Designing these was an exercise in thinking outside the box. They had to be strange, different, and magical, but they couldn't be powerful. They had to be items that would be neat and fun to play with, but not something a character would trade for their own magic items. These are the kinds of things you see in fairy tales and stories--strange and quirky knicknacks that the fairy tale protagonists encounter on their adventures. I did a section on Story Items that appeared in Mordenkainen's Magnificent Emporium, which fulfills a similar role; story items are used to overcome obstacles in the plot. These items and fey gifts in Heroes of the Feywild can do that as well--I think they should do that--but they're also designed to lend a fun flavor to characters that venture into the Feywild were magic is ever-present. I think one of the themes we worked with on this book was that magic permeates the Feywild/Faerie so thoroughly that it doesn't work in accordance with the strictures (read as "normal D&D rules") of the mortal world. Hence, these items. Like the gray rain cloak that's woven from the substance of a rainy afternoon in Faerie. It doesn't make logical sense. It makes story sense in the vein of fairy tales.
So how do you come up with these kinds of oddities? Me, I was listening to the Weepies, writing down poetic phrases, rearranging them, filtering through Neil Gaiman, Peter Beagle, and Grimm, and bending them into magic items. It sounds weird, but that's the way it went.
Honestly, I think the best ideas come out of that space, more dream, fancy, and poetry than logical progression.
2 comments:
Just wanted to mention along the lines of unusual magic that my group recently had to pay toll to a fae boatman to pass through a section of swamp within the Feywild. I wanted to introduce the oddness of the realm and what might pass as trade-goods, so the boatman suggested the following in payment:
blood or flesh, bone or gristle
the memory of a fine summer day, or a lonely road in winter
the taste of your favorite food, or the sound of your lover's voice
the hope of a kiss, or a dream unfulfilled
One of the PCs ended up offering the only memory of her mother; a lullaby sung to her when she was a child. Accepting the offer, the boatman brought out a small hand-cranked music box, complete with a tiny wooden dancer. He turned the handle as the PC sang the simple tune and after a few twirls the dancer (now appearing like a miniature version of the PC) bowed and the memory of the song vanished from the mind of the PC.
So somewhere out there a group of PCs may one day find that music box, complete with a remarkably detailed wooden dancer that sings a sad lullaby when the handle on the box is turned.
Phil, that is completely and totally awesome.
It's comforting to me that in the midst of all the screaming and shouting on the internet over which D&D is the right D&D, you're creating amazing adventures with great stories. Well done.
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