

Whom from cave-dusk made Haven, and

From poison made water, and

From me made me -

O, Lloth,

Who sits in the heart of eight amethyst

Seeing those beyond and suffering from their cruelty,

Please, from your lips -

O, Lloth,

I am dead

But you will not let me die

For you love me

As I love -

As I love -"

And there She will appear. Rising from your shadow just as she did the primordial stuff of the universe. Smile on her face. She knows why you pray. Lloth herself, Goddess of Conspiracy, Murder, and Sacrifice, will seek out that one thing you hate most. She will kiss it. And in doing so, she will utterly destroy it - and all that get in her way. First performed by a child who was taken from her home and killed by a villain most horrible.

All the world's life for Her hunger.

Dragonborn are Irradiated Humans Who Experience Metamorphosis From A Violent & War-Filled Life

When a dragon (of any stripe; some are elementals, some are greedy dwarves, and some are extinctions made flesh) dies, its corpse bleeds literal majesty into the world around it. Think of this majesty as something akin to radiation. It seeps into the soil, spreads on the wind, rains from storms.

Some years later, children are born. Children with ill temperaments, obsessed with fire or lightning or something just as dangerous. These children, male and female, are not evil, but they are violent. They fight. They push. They are always human at first.

Sometime in their adult years, they will be hurt. Their blood will be of a strange color then, not the red it was of their youth. That strange color will harden over their flesh. Scales emerge, in small sections. A mercenary whose eye was hurt is now slitted, and half his face covered in blue scales, and from his spine horns have burst through the skin, spreading scales more. Like finds like, more often than not. Sellswords, all in various stages of rebirth, mixtures of scale and human, make for fantastic soldiers.

A war wizard mid transformation.

Eventually, after enough pain has been suffered, nothing human is leftover. Know this as a Dragonborn in true. Something once human that has given into the majestic violence that has gathered in its soul. Capable of breathing the same magic as a dragon, a warrior through and through. Not evil, not always, and not always good either. Warrior poets and paladins and barbarians across the world--entire battlefields of fielded quasi-dragon and full-fledged dragonborn mercenaries fielded and thrown at once another.

Full-fledged dragonborn

Their society is an odd one. Full-fledged dragonborn gather in clans and hide away from the rest of the world, usually at least. They will emerge only during times of war, pledging their swords to one side or the other, collecting gold, hoarding gold. They are draconic, after all. They will search for those just beginning their transformation, or others deep into it. They will guide them into more battles, seduce them into their warbands, nurture them into true dragonborn. They cannot reproduce, after all, irradiated with majesty as they are. Their clans grow by recruitment.

Dragonslayer experience more change.

Sometimes they do choose to live amongst other peoples. Rare this is, but they will use their veteran's prestige to fund their manses and workshops. These dragonborn, sometimes half-formed, other times fully formed, must work hard to control their violent impulses. It is difficult. Usually, it is not worthwhile.

Others still seek more dragons, and become famed dragonslayers. Their instinct pushes them to do this. Their souls devour majesty. Soon, they become half-dragons and, if they are lucky, dragons in full too.

Half-Dragon Well on the way to becoming a dragon in true

All manners of draconic creatures (Wyverns, Fire Drakes, Ice Wurms, etc) are born in much the same manner--mundane animals born with majesty that, through a violent life, become something new.

Have an OD&D class for this style of Dragonborn.

Dragonborn

Dragonborn may progress as a fighting-man up to 8th level (Champion). They may use magical weapons, but enchanted items fail in their hands, and magical armors cannot be donned. When a dragonborn first suffers 6 points of damage, roll a 1d12 on the table below. The dragonborn evolves thusly. After the dragonborn suffers twice that damage (12), it rolls again. And again after twice that (24), and so on and so forth. If the dragonborn rolls a feature it already has, it does not reroll, but simply remains stable. Damage suffered does not need to be at all at once, and can be suffered in pieces in between healing of any kind. A dragonborn who gains all 12 features retires at level 8, going into hibernation and reawakening as an 8 HD dragon wyrmling.

Draconic Features

1. Scales appear where your wounds were. Lower your AC by 1 (or increase by 1 if using Ascending AC).
2. Magic can barely hold purchase in your soul. You save vs magical effects as if you were 4 levels higher.
3. Your eyes turn the color of gold coins, your pupils into slit-daggers. You have infravision in darkness, and can see golden coins through walls no more than 1 inch thick.
4. Your musculature changes. Increase your Strength modifier by 1.
5. Your flesh becomes enriched with power. Increase your hit points by 1d6.
6. Claws burst from your hands and feet, and your legs become bow-legged. You can no longer ride non-draconic mounts, and your hands and feet count as off-hand daggers.
7. Wings burst from your upper back. Armor must be specifically modified to accommodate this. You can move 3" on your turn through flight.
8. A tail bursts from your lower back. Armor must be specifically modified to accommodate this. Your tail counts as a limb for moving, holding, or pushing objects, but not weapons or shields.
9. A set of horns burst from your head. Helms must be specifically modified to accommodate this. They count as daggers.
10. Your mouth becomes a hellish hole of sharpened fangs. Your bites count as off-hand dagger attacks.
11. Your voice becomes monstrous, draconic. Hirelings do not fail morale checks in your demanding presence, and creatures subtract 5 from their morale scores against you.
12. Something apocalyptic dwells in your breast. You gain the breath weapon of a dragon wyrmling.

Decide your own scale color/type, but stick to it.

OD&D: Cambions, Darklings, Sphinxes, and Valkyries as race-class variants

By Jakub Rebelka

NOTE: I have edited both the Cambion and Darkling variants

OD&D had races. Not race-as-class, but races that modified certain classes. For example, here's the Dwarf:

Dwarves may opt only for the fighting class, and they may never progress beyond the 6th level (Myrmidon). Because of their relatively small size, clumsy monsters like Ogres, Giants and the like will have a difficult time hitting Dwarves, so score only one half the usual hit points when a hit is scored. They have a high level of magic resistance, and they thus add four levels when rolling saving throws (a 6th level dwarf equals a 10th level human). They are the only characters able to fully employ the +3 Magic War Hammer. Dwarves note slanting passages, traps, shifting walls and new construction in underground settings. Goblins and Kobolds are their natural (and most hated) enemies, and Dwarves will attack Goblins and Kobolds before any other enemies in sight. Dwarves are able to speak the languages of Gnomes, Kobolds and Goblins in addition to the usual tongues (see Character Languages).

So I guess its easiest to say that races are variant classes in a way, as a dwarf is a variant fighting-man.

OD&D also offers this (oft-repeated) pearl of wisdom:

Other Character Types 

There is no reason that players cannot be allowed to play as virtually anything, provided they begin relatively weak and work up to the top, i.e., a player wishing to be a Dragon would have to begin as let us say, a "young" one and progress upwards in the usual manner, steps being predetermined by the campaign referee.

So, clearly making new race-class-variants is pretty encouraged.

So, let's make some new race-class variants. Some of these restrictions may seem odd; in future posts detailing lore, I will go over these (such as sphinxes not being able to use magical items).

* - The " symbol means multiple the proceeding number by 10. So 2" is 20 feet. 12" is 120 feet. 

Cambions

The infernal children of Things that spill out of hell.

Cambions can begin either as fighting-men or as clerics and freely switch between each class, but only between adventures. Thus, they begin with the benefits of both classes. However they may not progress beyond 6th level fighting-men (Myrmidon) and 4th level cleric (Evil Priest), and they must be Chaotically aligned.  Cambions can see at night as if it were daylight. Because of their infernal nature, score only one half of the usual hit points when a hit is scored from a fire source, such as a torch, alchemist fire, or a fireball. At the referee's option, cambions have a 1-4 chance of knowing when a creature is aligned to Chaos, and a 1-2 chance of sensing hostile creatures when they approach a door of any kind. A cambion can offer the soul of a creature to their infernal sires. When they do so, they deal an additional two pips of damage with weapons. If the creature does not die within 6 rounds, the cambion loses 1 energy level for breaking their payment.

Darklings

Darklings are curs'd fey, exiled from their hidden kingdoms.

Darklings can begin either as fighting-men or magic-users, and can freely switch between either class, but only between adventures. A darkling may not progress beyond a 4th level fighting-man (Hero) or an 8th level magic-user (Warlock). Because of their curse, they can only use cursed magical arms and armors, as well as cursed enchanted items, and they are immune to the curses of these items. Darklings can create potions and poisons, which takes time up to the referee and costs 1,000gp per dose to develop. Darklings have a fey harp doused in their curses, sorrows, and spites. Playing the harp allows for two different songs to be played. The first, a hateful ballad, causes creatures hostile towards the darkling to roll all dice twice and to take the worst result. The second, a sorrowful dirge, brings a character who has died within 1 round and within 3" back to life. The creature loses 1 energy level in exchange for this.


Sphinxes

Sphinxes adventure to gather wisdom. They retire and become sages for monarchs & gods.

Sphinxes are magic-users, and can only progress to 8th level magic-users (Warlocks). Sphinxes can use no magical items other than scrolls and potions. Sphinxes may only arm themselves with bows and slings. They have a 1-5 chance of knowing the answers to any riddles, and their wisdom allows them to hire sages at 1/10th of the price (200gp per month). After progressing to 2nd level (Seer), sphinxes can begin to research cleric spells. They cast these spells with their normal magic-user spell slots. All sphinxes can assume a monstrous shape, wherein their body takes the form of a lion, giving them two attacks with their claws. In their normal shape, they have wings, allowing them to move 2" through flight. Sphinxes are also magically-resistant, and thus save against magical effects as if 4 levels higher. Finally, a sphinx can speak any language.

Valkyries

Valkyries descend to the world to aid adventurers whose souls they eventually harvest.

Valkyries are fighting-men who cannot progress beyond 7th level (Champion). Valkyries can use any means of magical weaponry and armors, but cannot use enchanted items. Valkyries add two pips to the damage rolls of any characters who deal damage with a weapon, so long as those characters are within 10" and have not failed a morale check during this battle. Valkyries themselves are treated as having AC 1 point above whatever they are wearing. A valkyrie can call on their patron All-Father or All-Mother, who will send them a boon once per adventure. This boon has a 50% chance of manifesting as a raven, who will attack for 6 rounds anyone the valkyrie deems as cowardly. This boon has a 40% chance of manifesting as a wing'd wolf, who can move with flight 40", can be rode by the valkyrie, but will not engage in combat. Lastly, the boon has a 10% chance of manifesting as wisdom, allowing the valkyrie to do 6 damage with each attack for 6 rounds. If a fighting-man dies within 10" of the valkyrie and is holding a weapon, she can consume 10% of their experience and make it her own.

Elves Know Not Age and are Fascinated by Those That Do

Every elf wakes knowing that they will never change. Not truly.

Night Elves make for good Sylvans.

The word age doesn't mean the same thing to them as it does to us humans. We grow throughout our entire lives and then we wither. Elves, however, are like roses. Roses are only beautiful because they have been plucked before they withered, and all elves have been plucked from the corpse of God.

They are the living blood splatters of a conflict older than time. God's body breaks apart and rains across creation and under slaughtered shadows elves awake. From there, they make their decision.

Elves who remain as they are claim the name of Everlasting. They are perfect beings akin to angels. They live to make the world more beautiful, and are divine sovereigns all.

Elves who seek to become like their murdered parent are Sylvan. They venture into the depths of fairy tale and embrace the strange fiction of thousands of cultures.

Elves who resent the world for their murdered parent become Drow. Their spite burns thier flesh and blinds their eyes to the sun.

Three types of elf live in this world. None of them age. They can't understand the impatience of mankind or the growing weariness of dwarves. Those who have been awake the longest have seen the world change half a hundred times over. Such creatures don't make bonds like we do. To elves, all things are temporary, fleeting--and that creates ambivalence or lust or hatred in their hearts for creation's whole.

Perhaps this is why so many clerics believe that elves are the origins of mankind's many gods. Immortal creatures of magic and might--how could old tribes who painted with mud on walls not see them as something greater? Our oldest statues are living things, trance-locked elves who are resting for eons before walking the world again. People build shrines around them and burn incense. Prayers are made in hopes that one day, the patron elf will awaken and create some miracle.

But the elves know that miracles are something that cannot be created. Human life, after all, is the greatest miracle off all. That something that naturally dies could become so great...

It is astounding. That is why they join us on quests and adventures.

We fleeting flames that burn out so quickly capture their hearts just as they do ours.

Dwarves are Created by Mountains to Explore the World

On Dwarves (and Mountains)--

Ornn is the model for dwarven appearance to me.
Consider him a dwarf of the mountain's heart.

Dwarves are the children of mountains. They are demigods because of this, and old too.

Dwarves take on different aspects depending on what area of the mountain they wake in. Dwarves of the Peak are creatures of storm and lightning; those in the roots are burning hot and prefer their seclusions; cave-city-ridden slopes are warriors and breakers; the depths below are strange and haunted.

Dwarves are horned and dwarves are strong and dwarves are creatures of ancient stagnation. Mountains change over eons; this is why elves, who are formless at heart, are so irksome to them.

Like young mountains, young dwarves are full of rambunctious and violent energy--they are earthquakes who wander the world, fighting and breaking and reshaping. As dwarves grow older, they grow solemn, just as their parents do. They are forgotten about. They disappear, eroded by time, and their strength gives birth to new dwarves.

Dwarves call animals their brothers and seasons their sisters. They see the fey (read: children of ancient elves) the same way mortals see the weather--temperamental and always changing.

Extraordinarily smart are dwarves. Or rather, perhaps it is smarter to say they are too wise for their own good. They can recognize anything for what it truly is, and know what uses it has and what weaknesses are present within it. No creature has an eye for quality like a dwarf does.

Some dwarves appear more human, and others more animalistic. This is because mountains observe the world around them, and model their children after bits of what they see.

There are extraordinarily few dwarves. A single mountain may produce two or three in its lifetime, and a dwarf only "gives birth" when it dies and its strength gives the mountain the power to create a new dwarf. Because of this, they band together fiercely, but as they grow old they'll return to their mountain-parents, preferring the quiet of time to the violence of gathering together.