Fixing Religion: History, New Mechanics, and Advice

There is an interesting recent post on Goblin Punch that has sparked discussion about religions in our RPGs. That inspired this post which I believe fits into the kind of thinking occurring over there.

Note that I refer a lot to Dungeons and Dragons. I’m aware that this is only one of many systems but I think these points are broadly applicable, and it’s hard to deny DnD’s influence on the OSR.

I want to express why religion hasn’t been working.

Game design fundamentals are this: if you want your players to do something, there needs to be mechanics which encourage that behavior. The corollary of that philosophy being: whatever behavior your game’s mechanics encourage, that’s what your game is about. 5e Dungeons and Dragons has tons of combat mechanics, defines its characters through combat classes, and 1/3rd of the rules is a book of monsters, ergo 5e is a game about fighting monsters. Nothing earth shattering here.

What are DnD’s mechanics to encourage PCs to interact with religion? The common line of thinking has been inherited from early editions of the game. Consider this paragraph:

“As characters advance to higher levels (possibly as high as 36th), clerics obtain more spells of greater power, having proven their faith to their god or goddess. Because of this, it is very important for clerics to be faithful to the beliefs of their religion and alignment. Should a cleric behave in a manner that is not pleasing to his or her deity, the deity may become angered and punish the offender. This punishment could take many forms; some examples are a -1 penalty on “to hit” rolls, sending the cleric on a dangerous quest, or refusing to give the cleric any spells at all! The DM may decide what the punishment might be in such a case. To regain the favor of the deity, a cleric might find it wise to donate money and magic items to the religion, build a church or temple, gain large numbers of converts, or defeat some great foe of the religion. Again, the exact details are left to the DM.”

Dungeons and Dragons Expert (1981)

This consideration of religion gets more vague in the Mentzer-edited BECMI, replacing those last two sentences with this:

“Your DM will tell you what the character must do to recover good standing.”

Dungeons and Dragons Basic Set (1983)
Image: Todd Lockwood and TSR

This image isn’t super relevant, I just wanted to make sure people saw this. Jesus, look at him.

The advice to strip your clerics and paladins of their powers for disobeying their deity was finally and permanently removed in 4e, but it wasn’t really replaced by anything. The official supplements which are specifically about religion, like 1e’s Deities and Demigods (1980), 2e’s Faith and Avatars (1996), and 3e’s Deities and Demigods (same name, this time 2002), are just encyclopedias of dozens of gods, their portfolios, and physical descriptions. Oddly enough, 1e and 3e’s supplements of the same name, Deities and Demigods, both include detailed stat blocks for every god they list, including Armor Class and Hit Points, while the supplement published between, Faith and Avatars, contains this statement:

“No statistics for the powers and abilities of true deities are listed anywhere in this book. The power of deities is impossible to quantify. Statistics quite simply become meaningless when dealing with the powers of the Realms.”

Faith and Avatars (1996)

Divine stat blocks continue with the very limited examples of the Lolth in 4e and Tiamat in 5e, with the maybe-god Orcus and a variety of demonlords sprinkled throughout. While these editions haven’t completely taken god-killing off the table (a CR30 Tiamat technically has hitpoints, I guess), you can see the persistent shift away from the idea. At the same time, the section devoted to worldbuilding in the official Dungeon Master’s Guide has moved from the back half of the guide in 3e and 4e to the very front of the guide in 5e. The position of the subsection on religion has moved from the back of worldbuilding in 3e to all the way to the very front of that section in 5e. This means the 5e DMG’s advice on religion is one of the first things you read when you pick up the book. Obviously, the designers of 5e believed they were emphasizing religion.

These subsections on religion, particularly in earlier editions, are fairly informative and useful if the referee is coming to the table with zero knowledge about worldbuilding. They include plenty of information on how pantheons might look and about how NPCs in your setting would practice their beliefs, between rituals, celebration, or life goals. Earlier editions even have some decent advice on how much in-game emphasis to place on religion (to wit, a lot) and how players should engage with their religion. But the 5e Player’s Handbook section on clerics contains phrases like “many clerics are” or “most clerics maintain” and verbs like “might” or “can”. This is on purpose but leaves us with an understanding of what clerics could be, but not what they must be.

Through all this, the only explicit religious mechanics we’ve seen are the ones controlling how the gods fuck with clerics and how PCs can kill gods! I suppose we can include the implied mechanics of there being temples offering holy magic like healing, Remove Curse, or Restoration spells. Being on the good side of these holy people is clearly useful but hardly required. In the end, worshipping a god is like being a sports fan: I like the Lakers and you like the Celtics and we’re both right and it doesn’t matter.

Ancient people in our world universally engaged with their religions, daily, hourly, and minute to minute. Rituals and worship were cornerstones of their lives and these were people for whom divine intervention was infinitely more subtle than your bog-standard fantasy setting. In a fantasy setting, first-hand evidence of miracles is everywhere and they would know that displeasing the gods has consequences. Given all that, we would expect worship to be one of the top three things in our PC’s minds at any given time but for the most part, it isn’t.

If we want our PCs to treat religion with the gravity we’re suggesting through our extensive mythologies and cosmologies, then we should have mechanics that reward that. If you’re a cleric of Lliira, the goddess of joy, and you cut off some guy’s head for jaywalking, there’s nothing in the religious mechanics that punishes or cares about it. We’ve embraced systems that treat religion as optional or as background. Is it any wonder that many players treat religion as transactional?

This is why the recent post at Goblin Punch was so exciting. You should read that post now, not only for context but also because it’s great. Arnold put together some basic religion mechanics, by which I mean tools the players can use to interact with the setting’s mythology. For example, if you refuse to leave this page and read it, things like augury (go to a shrine, state your intended course of action, make a sacrifice with something like chickens, cattle, money, and receive an omen telling you whether this course of action is favored by that god) or oaths (name a god, bind yourself to a course of action in their name, choose a curse to receive if you fail). Encoding these things is important, and the genius of their design is that they are beneficial but optional. In my experience, the best way to get players to enthusiastically do something is to reward the action rather than punish the absence of the action. There’s no chance of resentment, only results.

Actually, as a brief critique, I think the chance of resentment is there. The explicit promise of augury is that when the god replies with a terrible omen and you decide to continue with that plan, it will go terribly wrong. As Arnold says: “the DM is well within her rights to collapse the entrance, trapping you in the tomb.” The divine response is mysterious, unknowable, so PCs can’t really know what to expect until it happens. If the augury returns an auspicious omen, then what happens? Does the referee step in and cause a failed roll to succeed? Once, twice, five times? Does the referee make a bad plan succeed? Additionally, invincible gods coming down to directly intervene is great for lore and backstory but in practice it’s damn hard to pull off; there’s a reason that deus ex machina has become a negative trope. The intervention would certainly be well-telegraphed but the exact moment intervention can go badly if it’s not skillfully executed. These are not reasons against these proposed rules, only points to consider.

I want to highlight another blog post I saw from late last year from Espharel which has a parallel line of thinking about the use of shrines. Although it’s framed for the GLOG, the idea is broadly applicable. In short, one or more PCs will stop at a shrine and pray for a blessing. If they uphold the tenets of that god, typically not more than 3 brief strictures like “help innocent people” for example, then they will get a one MD spell (which is to say low level but useful) to use daily. The spell could be more powerful depending on if they make a sacrifice and crucially, it can be used by anyone in the party as long as they all adhere to the strictures. This is a brilliant, and again optional, mechanic that will drive investment into the religion of your setting. Players will seriously say to one another “Do we save this guy? I know, we hate this guy, but our oath to Goatzelbub says we should and we’ll lose his blessing if we don’t.”

Image: Francisco Goya

“Bring me more juicy children or I’ll take away your daily cast of Goodberry.”

“Take him, Goatzelbub! Damnit, why do I love Goodberry so much!?”

I want to end with some advice and a question.

Doing religion “right” is a tall order, but what I can tell you plainly is that having these encyclopedic lists of major and minor gods that we so often see, with one and only one god responsible for each concept (war, farming, knowledge), each god falling on some strangely rigid alignment chart, their likes and dislikes, their canonical histories, their shoe sizes… this is the wrong move. It’s the wrong move because these things are impossible to remember. For everyone. The Angry GM noticed in 2018, in his long-winded, unscientific, but interesting way, that players probably won’t be able to remember more than five gods. Even that is probably too many. That’s not to say you can’t have more gods than that, but elaborately detailing them in advance is either masturbatory or masochistic, depending on your tastes.

I’ll argue that it’s also wrong purely because it rigidly defines your pantheon. You should have answers for when players ask about their specific religions but every answer needs to come with the context that this is what they would believe. This is what their society believes and this is the information they have. Don’t lecture your players on theology but don’t shrink from the fact that each god can be many things to many different people. This is what it means to have different sects of the same religion. This is what it means to have heresy. This is why we have Mormons. Some of the greatest conflicts in history occurred between members of, ostensibly, the same religion. Know that every additional sentence you write next to that god’s name is only going to apply to a subsection of your NPCs. Some other nearby NPCs probably think your canon is blasphemous bullshit! The practical advice is: leave space for, or explicitly write, other interpretations for your religions. Rigid answers and absolute truths kill all that is mystical, numinous, and wonderful about our religions. We can preserve this sense of not knowing by actually not knowing.

This is the same reasoning that I used in a previous post about why Magic is Messy:

Our intuitions are also that magic is messy. This is a key feature of nearly all magical fiction that we consume. It may be a matter of taste, but most people feel that magic should be, narratively speaking, unpredictable, difficult to classify or pin down, wonderful and amazing. A magical system where all spells are already classified and organized loses much of what makes it magical: it becomes science, just with different clothes. There is nothing unexpected. There is nothing left to discover.

We have come to accept the ludonarrative dissonance that occurs when every spell that exists in our TTRPG appears in a list in the back of the players’ materials. Newly learned spells can not produce wonder because they aren’t new. We know them all.

This leads to practical advice number two, which is don’t over-write. It’s good advice for most parts of your campaign but especially for a secondary aspect like religion. It’s hard advice for the worldbuilder and for the type of person who reads blogs like this. We want to create, damn it! But if your notes are going to be extensive just so you’re prepared, only so you can have that sick moment when you unload a proper fable at the right time which will captivate your players, be aware that most of the time it just won’t come up. If you have a large pantheon… great! But limit, to as few as possible, the number of gods your players heavily interact with so they can actually remember them (AngryGM says five, I think probably three). If the PC is extremely pious, give them all the info they want about their god. If they ask about the specifics of a different god, you should have a canned one liner, not more, unless they really pry. Make them go question a priest. If the PC would have a broad knowledge of many religions or gods, send them a list of one-line explanations to refer to, but not more. This may sound restrictive and perhaps pessimistic, but unless you have extremely invested players, this is the amount of information they can remember.

Let’s jump back and finish with the religion mechanics (created over a Goblin Punch, Espharel, and of course others) in order to pose some questions. These ideas are cool, definitely, but it’s fair to ask if we actually want to impose mechanics built around religion? There are referees for which the answer will simply be “no”. I’m sure many of you reading have perfectly fun and healthy tables with a minimal focus on religion. My tables have gotten along just fine without these rules, with numerous clerics, paladins, and warlocks engaging with the whole god thing when they want to. Forcing paladins to act like tightwad virgin douches to keep their magic powers is clearly the wrong method but is that really so common? Is it strictly true that, as Arnold puts it in his post, we’ve been “doing religions wrong this whole time”?

It’s fair to notice that there are systems which do use mechanics to encourage religion. In games like Burning Wheel or King Arthur Pendragon, these mechanics are part of larger unified mechanics governing behavior. If you define your character as religious and they do religious stuff, you are rewarded. If you don’t, you’re punished. These mechanics are intrinsic to their systems and can’t readily be pulled for use in my DnD stew. In a real sense, these aren’t the type of specifically religious mechanics we’re looking for. If you know of any systems that we might be able to mine for religious mechanics, leave a comment.

Creating A Magic System: “The Case for Levelless Spells”

For some context, this post is the result of brainstorming about an upcoming campaign which I’m calling Wizard School for the time being. The concept, which I described as “cocaine Hogwarts in a failing Byzantine empire,” was picked by my players from among four campaign pitches.

Since I intend to run an OSR campaign where every PC is a wizard, I had to do a dive into OSR magic systems to ‘see what’s out there’. When reviewing the most relevant codices and grimoires, I was immediately taken by the concept of levelless spells as seen in places like the GLOG or Wonder and Wickedness. It was something I wanted to include in my game for reasons I’ll dive into here. This post should provide some answers to the question: why use a levelless spell magic system?

To briefly establish some terms: leveled spells are spells which are organized into a hierarchy by power level, while levelless spells are spells which are not organized into a hierarchy. 

To compare the two, let’s think about why our spells have levels in the first place. 

We should consider that the preference for leveled spells is an appeal to tradition. After all, this is how things have been done since the three little brown books! The appeal to tradition is a logical fallacy where bad ideas are sheltered from scrutiny by their long history, but even if this is true to some degree, leveled spells have some obvious advantages. For starters, their long history means that there is an extensive, time-tested, curated list of spells for spellcasters to use in their games. From the effort standpoint this is a massive advantage to the referee. I could decide I don’t need any new spells, new system, new anything. It’s all right there for me.

If, however, we want to create new content, leveled spells provide ease of design. The designer has a ready model for future spells, whether they are modifications of existing spells or entirely original. Even for a completely homemade magic system, it’s a simple matter to create a scale for magical effects. Given that magic doesn’t exist, the scale is by default subjective. Once you have your scale, you just slide spells into appropriately leveled slots. This is a much easier environment in which to attempt game balance

As the fighter does more damage, gains a second attack, or learns the Cleave Maneuver, the game designer wants a comparable and equivalent way to progress the spellcaster. We can be confident that spells created in this framework will be balanced because we are giving them hierarchy. Leveled spells make it easy to categorize any effect (and intensity of effect) into a nice, neat box. It makes it easier to match a magical effect to a non-magical analog. It also works on unique and seemingly non-scaleable effects like invisibility, telepathy, or clairvoyance. Hierarchy produces tidiness, which is generally useful in game design and in life.

Hierarchy gives us a straightforward way to control access. This is the big one, the main reason we use leveled spells. Simply put, there are powerful magical effects that should, from the view of both the storyteller and the game designer, be withheld from novice wizards. Slowly expanding access to better spell effects is how casters progress, and progress is the key to any story. It’s why most people like RPGs. Just as the fighter gets stronger or quicker, the caster gets new and more powerful spells. It matches what we’ve learned to expect from magical fiction, where the master can access mystical energies that the apprentice can only dream of. Without controlling access, we have no structure, no progress. We end up playing Calvinball. For most people, most of the time, this is not fun. 

Image: Andre Bdois

“But master, why can’t I cast Major Illusion?” 

“Because you aren’t level 5 yet, boy. And when you’re level 5, they give you one of these floppy hats.” 

So we admit that we need to control access. Our previous definition of levelless spells doesn’t include access and is therefore unlikely to stand up to scrutiny. A magic system with no concern for access will suffer outside of truly low-magic campaigns and one-shots, and then only because these reduce exposure to our bad magic system. 

So let’s redefine our levelless spells with four defining characteristics:

  1. Spells exist alongside other spells without an explicit hierarchy.
  2. Spells have a comparable, low-powered magical effect when cast.
  3. The magical effects of spells can scale on some axis. 
  4. Access to further effects on the axis is controlled by some game mechanics.

All four must be present to be a viable alternative to leveled spells. 

#1 is definitional. Without it, we don’t have what we want. 

Without #2, you are simply creating a magical system that demands hierarchy. If every spell has wildly different effects and raw power but no categorization, you have no way to control access. Apprentice wizards cast Time Stop and Master wizards struggle with Color Spray. We chose to make our baseline effect “low-powered” because that works for our goal of progression, but also because it grounds our magic system. Without it, earth-shattering fireballs are everywhere and you’re back playing Calvinball.

Without #3, all spells are shit and every magician is simply lighting a match flame underneath the foot of their enemy like some sorcerous Kevin McCallister. Again, for a low-magic campaign this is fine but most campaigns that feature magic, it isn’t.

#4 seems loaded but we already control access in many ways outside of level. Spell points is an obvious and common method. Spell rarity is another. We aspire to something more interesting but it’s already being done.

In reviewing our new definition, it’s clear that a more accurate name for this concept would be scalable spells rather than levelless spells. While we can still control access using various narrative and mechanical methods, the ability to control scaling rather than being the right level becomes our primary way of controlling access. 

“Whoa whoa whoa,” you say. “Aren’t you just replacing spell levels with some other arbitrary mechanic?”

In response, let’s consider what advantages scalable spells have over leveled spells. 

The primary narrative advantage is that scalable spells more closely match our intuitions. Whether spellcasting starts as a gift or talent, genetic or bestowed, it functions in our game as a skill that can be developed. Spells that scale in power as the caster gets stronger match our intuitions about how spellcasting should work. If I learn the Firebolt Spell and later become a much stronger wizard, I shouldn’t have to discover some scroll for, or have someone teach me, an entirely new spell to produce a Fireball. It should be a natural progression of my skills. It’s something I should be able to figure out for myself, even if that process is dangerous.

Our intuitions are also that magic is messy. This is a key feature of nearly all magical fiction that we consume. It may be a matter of taste, but most people feel that magic should be, narratively speaking, unpredictable, difficult to classify or pin down, wonderful and amazing. A magical system where all spells are already classified and organized loses much of what makes it magical: it becomes science, just with different clothes. There is nothing unexpected. There is nothing left to discover.

Consider the compass. Without an understanding of magnetism or planetary poles, the compass is an incredible magical artifact. It just knows which way is north. You, the reader, understand the science behind it and probably haven’t thought about the compass in many months or years. There is no sense of wonder remaining about the compass.

We have come to accept the ludonarrative dissonance that occurs when every spell that exists in our TTRPG appears in a list in the back of the players’ materials. Newly learned spells can not produce wonder because they aren’t new. We know them all. That classic curated list of spells from D&D’s antiquity suddenly seems like an albatross around the neck.

“Ah, but this is a red herring,” you say. “How do we play a fantasy game without defining its spells? I need to know what’s in the Spell Section of the Rule Book.” The in-depth answer is another, upcoming blog post, but the fastest answer is to hide information from your players and give your scalable spells room to expand along their axis. A Fireball spell could scale downward to a matchflame-type cantrip without much mechanical consideration, while the Light spell could scale upward to a blinding offensive weapon that uses more of whatever spell resource we decide on. 

To elaborate on the last point, scalable spells have the capacity to scale on non-obvious axes. Combine this ability with the idea of hiding the upper ranges of the spell until cast and you get a magic system that, while completely under control of the gamemaster, appears to the player as something worth discovering, with spells that can mutate in unexpected ways. Take the example of a hypothetical Frost spell, which places a painful cold snap around a target, reducing their agility. The player knows what this does mechanically and can always rely on it, but they don’t know what will happen if they upcast it with more spell resource. Perhaps they expect it to freeze a larger area but it actually freezes a single target more strongly, or causes a small blizzard, or creates ice armor, or raises a platform of ice. These are all effects we can define mechanically, in advance or not, but won’t be known to the player without in-game experimentation. 

To briefly expand on other methods of access control, because these answers are incredibly important, you can include one or more of the following: a free-form magic system, hide unknown spells from the players, hide the upper and lower ends of the spell axis until they are used, leave the upper and lower ends of the spell axis undefined and improvise them at the table, include spell research rules for players to create or ‘rediscover’ new spells. I will argue that these ideas are much more viable in a scalable spell system and none of them reduce crunch if you don’t want them to. You can probably think of a few systems right now that include some of these ideas. 

Returning to the point about our intuitions, doing so has the advantage of promoting verisimilitude, the appearance of being true or real. It means that if we accept the fantasy premises provided, magic is operating in a believable or realistic fashion. It keeps us invested in the fiction. This is why we’re considering our intuitions in the first place. For some players, removing spell levels will help them feel more like a wizard when roleplaying. Unless you’re running a shounen-inspired campaign, the concept of spell levels probably doesn’t exist in the fiction of your world. There are spells that I’m strong enough to cast and there are spells that I’m not, spells that I know or that I don’t. When players discuss magic, in-character, at the table, they never mention their own level or the level of spells. They simply say “I can help. I know how to cast [spell].”

As a final example for promoting verisimilitude, think of the confusion around character levels and spell levels that always happens when teaching the most common TTRPG, 5th Edition D&D. “I can’t cast Fireball? But I’m level 3, it’s level 3, what’s the problem here?” Nothing takes the player out of the fiction faster. Almost no RPGs coordinate character and spell level. I’m interested in other examples but the only one that comes to mind is Knave. Scalable spells neatly sidestep this and many other issues.

Consider that removing spell levels might remove player bias towards certain effects. If my spell system places the spell Speak to Wood as a 1 on my 1 to 10 power scale, my player may never consider it, learn it, or prepare it. But there are situations (“The king has been murdered in the throne room!”) where Speak to Wood is the best spell they know (“I interrogate the throne.”). Decoupling levels and spells lets the players decide for themselves what spells are “good” and invites them to imagine a spell’s possibilities rather than passing them over for the next level spell. 

The majority of leveled spell systems cause frequent decision paralysis when a player is in the spotlight. A 5th level spell is often just a hammer in search of a 5th level nail. Players will reserve their highest leveled spells for the optimal situation and are often unwilling to consider using a high-level spell in a low-stakes situation. And why should they? It’s a waste of their resources, even when a creative and rewarding use of that spell is right in front of them. In contrast, a scalable spell starts in the basic form and can be powered up to what the player needs in the moment. This makes the caster’s toolbox more versatile, which reduces decision paralysis and increases problem solving opportunities. I may never cast Earthquake as I fear not having that spell when I need it most, but if Earthquake is simply the Move Earth spell upcast by several steps, I won’t fear using Move Earth to shift the ground from under my enemy’s feet. 

This is the first point I’m making that explicitly references leveled spell slots. Somewhat paradoxically, I think the idea of spell slots makes some narrative sense: spells are so dangerous and complex that the caster needs to prepare them beforehand, and can only commit a certain level of time and effort to that process each day. Spell slots represent the efficiency of the wizard at this prep process, which increases as they progress. Unfortunately, this preparation aspect is an afterthought at every table, and in any event can be recreated in our new scaling magic system. 

Finally, scalable spells should reduce spell redundancy. Low-level iconic spells like Healing Word or Burning Hands are eventually outclassed by higher leveled but similar spells like Mass Healing Word or Fireball. It’s obvious how a straightforward effect like healing or producing fire can be expanded on predictable axes, ad infinitum, to produce a dozen different spells, which is what we see. This has the practical effect of cluttering the player’s in- and out-of-game spellbook with near duplicate spells, and dulls the excitement of gaining a new spell. If a player learns a spell that’s simply Existing Spell They Have Plus Four Damage, or at Plus Four Area Units, or Plus Four Targets, that’s not exciting. It’s boring. We should be focusing our creativity on new spells with new effects rather than refurbishing existing ones.

The obvious downside to this system is that deviating from the common leveled magic system is hard work which takes up time that a lot of game masters don’t have. I hope to do a lot of this work for you over the coming weeks and months but if you are interested in an OSR-compatible scaling magic system right now, you only need to check out the GLOG. It skews low-magic but it has massive community created spell lists and wizard classes, and it’s entirely free. When you return to this blog in the future, you should see a hybrid magic system and spell list that uses magic-dice as spell fuel but a tiered spell effect list similar to Dungeon Crawl Classics. This system should provide a levelless spell system appropriate for high magic campaigns.

Ultraviolet Grasslands Character Creation Companion

Click here for the UVG Character Creation Companion

I’m not the first person to notice that Luka Rejec’s Ultraviolet Grasslands is completely brilliant but entirely lacking in player facing material. When discussing play at the table, the source book has a conversational tone, recommending for example when to show players the overarching point-crawl map, but ultimately telling us “Hey, it’s your game; show ’em what you want.” Since the book is essentially one giant spoiler, it won’t do to just pass the PDF around.

Skerples created a wonderful “digital comic book” to convey UVG’s mood and aesthetic but given that my players were most familiar with the overwritten Forgotten Realms, I knew that they would need to have their feet planted more firmly in the setting before we created characters. So, I created a player facing character creation companion that is relatively faithful to the vision of the UVG.

What is the UVG?

For referees/GMs intending to use this companion: My version of the Ultraviolet Grasslands is more rooted in Gene Wolfe’s Urth series rather than Mad Max. The document downplays the prevalence of vechs and autogolems to start, hoping to establish a more familiar medieval-ish setting before unleashing the gonzo on the players. Information in the companion is either from the book directly (in some cases literally, with lightly edited pages from the source PDF) or setting details inspired by the source.

The companion directly references New Aleph and the City Verdigris, two cities that do not exist in the source book but were included to give the world a wider scope. The players are not intended to ever visit these places. Also included are, in the writings of Guy duy Ferraj, a list of large scale adventure hooks that don’t reference content from the source material.

Hopefully this will be of use in the coming weeks as the physical UVG books get shipped and more campaigns begin in earnest. Use, share, and enjoy.