*NOT* D&D: WWII French Air Woes

I've been toying with a what-if scenario about an alternative buildup strategy for the French air force in the 30s. One of the biggest problems with the Armée de l'Air was that much of its fighter force included MS-406 and MB-151. The first was substandard on a number of issues against the ME-109e; the latter was even worse. This resulted from France changing governments almost every year for several years, which messed up its strategy, not to mention industrial inefficiencies and interservice frictions between the army and the air force.

France ordered Curtiss H-75 Hawk fighters from the US, but production wasn't fast enough to cover the Armée de l'Air's needs. Orders also required hard currency, which was a problem given the awful state of France's economy at the time. The H-75, as a stopgap solution, was definitely better than the Morane-Saulnier and the Bloch 151. The P-40 and the Wildcat did not enter service until 1940. Those weren't an option, and we can pass on the hapless Brewster Buffaloes.
     So... Alternatives?
     Buying Hurricanes and Spitfires would have been awesome, but those weren't available, given that the RAF required their whole production. Russian fighters were not an option either for a number of reasons. So, who's left? Fokker, for one!
     The D. XXI, though obsolescent, was still better than the MS-406 and MB-151. It did surprisingly well in the hands of Dutch, Danish, and Finnish pilots who flew it in combat. Indications were that the Fokker G1 would have done well in its category. Most of the Fokker aircraft destroyed during the Netherlands' defense were those caught on the ground.
     The Dutch aircraft industry was altogether anemic and would not have been able to provide France with enough of either type. Buying those outright would have required cash, which was an issue for France. Therefore, building them under license in France might have worked better in this respect, and also because these were relatively easy to build. It would have required massive retooling of several builders, but this could have been accomplished in 1937 or 1938, leaving a very narrow window to deliver the hundreds of aircraft France needed to replace its less-performing fighters.

Arsenal VG33

I believe assembling British fighters and their Rolls-Royce engines all under license, especially the Hurricane, which was easier to build than the Spitfire, would have been another valid short-term approach until acceptable French-designed fighters became available in sufficient numbers (such as the promising Arsenal VG 33 or even an updated Dewoitine 520). Fokker might have been more willing to accept such an agreement, more so than Hawker or Supermarine. (This is entirely debatable since I don't know how the respective governments of the UK and the Netherlands might look at this.) I’m guessing that this strategy would have been hard to sell in the politically charged environment of France's government and industrial circles. It certainly would have been a painful blow to Gallic national pride as well. On the other hand, it could have kick-started several French manufacturers with firm orders for large numbers, which had been lacking throughout the 1920s and 1930s. As a result of this, French manufacturers didn’t have the financial strength to tackle major retooling and the fast-paced industrial output that the Armée de l’Air desperately needed on the blitzkrieg’s eve.
     Building foreign aircraft under license would have required a strong political will and the means to discipline French industrials who weren't always as cooperative as they could have been. There was indeed resistance to the 1936-1937 mergers that the Air Ministry imposed upon France's manufacturers, specifically to address production issues (see related article here). Production suffered from the 40-hour work week (no overtime as far as I know) and politically motivated strikes. Meanwhile, German workers toiled away 50+ hours per week. We do know that a Hurricane required about 10,000 work hours to build, vs. 12,000 for a Spitfire (correct me if I'm wrong). The Me-109e took a bit less time than this (although I haven't found confirming data). The MS-406 took at least as many, and the MB-151 even more, close to 18,000-20,000 work hours. You can see how badly the situation could develop with such numbers.
     Another aspect of the troubles that the Armée de l'Air faced was the slow pace at which France industries emerged from the global Depression (compared with the UK and Germany). A significant part of France’s industries had been lost during WWI, so all that had to be rebuilt before and during the Great Depression. The population (potential workforce) discrepancy between France and Germany + Austria + the Sudetenland gave the Axis an advantage of almost 2 to 1. Competition was a tall order seen from any angle.
     A number of other issues plagued the French military buildup of the 30s. The lack of consistency with design and production strategies from the French government (I do repeat it) was one of the leading problems. France’s Air Ministry issued some really bad design directives in the mid-30s, mostly as cost-saving measures. This resulted in a carnival of notoriously ugly and instantly obsolete machines (especially for bombers and recon aircraft), as well as a lot of wasted time and money. The lack of coordination among the aviation industry saw hundreds of aircraft getting built, but missing key components, like their armament, radios, and other cockpit equipment. French engine manufacturers could hardly keep up with the accelerated production of airframes in 1939-1940. Poor planning also led front-line units to use their own pilots to fly their older aircraft back to factories and exchange them for newer types. Why not use the thousands of available Polish pilots eager to be involved? They could have easily handled these deliveries at the very least. Most of them eventually ended up in the UK. 

Incidentally, I found information I didn't know. Under France's Third Republic (1870-1940), the head of state (President of the Republic) wasn't elected by universal suffrage but by the parliament (Senate and Chamber). The president appointed a prime minister to head the government. Technically, the prime minister wielded more power than the president. However, the Chamber could force the prime minister to resign with a vote of no confidence. With a heavily divided parliament (sounds familiar?), such as France's before WWII, this resulted in prime ministers lasting about six months, thus the political instability of the country. A profound rivalry between socialists and conservatives (sounds familiar?) was rooted in the Depression's economic problems (1929-1939) that had provoked widespread poverty and unemployment in France, especially during the second half of the 1930s. Added to this, French demography suffered from about half of its population between the ages of 20-25 being missing due to the 1.4 million KIAs in WWI and about six million casualties overall, a disaster for France's demography 20 years later. I'd call this a perfect storm...

     Despite France's mountain of challenges and failures, the Armée de l'Air and the RAF (respectively 600 serviceable fighter aircraft out of 2,900, and 360 for the RAF deployed in France vs. 850 Me-109e) were involved in inflicting on the Luftwaffe nearly 1,500 aircraft losses plus 488 damaged, about 28% of its front-line strength or 36% overall. French fighters accounted for 600-1,000 of the Luftwaffe's losses. I could not find stats on German losses attributed to the Hurricanes or the number of Me-109s shot down. The RAF had deployed about 260 Hurricanes to France and lost 119 of those during the invasion. Spitfires were not sent to France. It is a tribute to the valor of the Allied combat crews, given that they lacked any combat experience at the onset. This affected the Luftwaffe's chances of prevailing during the ensuing Battle of Britain.
     All of the issues described in this article led France to falter catastrophically after emerging from WWI as a world leader in aerospace. France could have done better. Bad governance in the face of a crisis dooms nations. Folks facing the same today, with glaring incompetence and criminal hubris to boot, ought to heed this tale. Anyway... This was a pie-in-the-sky idea. Let the Flak do its worst.

Click here for the previous article on WWII Mergers.

Happy Gary Gygax Day

 Oyez! Oyez! Oyez!

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*NOT* D&D: WWII French Aviation

French aviation of the 30s always puzzled me as regards its industrial basis and organization. I decided to look this up. Here's what I found. This is a departure from my usual D&D-related focus. Wargamers amongst you may find this interesting.

Mergers & Nationalizations

Reading about post-WWII French aircraft manufacturing can be confusing because of the acronyms used in the late 40s and 50s. After some frustration, I seized the bull by the horns and drafted a diagram showing the most important manufacturers after WWI. Those wargamers among you will recognize many in the diagram’s top row. These manufacturers did not possess the industrial capacity to provide modern aircraft as quickly as the French Armée de l’Air needed them to face the growing Nazi threat in the mid-30s. Many were financially strapped due to the global economic depression at that time. In desperation, the French government nationalized almost all of these manufacturers. The plan was to reorganize the entire industry to increase production output and relocate as many manufacturing centers away from Paris, which was deemed too vulnerable to an invasion. The government also saw an urgent need to improve coordination between its military and thus-far-private corporations.

        There wasn’t a good way to cobble together fifteen or more disparate companies with workshops spread all over the country, not to mention handling disgruntled workers' unions. The reorganization was more or less based (as far as I can tell) on the location of factories, resulting in six industrial groups positioned geographically: Center (Paris), North (roughly northwest of Paris), West (Atlantic coast), Southwest (Bordeaux), Meridional (Toulouse), and Southeast (Marseille). This approximated the original intent. The acronyms roughly translate as National Air Works of (…region). In truth, those areas overlap. Most of these companies had their HQs in one Parisian suburb or another. This was hardly avoidable since the capital city is the nation’s nerve center. Several companies’ assets ended up being split among different industrial groups. For example: Potez (Southeast & North), Lioré & Olivier (Southwest & Southeast), and Breguet (Southeast, North, plus one part that escaped nationalization and kept operating independently under its brand name). One company isn’t shown on the diagram: Avions Voisin. They converted their business to build automobiles after government orders for combat aircraft dried up at the end of WWI.

        After WWII, France’s aerospace industry was in tatters, since most of its assets had been taken away by German occupiers or wiped out during Allied bombing raids. Over the following sixty years, much of all this was rebuilt and eventually combined to form Aérospatiale (the folks working with the Brits to build the Concorde). Finally, Aérospatiale became the foremost part of establishing the multinational corporation called Airbus, now competing directly with Boeing. Much of the latter’s assembly work is completed in Toulouse.

        The exact status of these nationalized businesses isn’t all that clear (to me). Some managed to continue operating under their brand names after WWII (such as Potez). Most were swallowed entirely and ceased to exist as separate business entities. Marcel Bloch was the primary owner and administrator of Bloch Aircraft. The government bought him out but put him in charge of SNCASE (Southeast Aviation). He left in 1941 after disagreements with the Vichy government. He had been sent to a concentration camp during WWII, survived, and resumed control of his company after the war under his new name: Marcel Dassault. His new business lived on to produce the famous French Mirage fighters. One final corporation escaped nationalization altogether: Latécoère. It was best known for its transatlantic seaplanes. It still operates to this day, a world-spanning business specializing in airplane parts (fuselage sections, doors, electrical equipment, and so forth).

Engine Manufacturers

        Oddly, these companies weren’t nationalized in the 30s, despite a dire need for modern aircraft engines at that time. Salmson (Société des Moteurs Salmson, SMS) exited the aerospace business after WWI and began building automobiles. It ceased operations in 1962; its brand name ended then, and the remaining assets were bought out by other businesses. Renault was another source until 1936, when it spun off its Caudron subsidiary and other aircraft engine divisions to focus on its core automotive business. Lorraine-Dietrich provided engines until 1935, when financial failure enabled Amiot and Bloch to acquire its aircraft engines business. Gnome et Rhône bought out the remainder of Lorraine-Dietrich in 1941. Another small engine manufacturer of WWI, Société Clerget-Blin et Cie., was eventually acquired by SNECMA in 1947 and ceased to operate under its brand name.

        Hispano-Suiza was an important source of aircraft engines in WWI. France’s branch, known as Société Française Hispano-Suiza, was established in 1923 and cut ties with its Spanish parent company at the French government’s behest. It designed aircraft engines and cannons up until WWII, especially for the MS-406, Dewoitine 520, and Arsenal VG33. It later built foreign manufacturers’ engines under license. SNECMA bought the French division in 1970 and renamed it Safran Transmission Systems in 2016. The division continued since then to build aircraft engines, thrust reversers, and other equipment. The original Spanish company, still under its Hispano-Suiza brand, survives to this day, specializing among other things in gnarly-looking concept and sports cars.

        Gnome et Rhône built aircraft engines, especially during WWI. Much of its business fell victim to WWII. They built engines for M4 Sherman tanks for a short period, but to salvage what was left of the company, it was nationalized in 1945 and rebranded as Société Nationale d'Etude et de Construction de Moteurs d'Aviation, otherwise known as SNECMA. The latter went on to build the Atar jet engine powering Dassault Mirages, and the Concorde’s Olympus 593. In 1974, the company established a joint venture with General Electric called CFM International to build the highly successful CFM-56 engines used on Boeing and Airbus aircraft. It changed its brand name to Safran in 2016 and now operates as a world supplier of commercial and military jet and turboprop engines, as well as the propulsion system for the space-bound Ariane 5 Vulcain rocket.

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Calidar: Dwarven Ironclad Main Turret

Dwarves of Kragdûr fly large, armored, steampunk-style gunboats, mostly in Calidar’s outer space. My plan is to draft a whole ship in detail and make it available in digital format on DTRPG, both labeled and unmarked for gameplay. Specs are intended to be: 300 dpi, 1" squares, 1 sq. = 5 ft. The file could be printed as a large poster at your local printer's, or used digitally for any D&D-like game. This article shows my present draft of the main gun assembly. 

Overall. Since it is a space-faring vessel, the Iron Queen is wholly pressurized and somewhat heated or cooled. Thanks to gnomish slaves, permanent deck enchantments provide artificial gravity. Dwarven ships do not enjoy the benefit of electrical power. No live fire, be it open or enclosed inside a lantern, is permitted anywhere in the turret assembly. Some things aboard occasionally suffer a je ne sais quoi of “ish-ness,” adding adventurousness to life on board. The crew strives to address mishaps with all the celerity and ad hoc means determined dwarves can muster.

Work Space: Armor above deck runs about 12” forward of the turret, 8” on the sides and on the top, and 6.4” astern. Decks lie 7.5 ft. above one another, minus several inches to a foot for vents, steam pipes, and various mechanisms the turret requires. Anyone taller than 6 ft. needs to watch their heads. Doorframes offer a maximum clearance of 5½ ft. Hatches are about 2½ ft. wide and airtight if locked, although connecting conduits (air ventilation, steam ducts, and voicepipes) can be manually shut in an emergency (with uneven results).

Operating Conditions: Sallow, flickering light radiates from glowing quartz rods fastened near the tops of the bulkheads. The smells of metal, oil, grease, burned powder, stale damp air, and dwarven sweat suffuse the turret’s oppressive atmosphere. Diffuse vibrations and the muted sound of the ship’s Fetzgrim engines thrum unrelentingly through the turret’s thick bulkheads. The crew’s rocky bellows, the gritty ratchets and rumbles of machines, sporadic jets of steam, and the strident whistles of brass voicepipes commanding attention yield to the main guns’ overwhelming roar. Amid the warship's din, like an incongruous punctuation, a bell rings. The Iron Queen’s metal structures are known to groan, creak, and bang under the strain of sudden maneuvers defying a nearby world’s gravity.

Crew Demeanor: Gray coveralls, suitably smudged and stained, are in order. A shoulder patch representing a flaming cannonball is sewn on the right. Tightly braided and sleeked with fire-retardant grease, hair and beard are tied neatly to prevent them from getting caught in machinery. A black beret with a silver badge bearing the Iron Queen’s arms is worn or usually tucked under a shoulder strap while at work. Most carry short-term breathing devices on their belts in the event of a catastrophic decompression. Outsiders often recoil at the thought of being assigned to one of the most dangerous spots on the ship. On the other hand, turret crews take pride in it. Woe be to anyone else crossing this edgy, close-knit bunch. When not engaged in combat, the turret crew undergoes training, performs maintenance and repairs, and handles nuisances.

Nuisances: Typical issues in dwarven ironclads spending months in outer space apply to their turrets’ steamy confines. These include space-born slimes, oozes, and fungi that can damage ship components. Internal rust remains a concern as well. For these reasons, some critical, hard-to-reach parts may be plated with gold. Various small pests inadvertently picked up on Kragdûr hide in crawlspaces, discreet nooks, and rusted containers, hunting for food or possibly infesting the crew. They are the bane of a ship’s hold, and Kragdûras cats commonly dwell there. Ship sanitation generally deserves an “ish” label, especially inside a turret, as heads may not lie conveniently nearby.

1. Gun House

This part of the turret lies above deck and can rotate a bit more than 90 degrees to port and starboard. It houses two 9” cannons, the crew needed to load, aim, and fire them, and two escape pods in the back.

1A. Turret Commander Station. It sits on a platform raised about 3 ft. above the gun house’s deck. The seat is fitted with pedals to rotate the turret, a retractable periscope to sight targets and estimate their ranges, a crank controlling gun elevation, and two levers to trigger the main weapons. Chains running below deck connect the pedals and the crank to the steam-powered apparatus that rotates the turret and runs its internal components. Two voicepipes enable communication with the ordnance and the powder flats on the decks below.

The commander, called an “Ishkhân” (First Master), enjoys a great deal of leeway during battle. Communication between the bridge and the turret’s crew is limited to voicepipes. The rotating turret prevents a direct link with its commander. If need be, the bridge can reach the powder master in the powder flat, two decks below, who can relay orders to the turret commander. Meanwhile, the latter assumes what targets the bridge intends to attack based on the ship’s maneuvers. Once the order to open fire is given, the commander is at liberty to select one of several possible targets, usually the most threatening or valuable. These experienced combat officers are always in demand and paid well. The turret’s command station is the most exposed at the front and top. Escaping past surrounding equipment is difficult, leaving the ladderwell behind the hapless commander to climb down in a hurry and evacuate the turret structure through the powder flat.

1B. Gunnery Stations. Each gun includes three crew members, collectively known as gunners. The primer, a senior crew, handles the breach and primes the weapon. The loader operates the powder hoist and ensures that the charge is properly positioned. The rammer maneuvers the ramming device that secures the cannonball and its powder charge in the gun’s breach.

The powder packed in a bag is called Klutnul, otherwise known as Kragdûr’s darkpowder, which can ignite and burn in the vacuum of space. Before firing, the gun’s muzzle plug must be in the open position. Any leftover smoldering debris ejects into the void when a shot is fired. The primer then closes the plug, allowing air to fill the barrel before opening the breach. When ready, the primer shouts in the dwarven vernacular, “Rosh’kea fohr,” or “Give her Iron!” through the opening in the deck beneath the gun. The ordnance flat’s crew on the deck below responds “Fohr klogal,” or “Iron Coming,” at which time their loading arm (2C) swiftly inserts a cannonball directly into the open breach.

The loader standing near the powder hoist activates his apparatus after the cannonball is in place. Pulling the lever down opens the hoist compartment and drops the powder charge onto the loading gondola just under the turret’s overhead. Pushing up the lever closes the hoist’s compartment and sends its empty tray back to the powder flat.

The gondola and its ramming apparatus are then lowered behind the gun’s breach. The air-compressed ram pushes the charge behind the cannonball with a loud “ah-CHOO” sound, to which the gun crew bawls a heartfelt “Ahrog’kloss” or “Strong Blood!”, meaning “Gesundheit.” The primer closes the breach, cutting the air intake, arms the mechanical firing pin, opens the muzzle plug, and hollers “Ulzh’alt soth,” translated as “Live on Portside!” (or “Ulzh’alt purf” for the starboard gun). The warning alerts the turret commander sitting less than 15’ away that the gun is ready to be fired. Since the guns recoil noticeably, everyone steps back, waiting for the Ishkhân to pull the trigger. And yes, they’re supposed to act and sound like Star Trek Klingons.

1C. Gunnery Master Station. Known as the “Rothkhân” (Master of the Flame, Second Master, or more affectionately Gunny), this officer stands astern of the two guns, overseeing their crews. The gunny may step forth should any crew become incapacitated, including the turret commander. Gunnies generally study to earn their Ishkhân promotion. Next to the gunny stands a firefighter, a junior crew strapped with a fire extinguisher fitted with a lever and a hose to put out any flames. Common jokes go around behind the gunny’s back that the firefighter might put out the Master of the Flame. The fire extinguisher can reach about 50 ft. and has the capacity to coat two 10’x10’ areas. For a bit of fun, its tank is sometimes filled with ale.

1D. Spacesuits Stowage. Should the crew need them, ten spacesuits hang is a locker abaft the guns. Large trunks lie on the port and starboard sides of the turret with miscellaneous tools and equipment, including thick, tar-coated, 3’x3’ sealing patches rolled up together, and two hand-held, 10”-long quartz rods radiating a stark, glaring white light within a 15’ radius.

1E. Escape Pods. Airlocks, shown with gray decking on the floor plan, allow the crew to access two escape pods. Each one houses four seats fitted with straps, and two containers with food, ale, handheld weapons, 1½ ft. large sealing patches, red smoke dispensers, blankets, and first aid kits. Inflatable waterskins tucked under the seats can serve as individual flotation devices. A hatch on top of the escape pods enables an emergency exit when landing in water. A set of wooden paddles is attached to the bulkhead near the overhead. Seating is cramped at best, so it is fortunate that most barrel-chested dwarves are slightly squishy. After locking shut the entry hatch, a single lever triggers explosive bolts, ejecting the pod from the turret. If not rescued within an hour of separation, pods typically drift toward the nearest world. Pods contain alchemical rebreather devices good for two days with four occupants. Parachutes and retrorockets enable a safe crash landing… ish. Airlocks hold a secondary exit abaft the turret, directly into outer space’s vacuum (hence the spacesuits nearby in 1D). Airlocks can only remain pressurized while their pods are still attached.

2. Ordnance Flat

Located below deck, this level of the turret rotates with the gun house above. It houses the mechanisms controlling gun elevation, the cannonballs, the devices loading the guns, and the crew to operate them. Personnel on this deck are collectively referred to as artillerists. The crew includes a “Fohrkhân” (Iron Master, or Third Master) standing by the voicepipe near the center bulkhead. He oversees two lock mates and two arming mates operating the deck’s equipment.

The turret’s armored barbette surrounds this level. The gun house and its barbette are vertically secured to the main shaft (in other words, the turret does not fall off under negative gravity conditions). A large bearing assembly and rollers enabling the turret to rotate lie in a crawlspace beneath the deck. Access to the crawlspace is through either of the turret’s two ladderwells. Clearance there is no more than 3 ft. Various pests nest there as much of it is unlit. The turret’s static ring is rendered in black and green on the floor plan. The rotation machinery links with the pedals at the Ishkhân’s station up in the gun house. The steam-powered plant driving the main gear lies beneath the powder flat’s deck.

2A. Gun Elevation Station. Two powerful machines control large screw-like shafts that push up or pull down the rear section of the gun cradles located just above, in the gun house. These machines connect with the Ishkhân’s station. The guns need to return to a level position for reloading. Their rear sections pivot down through deck apertures in the gun house when the barrels point upward. No crew operates here unless repairs are needed. A container at the fore contains a hand-held, 10”-long, glowing quartz rod fitted with a metal hook, rags, an oil dispenser, a can of grease, as well as tools to open the machinery’s casings and perform routine maintenance. A ladderwell close to the turret’s center leads to the gun house and to the powder flat.

2B. Ordnance Switchboard. Cannonballs are stored in individual slots at the turret’s perimeter. When the “Rosh’kea fohr,” command comes from the gun house or if ordered by the Ishkhân through the voicepipe, a lock mate selects with the right-hand dial which round to release. The lever on the left of the console either opens or closes the selected compartment. When released, a cannonball drops onto a bowling-alley-like gutter (rendered in blue on the floor plan). A slight incline drives the ordnance down along the gutter and into a loading arm’s cup (2C in the illustration below). The trunk between the two lock mate consoles holds miscellaneous tools, two hand-held, 10”-long, glowing quartz rods, five individual rebreather masks, a dozen wooden wedges, a portable prayer set dedicated to Arnmîr Tinkerbones (a demigod of healers, CC1, pg. 45), and two sets of tie-down chains to secure the loading arms on the deck when not in operation.

2C. Loading Arms. After a cannonball drops into position, the arming mate hollers to everyone within earshot the expected “Fohr klogal” warning before triggering the loading arm. Akin to a trebuchet, the loading arm abruptly swings up through the gun house’s deck aperture and delivers its ordnance directly into the gun’s open breach. To accomplish this feat, a gobsmacking one for anyone but dwarves, the arming mate yanks the green lever down on the nearby console. A spring returns it to its upward position immediately afterward. The red lever activates steam-powered machinery that cranks the loading arm back down. When done, the lever returns to its upright position on the console. The crew knows full well to keep their arms and heads clear of the loading device during operation, as it is strong enough to inflict serious wounds when triggered. It may catapult severed body parts into the gun house above and possibly obstruct the breach, deflecting the cannonball, which then bounces off the back of the gun or the bulkheads, inflicting further injuries or death to crew members in its way. Another hazard lies in the loading arm’s counterweight that swings down through a deck aperture into the powder flat below when the device is triggered.

A prayer set includes a round mat, a brass
cup, and a potion of extra healing.

Resupply Operation. When the ship resupplies, munitions and Klutnul charges are carted aboard from loading hatches to the powder flat. Projectiles are lifted from there to the deck above while drums containing pre-packed charges are stored in the turret’s Klutnul magazine. Arming mates operate the davits near their stations. These small cranes haul cannonballs from the deck below and rotate to deposit them on the gutter. A wedge can prevent ordnance from rolling back. The iron shots are then manually pushed along the gutter and into open compartments. The lock mate operating the closest console then closes these slots. This turret holds three circular rows of cannonballs, one atop the other. When a row is depleted, the next one comes down to the level of the gutter. When reloading is done, pressing down hard on the dial resets a row.

3. Powder Flat

The turret assembly’s lowest level, this deck does not rotate with the gun house, save for the central area shaded in red on the floor plan. This rounded section is part of the turret assembly, separate from the magazine chamber that protects the darkpowder reserve. This deck's purpose is to distribute powder charges when requested. The two aft hatches lead toward the ship’s engine room. Ladderwells straddling the deck’s center bulkhead lead up to the ordnance flat and the gun house.

Personnel on this deck are collectively referred to as powder handlers, under a “Klutkhân’s” supervision (Powder Master, or Fourth Master). This deck officer usually stands by the voicepipe on the center bulkhead to receive commands from the gun house. Quickly heading to the other voicepipe next to the starboard hatch may be needed to relay commands from the bridge. Two keepers work in the segregated magazine while two bearers carry charges to the powder hoists when ordered.

3A. Powder Hoists' Deck. The two powder bearers initially stand next to their assigned scuttles, on either side of the magazine hatch. When the deck’s master orders it, the bearers knock on the scuttles’ lids, allowing powder bags to slide out. They carry them on small carts to their assigned hoists, avoiding the spots where the loading arms’ counterweights drop through the overhead’s apertures. Forgetting this hazard may result in mild to severe cases of sudden death when a descending counterweight crushes a distracted handler. Pulling down on a hoist’s lever opens its compartment. Pushing it back up closes the compartment and sends the tray and its powder charge up to the gun house (1B). When closed, the powder hoist is hermetically sealed. Bearers never keep Klutnul bags in the open for very long. A bell sounds when the tray reaches either end.

Rate of Fire.  Up to three powder charges can be loaded on a hoist’s tray at the turret commander’s request (the loader and rammer in the gun house would have to push the bags into the gun’s breach separately). Combat in space’s airless void rarely requires so much power, but the option exists. A hoist can move its tray all the way up or down in 1 round, so requesting a maximum six bags would take at best 11 BECMI game rounds (under 2mn in real time, about two combat rounds for the AD&D game) to complete, from the moment the turret commander gives the order to the time the last bag is rammed into a gun’s breach. With only one charge, the normal rate of fire drops to 50 seconds (a real-world warship takes about 30 seconds). Powder bags are made of Kragdûras spider silk dyed bright yellow that leaves little or no residue after ignition. Klutnûl is mixed with alchemical agents reducing flash and smoke. Each charge weighs about 40 Lbs.

Two trunks contain assortments of spare parts and six rebreather masks. The main gear driving the barbette’s static ring (located in the crawlspace between the powder and ordnance flats) is rendered as a shadow on this floor plan. Its axle (in black on the floor plan) extends down to machinery below the powder flat's deck. The static ring is rendered as a gray shadow as well.

3B. Klutnul Magazine. Darkpowder is stored here, six bags per iron drum. The drums are stacked four rows high on three sides. The bulkhead facing the powder hoists' deck features two scuttles and a hatch. This hatch is never opened during combat. The two keepers assigned to the magazine only open the scuttles when a bearer comes knocking, and quickly push out a powder bag before closing the scuttles once more. This prevents the powder reserve from exploding in the event of a flash or a fire in the gun house. The keepers are responsible for checking the powder bags for any rips exposing contents. They store damaged charges in empty containers for later disposal.

The annotated, full-resolution image is posted in the Facebook chat group.
Check the previous article about the Iron Queen’s Fetzgrim engines here. Cheers!

Calidar: Fetzgrim Engines

A few words about the dwarven Fetzgrim engine. I posted a note in the Calidar chat group on Facebook on this matter. I’m picking up here where I left off there.

Those of you with CAL1 In Stranger Skies might remember this (see page 122). The Fetzgrim engine involves spinning cylinders filled with force stones that exert telekinetic fields, which provide dwarven ships with thrust. The faster they spin, the more thrust. Steam engines mechanically rotate the cylinders. The devil is in the details, though. How does this actually work?

I updated the diagram showing the power plants' positions in the Iron Queen’s engine room. There are eight spinning cylinders—four on the port side and the others starboard. Likewise, of these eight, four lie forward of the engine room and the others aft. Cylinders are grouped in pairs, one spinning horizontally, and the other vertically.

Each cylinder is fitted with a parallel copper rod. It can be rotated alongside the cylinder to control its telekinetic field’s direction. So, if the rod lies forward of a horizontal cylinder, the exerted force will be forward of the engine room. A rod positioned above or under its (horizontal) cylinder controls vertical movement. A rod on the right or left of its (vertical) cylinder vectors thrust portside or starboard. All horizontal and vertical cylinders in the diagram are shown in the forward thrust position.

Combinations between port and starboard powerplants or forward and aft powerplants control pitch, roll, and yaw. For example, if the forward cylinders pull to port and the aft thrust pushes starboard, the ship rotates counter-clockwise. If the portside cylinders thrust upward and the starboard ones thrust downward, the ship rolls clockwise, etc. All these maneuvers can be combined with forward motion.

The force the cylinders generate affects nearby deck surfaces made of an Araldium alloy, as indicated by the green-shaded spaces on the diagram. These deck plates are solidly affixed to the ship’s structure. Araldium is a quasi-magical metal from Kragdûr, the dwarves’ ancestral moon (somewhat like Adamantite or Mithril in other worlds). The cylinders’ forces are akin to magnetic fields, except that they only affect nearby deck plates. Fortunately, the engines aren’t affected by the forces at work other than the cylinders’ mass, only the deck plates, since the torque and proportional loads required to move the entire ship would overwhelm or wear out the powerplants.

The ship’s bridge communicates commands verbally via voice pipes and with a mechanical device called an engine order throttle. This device controls engine speed: all stop and ahead (or reverse) full, half, quarter, or dead slow). The engine room officer then manipulates levers and cranks controlling the cylinders’ copper rods to execute orders from the bridge. Meanwhile, the remainder of the engine room crew stokes the two furnaces with dwarven kragnul or releases steam pressure to obtain the correct amount of thrust. Kragnul is a type of coal from Kragdûr that burns very hot and for a long time, thus reducing fuel stores. Exhausts include a system of flaps to expel fumes and steam into the space void outside the ship.

The full resolution image is posted in the Facebook chat group. Hope this helps.

From Facebook: By the way, I have a side project aimed at redrafting the Iron Maiden (the dwarven ironclad from CAL1), eventually. This will be upgraded and renamed the Iron Queen. The ship's larger and drafted at 300 dpi, 1" per square (1 sq. = 5ft). Two poster-sized files (digital only) may be needed to include all the decks and needed views. It's going to be a while before I can finish that one.

At least I got the powerplants done.

(...which prompted this article).

D&D Castles: Operating Costs

A Mighty Citadel by J. Humphries on Deviantart

I say D&D, although I mean specifically BECMI/RC. The mechanics on building castles are pretty straightforward in the Rules Cyclopedia. See pages 135-139. They cover the gold needed and the approximate time to build free-standing structures, as well as dungeons. They go into some detail about finishing touches and staffing. Rules do cover the cost of troops and retainers in line with the absurd price ranges prevailing in fantasy D&D games. After all, there is no hard limit on the number of times PCs can ransack fabulous dragon hoards to afford all this, other than the Dungeon Masters’ agencies. This article is not about reinventing the wheel. It focuses instead on the cost of upkeep.

Starting Point: I read an article about Henry Algernon Percy’s budget for Alnwick Castle in Northumberland (Medieval World magazine, Issue #14). It lists noteworthy expenses, somewhat incompletely. Things to consider include food, beverages (local or imported), fuel (wood, coal, charcoal, and perhaps oil, peat, or cow dung), cooking ingredients, condiments, and spices, tools and goods, linen, clothing, and other cloth items (and how they are cleaned), regular facilities maintenance, staffing, etc. I won't delve into a lengthy list of individual costs. The RC’s minutia on building castles already involves quite a bit of bookkeeping, so I’ll skip all that and focus on what matters: a quantifiable average cost.

Unequal Values: I have conflicting data at hand: real-world values in Pound Sterling and other currencies (which vary with century and location) vs. the inflated D&D price structure. There’s no perfect way to reconcile reliably five centuries of economic reality with a single fantasy world. This is my disclaimer that what follows is not meant to be scientific or historical, but rather a simple set of mechanics that work with established D&D rules.

Location: The RC addresses three different regional aspects: Wilderness, Borderland, and Settled. This will affect operating costs in different ways.

• Wilderness: The problem here lies in what goods and services are available locally. Odds are, common supplies and services other than what the garrison can provide have to be brought in overland, by sea and/or river, or on skyships if available at all, since there are no villages or farms to honor feudal dues. Therefore, most of these services and goods have to be paid for in cash.
• Borderland: Feudal dues collected from villagers and farmers living nearby cover part of the cost of goods and services. This reduces the need for hard cash. Some finer goods and materials will still have to be purchased and transported from large towns and cities, some good distance away in settled regions. For example: glassware, window panes, fine woods, condiments, spices, finer beverages, affluent clothing, tapestries, incense, ink, scrolls, books, healing medications, perfumes, etc. Along the way, storms at sea, piracy, road banditry, graft, and other shenanigans will have to be contended with.
• Settled: Most common goods and services come as feudal dues from abundant local sources. Nearby urban centers, ports, and seasonal fairs permit easier access to sophisticated goods and more readily attract a skilled workforce. In other words, the need for hard cash to operate identical fortifications should be lowest in settled areas vs. total wilderness.

Function: Another factor is the castle’s status. Is it a military outpost (rough and basic, if not downright crude)? A provincial stronghold (the appanage of a knight, a baron, a high-ranking ecclesiastic, or a magic-user)? The fortified dwelling of a wealthy and influential aristocrat, if not a royal castle, frequently sponsoring festivals, holding jousts, hosting costly banquets, and housing notable guests? Evidently, the latter won’t exist in a wilderness.

Social Standing: Based on usage, a simple military stronghold will be inherently cheaper to operate compared to the fortified dwelling of a wealthy aristocrat involving much more sophisticated goods and services. Garrisons are not included here since game rules directly establish the cost of troops, specialists, and higher-ranking retainers. On the other hand, the operating costs listed below do include common staff possibly residing on site, such as pages, cooks, bakers, butchers, a stable master, grooms, clerks, a chaplain and low-ranking members of the clergy, nursemaids, chambermaids, carpenters, masons, blacksmiths, falconers, musicians, jesters, gardeners, cleaners, porters (breathe here and hold your breath), stinky gong farmers (if you know, you know), etc. An outpost would have very few of these people, if any at all, while a wealthy estate could count many. Repairing regular wear and tear is also included here as opposed to damage resulting from battles, monster attacks, and natural disasters.

Figuring Numbers: I think the simplest approach is to base general upkeep on percentages of the original cost of building the structure. Total Maintenance Cost includes the value of feudal dues (local goods and services) provided by local inhabitants and gold payments for what isn’t locally available. The Cost in Gold is the part of the Total Maintenance Cost that the castle’s owner must pay in cash over a calendar year. The latter does not include any interest on loans, royal levies, tithes, or scutage fees the castle’s owner must pay to a liege. The cost of feeding garrisons should be covered in the RC’s rules, and therefore does not figure in the chart below.

Basis for Comparison: I picked 300,000 gp as a basis for a structure comprising a square keep, four towers, connecting walls, a barbican, a gatehouse, a few stone buildings, and perhaps a small dungeon (see RC page 137). This enables a fair comparison of the same structure across the board.

Size Considerations: A provincial stronghold’s estate should be more elaborate than a simpler military outpost, easily costing twice as much to build. A Google search (with unconfirmed results) priced the upkeep of a 15th-century Scottish lord’s castle at £800 per year, a substantial sum in those times. I’m assuming that’s the Total Maintenance Cost, including the relative value of feudal services. To reverse engineer this amount, I’m using the following conversion rate: £1 = 80 real-world silver pennies. As a result of D&D cost inflation, however, I’d rather set the conversion rate at £1 = 240 D&D silver pieces instead of 80 (a 3 to 1 ratio). Thus, £800 x 24 D&D gold pieces adds up to a Total Maintenance Cost of 19,200 gp yearly, of which 800 gp per month are paid in cash. This matches the Total Maintenance Cost for a borderland provincial hold about twice the size of the one suggested in the upkeep table above. Original building costs would have been 300,000 x 19,200 / 9,000 = 610,000 gp. This would include additional towers and walls surrounding the local town, an expanded great hall, family living quarters, a temple, a substantial granary, some paving, arts and decorations, etc.

Cutting Costs: A very basic wilderness outpost with a simple stone keep and a few adjoining buildings could cost about 100,000 gp to build rather than 300,000 gp. Its upkeep (without the cost of troops) would be 4,000 gp yearly, of which 250 gp must be paid in cash each month. The same keep in settled lands would require about 40 gp cash per month since more people live nearby who can honor feudal dues—essentially free goods and services to their lord. It makes a great deal of sense for a lord to clear the surrounding land and attract inhabitants to improve its status from wilderness to borderland, and eventually to a settled area. Nearby hamlets and villages are a boon. According to a Google search, the upkeep for a 15th-century knight’s household forces could run about £30-£60 per year. This would amount to 60-120 D&D gold pieces per month for food, equipment, lodging, and armed services. Rank-and-file soldiery in the real world was paid quite a lot less than typical D&D retainers.

The Rich and Fabulous: Naturally, a fortified estate housing a wealthy and influential aristocrat, or a fantasy world’s royal fortress, may include sprawling facilities costing a great deal more than 300,000 gp to build, probably more like ten times as much. The upkeep for such extravagant property in a settled region could reach 3,750 gp paid in cash per month, aside from feudal goods and services. If I use the conversion rate listed earlier, this would amount to about 156 real-world pounds sterling per month. For reference, a medieval monarch’s personal income in 12th-century England historically ran £10,000-£20,000 per year, or somewhere around £800-£1,600 per month (uncorroborated Google search).

The Real World vs. Fantasy: Another quote I found was for constructing Conwy Castle in the 13th Century. Records (unconfirmed) show a cost of £15,000 or 360,000 fictitious D&D gold pieces. D&D-wise, this seems a bit cheap given Conwy’s footprint (see image). This includes very roughly a main keep, several extra buildings, 2 barbicans, 8 towers instead if 4, etc. Here’s the whole list: 1. Site of Drawbridge, 2. West Barbican, 3. South-West Tower, 4. Prison Tower, 5. Bakehouse Tower, 6. King's Tower, 7. Chapel Tower, 8. Stockhouse Tower, 9. Kitchen Tower, 10. North-West Tower 11. East Barbican, 12. Lesser Hall, 13. Great Hall, 14. Chapel, 15. Site of Kitchen & Stables, 16. Site of Granary. Using the RC’s construction guidelines, this would probably cost more than 400,000 gp, not including the 14th-century outer walls protecting the town of Conwy.

I’m not sure if 13th-century Wales should be considered a borderland or a settled area. After all, there was a Cistercian monastery on site, which was rebuilt upriver. As far as I know, the village of Conwy was built soon after the castle’s construction to attract English settlers. That’s definitely in line with the game’s suggested strategy. Although it is officially deemed a royal castle, it is primarily a military fortress rather than a permanent dwelling for a king and his retinue, like the way Windsor Castle looks today, for example. This may qualify more as a large provincial stronghold, as defined in this article. There is some leeway as far as status goes.

Here is the full layout of Conwy Castle with its 14th-century outer walls and defensive ditch protecting the town. Click here to read the castle’s complete history.

I hope you enjoyed my voodoo math. With luck, I might have bamboozled a few readers. If you want to find out more about D&D BECMI, click here to visit our chat group. Cheers!

D&D Class: The Cryptreaver

BBC, Tales of the Old Bailey (unknown artist)

This derivative of the D&D BECMI thief class describes a specialized tomb robber and somewhat of a scavenger who can “eat” the magic of dead things, such as for example deceased spellcasters, fallen dragons, and other magical creatures. The nature of the class can be malevolent or benevolent, depending on whether the cryptreaver focuses on growing its own power or helping the living cope with loss and the evil that the undead may bring.
            I’m using updated saving throws and XP progression tables I introduced in earlier articles. Following the general trend of my later blog posts, I focused on lower levels offering plenty of features to have fun with. 

Regarding D&D BECMI: Unlike more recent game versions, races are treated as classes—thus a BECMI “elf” is a class onto itself, and so are the dwarf and the halfling. If you are a fan of 5e exclusively, that’s great but this article isn’t meant for you. Comparisons, personal judgments, and controversies about the nature of games from the early 80s are irrelevant here and unwelcome. How you treat folks around your table is what matters.

Editorial Note: I refer to single persons with the pronoun “it” as a substitute for the singular “he” or “she” when gender isn’t explicit, instead of the plural “they.”

Class Basics

Ancestry: Human

Prime Requites: Dex & Int

Experience Bonus: I give a +5% bonus if dex and int average out between 11 and 12, and +10% if they average less than 11. At 13+, stats provide no xp bonus.

Hit Dice: 1d4 per level up to level 9, +1 hp per level thereafter and con adjustments no longer apply.

Maximum Level: 36.

Combat Abilities: Fights and saves as a thief.

Armor & Weapons: As a thief.

Special Abilities

Essential Skills: They include the ones listed under Essential Skills in the experience table. They are performed as a thief or a dwarf would. Success odds have been updated, as shown in the table.

Beginners' Luck: It is listed as Reroll under Special Skills in the experience table. A first level thief rolling a 91 or worse while using an Essential Skill gets to reroll. Whatever is rolled next must apply. Beginners' Luck decreases at level 2, only concerning scores 96 or worse. At level 3, it solely concerns the odd "00" scores. At level 4 and higher, Beginners' Luck runs out.

Read Languages: The cryptreaver may be able to decipher foreign languages. Some may be more complex than others. For example: a cryptreaver used to a common alphabet should have a tougher time with languages using a mix of symbols representing phonetic vowels, whole words, and concepts, such as ancient Egyptian. Suggested penalties could go from −20% for an ancient language to −40% for a complex or coded script. Magical languages require the ability to Read Magic. The cryptreaver must earn a new experience level for another try after failing an earlier attempt.

Scroll Casting: Cryptreavers may be able to cast spells directly from a scroll, as a thief would. The experience table shows the odds a spell should backfire. Effects are up to the Dungeon Master.

Detection: Listed under Special Abilities in the experience table, it enables the cryptreaver to detect secret doors as an elf would, as well as certain stone features as a dwarf would such as shifting walls or floors, sloping passages, and new constructions. This latest ability can serve as a skill to safely excavate shafts and tunnels with proper construction tools, and determine whether existing stonework is sound (in a dungeon environment or a tomb in particular). The experience table shows the odds of success as percentages.
            The cryptreaver, as an expert tomb robber, may be able to sense an open space behind a stone surface, typically an adjacent chamber or a corridor. The space must be at least 36 cubic feet large and within 15 feet of the cryptreaver. A smaller space requires an extra Hear Noise to detect. This ability is similar to secret door detection, although if an attempt fails, the cryptreaver may not try again until the next day.

Tools of the Trade: Cryptreavers have free basic skills in Archeology (Int) and Tomb Lore (Int).

Spell Reaving
            It is the most sinister aspect of this character class. This ability enables the cryptreaver to sense residual magic dwelling within the remains of the deceased and, subsequently, to usurp it.

Sensing Residual Magic: The cryptreaver may determine whether residual magic still imbues a dead spellcaster’s body (human, demi-human, or monstrous). Detection takes a full, uninterrupted round. If it fails, another attempt can be made the next day. The cryptreaver becomes fully aware that nothing is to be found when succeeding a detection on a corpse bereft of residual magic. The cryptreaver should also sense whether a rival had already scavenged the detected remains, as well as that rival’s ethos and style (see Affiliations, later on). Success odds are:

Base 50% plus the cryptreaver’s own XP level

Multiply the above by the deceased’s XP level or HD

Divide the above by the number of years since passing away.

A roll of 95% or higher always fails. If the deceased had reached or exceeded level 18 or 18 HD, success odds can never be less than 5%.

Eldritch Scavenging: The cryptreaver may usurp residual magic after having detected it. The scavenging ritual requires powdered sulfur, linseed oil, frankincense, and a small brazier or a stone mortar in which to burn these components along with some of the deceased’s bones, flesh, hair, or ashes. Linseed oil and sulfur fumes are both toxic and will inflict 1d4 points of damage to the cryptreaver by the ritual’s end (no save; don’t try this at home).
            The three components together needed for one ritual have an encumbrance of 10 gp and cost as much. The brazier or mortar has an encumbrance of no less than 100 gp and costs 15 gp. As an option, the top half of a large creature’s skull plated with brass or copper makes an adequate brazier. Magical braziers or mortars, blessed or subjected to necromantic enchantments may provide a +5 to +20 bonus to Base chances.
            The ritual lasts 1 round for every 5 levels or HD of the deceased (or a fraction thereof). The cryptreaver inhales the fumes and the magic therein as it emits an eerie blue glow. It is a dangerous process as the usurped dweomer can harm or kill the cryptreaver at the end of the ritual if the latter fails. Success odds are:

Cryptreaver’s HD + Intelligence score

Multiply the above by 2

Subtract the deceased’s HD

A roll of 95% or higher always fails. Success odds can never be less than 5%. A successful ritual bears a chance of attracting random undead in the area before the end of the process; these encounter odds are equal to the deceased’s HD minus 2d6 (DM’s secret roll).

Failing a Ritual: With a score of 95 or higher, subtract 1 from the cryptreaver’s Charisma (no save). This loss is permanent. Failing a ritual by more than 20 pts results in the cryptreaver suffering damage equal to the deceased’s level or HD (no save). Failing by 40 pts or more results in permanent madness in addition to sustaining damage. Failing by 60 pts or more without a successful con check results in the cryptreaver’s death; if still alive, the cryptreaver remains subject to physical damage and madness.

Usurped Magic: Clerical spells cannot be usurped, only secular magic. When usurping spells, halve the deceased’s levels or HD at the time of death, rounded up. This is the number of combined spell levels usurped when the ritual ends. For example: a cryptreaver succeeding its ritual on a level-20 magic-user’s remains would scavenge up to 10 spell levels. The cryptreaver can cast these spells like a magic-user of the same experience level. Ignore higher-level spells that the usurper cannot handle.
             Procedure: Roll for a spell level. Example: for a level-10 usurper, roll a number from 1 to 5 and pick a random spell of that level from the rules’ standard spell list if the deceased’s learned spells aren’t known. Keep rolling for spell levels until a score exceeds the maximum allowed for the cryptreaver—ignore this last result and stop rolling.
            Usurped spells stay in the cryptreaver’s memory until cast. They cannot be cast again unless scavenged from some other dead remains. Unlike a true magic-user, the usurper can accumulate up to one spell per point of Intelligence over time, regardless of spell level. Usurped spells cannot be transferred to a scroll. Rituals cannot succeed more than once on the same cadaver. Eldritch scavenging permanently dispels all remaining magic, curses, and enchantments imbuing a corpse (some exceptions apply—see Affiliations, later on).
            If the scavenged remains are those of a monster with innate magical abilities, the cryptreaver may acquire one such ability instead of spell levels. Once usurped, an innate ability only manifests itself when the cryptreaver consciously triggers it. A triggered ability lasts 1 hour per level of the cryptreaver, after which it fades permanently. Over time, the usurper can accumulate up to one monstrous ability for every 3 points of Intelligence, rounded down. Only one can be triggered at a time, although the cryptreaver can dismiss one at will before using another. Spell levels and monstrous abilities are earned separately.
            A cryptreaver can conceivably usurp a unicorn’s dimension door, a rust monster’s corrosion, a dragon’s breath (based on the cryptreaver’s own HD), one random ability of a djinni, a doppelganger’s shapechanging magic (but not its ability to acquire a victim’s memories), etc. Undead creatures and constructs are immune to eldritch scavenging. Non-magical abilities cannot be usurped, such as venoms and non-magical diseases. Keep it simple. Don’t allow anything too complicated, unclear whether it’s really magical, imbalanced at the current level of play, or questionable in some way. (Is a dead lycanthrope still cursed? Maybe, maybe not.).

Handicaps

Persona: Someone unaware of the cryptreaver’s profession could find this character creepy. Roleplay the character accordingly (odd speech patterns, weird habits, dark or hooded clothing, perhaps a pallid and emaciated figure, a slight body smell of dirt, decay, or some alchemical product, bone-carved personal items, etc.) Sell the part whether or not the character is malevolent. As a result, the cryptreaver starts its career with a −1 reaction penalty with people unaware of its business, or −2 if they become aware of it. Cryptreavers never benefit from Charisma bonuses.

Lack of Stealth Skills: Cryptreavers cannot hide in shadows, move silently, perform backstab attacks, or pick pockets as these abilities do not relate to their profession.

Affiliations
       Cryptreavers with less than altruistic motivations, presumably NPCs, normally operate as part of a thieves’ guild (from Darokin in Mystara), a malignant order of warriors (Heldannic knights) or a malevolent cult (in Thothia). If in good standing they benefit from their overseers’ resources, such as training, information, healing, protection, transportation, reliable fencing of despoiled goods, etc. Profit or power is their goal.
            Those without affiliation may be isolated bounty hunters or hired hands acting on behalf of a powerful underwriter like a wealthy collector (Glantri), a city’s university (Sundsvall in Alphatia), an imperial library (Thyatis), a Fellowship of Ungentlemanly Adventurers (Ierendi), etc. These folks aren’t necessarily malevolent. They primarily seek career advancement, notoriety, and the thrill of outwitting terrible foes.
            A Lawful ethos may require cryptreavers to work for a League of Vaults (Rockhome) or a benevolent cult (Karameikos, Ylaruam). They promote peace and seek to relieve the restless. Lingering auras of wickedness attract the undead along with hardships they inflict upon nearby settlements. The leaguers’ goal is to destroy evil magic dwelling in tombs. They may benefit from their mentors’ resources, as described earlier, along with the occasional involvement of a dedicated undead hunter: a cleric or a paladin if such may be needed.

Styles: Each organization among those just mentioned has its own ritual. A cryptreaver discovering a previously scavenged corpse may identify its usurper's style and approximate experience level. Sensing its ethos is innate. Its specific style, however, requires a successful int check. Bounty hunters and hired hands have their own personal rituals unless they belong to a companionship that initially trained them. Once a rival’s style has been identified, the cryptreaver will always recognize it later on without rolling an ability check.

Cults: They object to outsiders scavenging the remains of their faithful. Some may resort to special blessings or curses alerting their immortal patrons of any attempt to usurp what they see as belonging to their spiritual liege. They are typically triggered when a ritual starts. Chances of an immortal’s direct involvement in the affairs of mortals are negligible, but the cult may feel obligated to look for the rival whose style they recognized, particularly repeat offenders. Some curses brand rivals so cultists can visually spot them.

The Undead: Sentient undead revile cryptreavers regardless of the latter’s ethea. They see them as trespassers interfering with forces that beckon the undead to gather. They crave the feel emanating from the remains of powerful magic-users or enchanted beings. If enough undead can rally to a notorious tomb, especially if a malevolent being’s corpse lies within, they may cause it to arise and dwell among them as an equal or a master. Sentient undead can always sense cryptreavers on sight and will focus their attacks upon them. An Amulet of Protection from Crystal Balls and ESP effectively prevents the undead for recognizing a cryptreaver. A hidden undead, however, may spy on an intruding party and find out if one of them is a hated interloper. The more intelligent undead, if aware of a cryptreaver’s presence, will mount an attack while a ritual is in progress.

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