Red Harvest Crusade Standard, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

"History tells us that the hellish crusade of the Red Harvest was led by undying soldiers marching beneath banners stained crimson by the countless sacrifices made to them.  No army could stand against them, and the kingdoms of old fell one by one, their citizens dragged screaming to dark altars.  It was only when some forgotten hero seized the first of those bloody standards in a desperate battle that their weakness was revealed and the course of the war turned toward the light."

Red Harvest Crusade Standard

Description:  A large infantry battle standard hung from an iron-shod banner pole just over 10' in height.  The flag bears an image of an iron-gray circle made up of nine links of chain against a bone-white background - but the more sacrifices are made to the standard (see below) the more of the white becomes blood-red.  At the peak of the Red Harvest these flags were almost always pure red with no white showing. 

Powers:  Any intelligent creature with a soul can be sacrificed to the banner in short ritual invoking whatever dark gods, devils, or demons best suit your campaign.  Each sacrifice adds a charge to the standard and turns a small part of it from white to red, with no known upper limit to the number of charges.  Another ritual allows a living being with a soul to swear an oath to serve the Red Harvest, a crusade to send the souls of all who oppose it to some punishing afterlife run by the creator of the standard.  

While the standard is raised, its bearer and any oathsworn allies in its company cannot be slain.  Instead, when they would take a mortal wound, one charge is used, a bit of the banner turns from red to white, and the "slain" soldier is restored to full health.  This can happen any number of times, charges permitting.

The standard offers no benefits to anyone not sworn to its service, nor does it function unless boldly displayed aloft.  The banner and pole can be damaged as normal, but the bearer can make saves for the item against effects like (say) fireballs, and anything short of total destruction has no effect on the magical properties of the standard.  Many Red Harvest standards are tattered, stitched up, and riddled with holes from previous battles. 

Possible Origins:  These things come from Hell, or whatever your game's equivalent is.  They simultaneously empower the soldiers who serve Hell and ensure that their own souls are damned in the end.  Mortal spellcasters (usually dark priests or cultists) may be involved in their creation, but the real power behind them comes from darker sources. 

Complications:  Anyone sworn to one of these banners is damned the moment they're saved from death by its powers, their soul forfeit to whatever powers lie behind it when they do finally die for real.  If the banner is destroyed (flag burned, disintegrated or shredded to pieces - the banner pole is just there to hold it up and could be replaced if broken) every creature sworn to it is slain instantly.  The standard's powers cease to function if it's dragged down or seized by an enemy, although reaching it to do so when the soldiers around it cannot be killed may be difficult.

Any oathsworn creature that refuses the orders of a military superior can be declared a traitor to the Red Harvest with a single word.  Traitors are instantly slain (and claimed by Hell) if they've ever been spared from death by a banner's power.  If not, their oath is voided and they can no longer benefit (or suffer) from the banner's effects. 

Design Commentary:  This post was inspired by the Banner of Promised Valor, which you can see over at the link below on Telecanter's Receding Rules.  Wonderful idea there, but if the heroes get a neat flag the bad guys deserve one too.  :)

http://recedingrules.blogspot.com/2020/10/banner-of-promised-valor.html

A Week Full of Daggers: Accusatory Poniard

Wrapping up this post series with one last modestly-sized magical blade before we move on to new oddities on Friday.

Accusatory Poniard

Description:  Unadorned thrusting weapon with a tapering 6" blade made of some dark metal.  Magical senses reveal a strong aura of necromancy and divination magics, but none of the common enhancement spells found on most magical weapons.  Greater identification spells conjure up the spiritual likeness of the poniard's creator who explains its unusual functions in the tongue of the dead.

Powers:  This item lacks any combat magic, although it's certainly sharp enough to do some stabbing in a pinch.  If placed in the hand of a dead body, the creature's arm will reanimate, clutch the poniard firmly and point it infallibly in the direction of the creature that slew it, if any.  This works on a corpse of any age or type, although it requires several things:  an appendage capable of holding the dagger, a limb that is still attached to the torso of the creature, and a creature that acted as the killer.  If the victim's manipulatory limbs have all been severed, or it was slain by a trap or accident or similar cause, nothing happens.  If the killer has died and passed on to an afterlife, or if they've simply left this plane of existence, the blade will open a gate to whatever dimensional plane the killer (or their soul) currently resides on, 1d4-1 days' travel away from their location.  The gate remains open until the dagger has passed through it twice (presumably once in each direction) but will reopen if the dagger is removed from the corpse's grip (a simple strength test required to do so) and then replaced.

The poniard's powers work if pressed into the hand of an undead creature, subject to the restrictions above.  Non-sentient undead will be dragged along by the dagger in pursuit of their killer, although they may not do anything beyond being really creepy upon reaching them (depending on their outstanding orders or instincts).  Free-willed undead may do as they please, but their arm is effectively out of their control and remains pointed stiffly at their slayer's location as long as they hold the poniard.  They can only release or sheathe the dagger by passing whatever test or save your game system offers for resisting mind-controlling magics (max once per hour till you succeed).

Possible Origins:  First created through some combination of sheer force of will, divine meddling, and/or unexpected arcane side effects, the first accusatory poniard sprang into being after a murder was committed.  The process (or at least the end result) has since been replicated on several occasions, but since creating one involves the death by violence of its maker it's not the sort of item you can commission someone to make.  The vast majority of them are found on dead bodies, among bandit loot, or sometimes buried with the victim whose death enchanted them.

Complications:  Finding a killer with this item is easy.  Finding one while dragging their victim's corpse along is somewhat less so.  Turning the victim into a zombie or something might simplify things, or it might make things much worse.  Same goes for paring away some limbs to make the corpse easier to transport.  Surely the relatives will object to either, right?

Also, if you wind up chasing a plane-hopping murderer the gate stays open while you're hunting.  What else might come through in the meantime?

Design Commentary:  I wouldn't use one of these in a story where solving a mystery is the main point, but they're neat for a game full of bounty hunting, for grim stories of revenge, or for farcical tales involving dragging a dead body around with you, Weekend At Bernie's style.  They're also a potential intro to some planar adventuring at earlier levels than you might normally see.

If these things and their abilities become common knowledge, smarter assassins will adapt accordingly.  Expect to find corpses with their hands cut off, or a lot more mysterious disappearances where the body is never found at all.

A Week Full of Daggers: Serpent-blood Dagger

Serpent-blood Dagger 

Description:  Well-made dagger with wavy 7" blade, sharpened on both edges, no cross-guard, and with a pommel that resembles a stylized snake's head.  Registers clearly as an enchanted blade of some power to magical senses.  More potent investigations show a complex conjuration dweomer activated by the spilling of blood and a command word - an archaic word for serpent in whatever little-known ancient language you prefer for your game.

Powers:  Acts as a middling-powerful magical weapon, enhancing the speed and accuracy of its strikes.  If the user cuts herself for basic dagger damage (1d4 in D&D) using the blade while speaking the command word, rather than blood a serpent spills forth from the wound, which closes afterward.  The creature is 1-2' feet long, moon-white in color, and mildly venomous.  The snake is empathically aware of its creator's desires and will follow mental requests to the best of its abilities, but it is a snake (albeit a magical one) and doesn't think the same way a human does so misunderstandings may occur.  By closing their eyes and concentrating the user can "piggyback" on the senses of one of their serpents, whereupon they'll find the creature is quite near-sighted but excellent at detecting movement, has sharp hearing and a remarkable sense of smell/taste.

You can have any number of serpents extant at once, the main limitation being how much damage you can take.  Any healing you receive (including natural healing over time) causes the snake(s) to lose the same number of hit points, evaporating into thin air when they reach zero.  Always remove as many snakes as you can for the amount of healed.  The serpents also vanish if you're slain.

In combat, the tiny snake acts immediately after its creator does, fighting as a normal animal of its type would but doing no actual damage beyond injecting a numbing venom of modest potency .  Victims who fail to resist (in D&D, save vs. poison at a +2 bonus) will suffer a -2 to attacks and skill checks for 1d6 rounds, with the penalty stacking if you're poisoned before the first instance ends.  If the penalty ever reaches -10 the victim falls into a dreamless sleep and cannot be awakened for ten minutes.

The serpents' venom loses potency almost instantly outside of a creature's bloodstream, so no milking your snake for free blade poison.     

Possible Origins:  Unclear, but they may have originated in a fallen serpent-worshipping civilization, or perhaps as relics of an even older prehuman empire of scaled folk.  Few if any modern artificers or enchanters can reproduce the complex magics of these blades.

Complications:  Aside from attracting the attention of collectors of antiquities or surviving serpent cultists, spending too much time spying through a serpent's sensorium may be bad for your mental health.  If you find yourself suddenly snacking on mice and crickets and the like you may want to seek help.

There is absolutely no truth to the rumor that drawing your own life's-blood with the dagger (ie killing yourself) in a mysterious and mostly-forgotten ritual will summon an avatar of some primordial serpent god, and no cultist would consider stealing the blade from you to do just that.  Unless the GM thinks it sounds like fun. 

Design Commentary:  Really, really handy for scouting and spying, and if you go crazy with cutting yourself you can have quite a tide of serpent pals to help out in combat.  The user is likely to be spending most of their time down at least a few hit points and loses some of their pets if healed, so there's a soft limit on usage.

A Week Full of Daggers: Silencer

 Silencer

Description:  Hefty 9" blade with "brass knuckle" style handguard and an oversized ball pommel, clearly designed to do as well in a punch-up as a knife fight.  Radiates a clear enhancement aura typical of enchanted weapons to the magically aware.  Stronger identification charms will detect the silencing augmentation easily enough, but the caster will be struck dumb by backlash for about a minute afterward.  

Powers:  Typical enchanted weapon of its type, sharper, stronger, and faster than a mundane blade.  Its design allows the user to choose between using the blade (which deals lethal slashing/piercing damage and draws blood) or the guard/pommel (which deals bludgeoning nonlethal/subdual damage) when striking.

If Silencer hits a target with its blade, the victim must resist its magic using whatever system your rules support (save vs. magic item or a Will save, for D&D style games) or be unable to utter a sound for 1d3+1 combat exchanges/rounds.  This will obviously interfere with some spells and vocal abilities, including most sonic attacks.

Possible Origins:  The arcane formula used to create these weapons is old and fairly well-known, but most wizards refuse to make them due to their obvious utility against traditional spellcasters.  If they could they'd conceal or destroy all record of the process, but too many alchemists, sages, artificers, and the like know of it to put that horse back in the stable.

Complications:  While drawn, the wielder cannot speak above a hoarse whisper, and even that is tiring and makes your throat hurt after a while.  You can just barely cast your own spells, but forget any bardic songs or shouted commands, and your allies may have difficulty hearing you over the din of battle.

You could always just sheath the thing and talk normally, of course. 

Design Commentary:  Anyone whose abilities rely on being able to speak in combat is going to hate these daggers.  Others will mostly just have to miss out on their usual line of combat banter.  You can "turn off" the silencing effect by just beating on a target with the blunt parts of the weapon, which may be helpful if you're trying to get the target to yell for help and lure their friends into a trap or something.

A Week Full of Daggers: Trouper's Knife

This one's a little dark, touches on potential body horror, gore, and body identity issues, which may make some folks uncomfortable.  You have been warned.  Read at your own risk.

Trouper's Blade

Description:  A small, scalpel-like blade with a grip made of bone bearing ominous stains.  Clearly more of a tool than a weapon.  Magical investigation will reveal an aura of transformative magic and a dark psychic taint of terrible pain.

Powers:  The blade can be used to alter a willing, restrained, or unconscious living humanoid creature's exterior form by slowly skinning it alive over the course of a ten minute long operation, with the new form being "carved" out of the old.  The wielder must keep the desired final form fixed in their mind for the duration of the process and should avoid distractions at all costs at risk of death or mutilation from an incomplete ritual.  The degree of alteration involved is considerable, allowing changes in height (up to a foot for an adult human), weight, skin, eye, & hair color, facial features, and distinguishing marks, but the subject must remain humanoid and organs or limbs can't be added.  Interestingly, the subject's teeth cannot be altered, only repositioned slightly, which may limit the degree that the jawbone can be changed as a consequence.  The transformation leaves the subject physically healthy but somewhat tired, and if they were conscious during the process they may well be mentally traumatized by the pain involved.   

Unlike similar magical transformations or illusions, the final form is permanent (barring another session under the knife) and can't be dispelled or detected as magical.  For safety, a subject must wait at least a month between future rituals, and attempting one before that should have significant risk of death (Fortitude save or save vs. death with a -1 penalty per week you've rushed things in D&D terms).

The Trouper's Blade itself can be used at will, and is always ready for a new subject.  Users may find the process of carving a new form into living flesh taxing however, and it is inadvisable to attempt to preform the ritual more than once per day.  Again, consider checks to retain concentration if pushing the envelope.  

Possible Origins:  Most scholars credit the invention of these nasty little things to a former spymaster of a whatever fallen kingdom/empire/civilization haunts your campaign, where they were used to make nearly impenetrable disguises for agents, assassins, and spies.  In modern times they still serve a similar purpose, but have also been adopted by the most fanatical devotees of the thespian arts as the ultimate way to truly step into a role on stage.  While few actors would agree to be literally reshaped for a part, there are always exceptions and for some the lust for fame makes anything worthwhile.   

Complications:  Using the thing requires you to spend at least ten minutes skinning a person alive, often someone you know and who requested you perform the task.  The process is intensely painful (although the blade's magic ensures survival if the ritual isn't interrupted), extremely grisly, and messy.  The spilled blood (so much blood) and former skin of the subject don't magically vanish and will need to be disposed of.  Losing your focus during the process will leave the victim disfigured or dead, and it's very hard to keep your focus if (say) an angry mob breaks in and demands to know what you're doing.  Privacy and plenty of cleaning supplies are a must.

Most voluntary subjects of the blade drug themselves into oblivion before the ritual for obvious reasons.  Attempts to bull your way through a transformation while conscious (perhaps by a  dedicated masochist or someone who's desperate and in a rush) may result in so much screaming and thrashing that the user loses focus with tragic results.  Involuntary victims must be thoroughly restrained or deeply unconscious, the latter being easier on the user's ears.

Design Commentary:  Rather obviously, before you use this thing in your game, make sure your table is okay with gory descriptions and body horror.  It might also raise personal identity and body dysmorphia concerns for some folks.  It can definitely be a button-puncher, so be careful.  Not worth losing a player (or a whole campaign) to a single magic item.

If you happen to running an urban horror game with it (eg World of Darkness) note that it only works on living humanoids, so any vampires or other undead will have to find a different way to change their form.  Myself, I used it in a bleak, grim & gritty fantasy espionage campaign, and it was by no means the worst thing the players ran in to.

A Week Full of Daggers: Ratsticker

Ratsticker

Description:  Frightful-looking oversized "dagger" with a blade nearly 12" long, prominent blood channels, and a pommel and cross-guards tipped with snarling rat heads.  Magical senses will perceive complex but only modestly powerful enhancements.  More extensive study will reveal an arcane connection to the moon (or whatever empowers were-creatures in your setting).  

Powers:  Ratsticker functions as a simple magical blade of no great power, but it does add whatever enhancement bonus you give it to attempts to bully, threaten, or intimidate others when drawn.  This may be a largely psychological effect, the thing would make even Crocodile Dundee concede it's a knife.

The other effect of the dagger may go unnoticed for a time.  When Ratsticker scores what would be  a lethal blow to a creature that could contract lycanthropy in your game system ("living humanoid" is the default here), the damage from the attack is cancelled and the target is instantly transformed, body and mind, into an apparently ordinary rat.  The victim's possessions are unaffected and fall to the ground in a heap, while the rat immediately flees the area, hiding if no escape is possible.  Attempts to catch the rat should be very difficult if allowed at all, especially the first time this happens.

The rat transforms back into its normal form at the next dawn, usually naked in an alley or vacant building and somewhat the worse for wear.  They have only vague, confused memories of their time as a rat, but recall the events before the transformation as clearly as normal, and especially the pain of that last stab.   

Possible Origins:  No one's certain, but it should be a fairly new thing in your campaign.  Maybe some traveler brought it from foreign parts?  Maybe it was found in a dungeon recently?  Maybe it was bought from a merchant by a footpad that thinks looting empty clothing is way easier than disposing of bodies? Finding out who made it might be part of a story arc, even.  

Complications:  Victims who've been "killed" by Ratsticker will begin to display the symptoms of therianthropy at the next full moon (or whatever timed event is related to weres in your game), and will become full-blown were-rats over the next 1d6 months unless they are cured.  Not everyone will want to be cured, of course.  And if there are a lot of Ratsticker-related stabbings, expect the area to have a serious were-rat problem in short order.

Design Commentary:  This one might be the basis of a whole story arc around finding a mass cure for Ratsticker victims while preventing a conspiracy of were-rats taking over a city's (or even a kingdom's) criminal underground by spreading around blades that make more of their own kind without being easily traced back to them.  Or it might just wind up in a delve to clear a den of freshly-made and somewhat confused were-rats before things get out of hand.  One interesting quirk of the blade is that it provides an emergency escape route for its user.  A canny villain who's backed into a corner by the party might stab himself to "death" in plain sight, leaving behind a pile of empty clothes in front of a conveniently-placed rat hole, earning membership in the highly exclusive Recurring Enemy Club. 

A Week Full of Daggers: Alicorn Shiv

Alicorn Shiv

Description:  This odd weapon consists of a 6" long piece of pearlescent alicorn in a crude socket hilt made out of what appears to be a length of crimped pipe, making an improvised but dangerous stiletto of sorts.  There is no guard, and the rounded "blade" won't fit most conventional sheaths.  Perhaps a trip to a wizards' supply shop for a wand scabbard is in order?  Magical senses will easily detect a strong aura of purity from the blade itself, which is quite obviously the tip of a unicorn's horn.

Powers:  Badly-made or not, the alicorn's magic still makes this quite a dangerous weapon for its size, with a middling-high enhancement bonus to accuracy and damage (say +3 in D&D terms).  It also has an unusual side effect related to its inherent makeup.  Any creature struck by a Alicorn Shiv is immediately purged of any poisons active in its system.  Outside of combat, you can jab yourself or an ally if you act swiftly enough after the poison effect triggers.  In combat, you can stab an ally within reach if you can reach them before their next turn after being poisoned, but this requires an attack roll if they're still actively fighting (as opposed to laying on the floor dying of poison, for example).  If you have the weapon ready you can also stab yourself as a reaction to being poisoned (after the save is failed, if your system uses poison saves), no attack roll required.  In all cases, you have to dig deeply enough to cause basic dagger damage (d4 in most D&D games) to trigger the purgative magic.

Note that alcohol and recreational drugs count as poisons, which allows for a painful but instantaneous way to sober up.

Possible Origins:  Some heartless dastard mutilated and possibly killed a unicorn and used the tip of its horn to make a crude magical weapon.  Not exactly a mystery here.

Complications:  You are carrying what is obviously a chunk of a unicorn as a weapon, animals legendary for their purity and beneficence.  If this becomes common knowledge, good-hearted folk are likely to express their disapproval as vigorously as possible.  This ranges from veiled insults to overcharging you for goods to hanging you for poaching in the Fey Wood.  More pragmatic authorities may demand you turn over the alicorn for the public good.  Sinister types who use poisons professionally will certainly want the shiv out of circulation, possibly along with its bearer.

And if you think that's bad, go wave that thing around out in the wilderness and see what happens.  Do not be surprised if it involves treants, wood elves, and/or angry druids     

Design Commentary:  Having an almost infallible defense against poison is great, and the damage tradeoff is usually bearable.  Just be wary about using it in public, and don't be dumb enough to try to use poison and the shiv against the same target in a fight.

A Week Full of Daggers: Delver's Dagger

Fantasy roleplaying has always had a lot of very memorable magical weapons, but the vast majority of them are swords, axes, hammers, and similar big, nasty implements of destruction.  Magical daggers generally haven't gotten anywhere near as much love and aren't nearly as well-remembered as, say, a +1 Flame Tongue sword, or a Hammer +3, Dwarven Thrower, or a +2 Nine lives Stealer blade.  Magic daggers often wind up as a backup weapon that rarely sees use, or a nearly-forgotten last resort for an exhausted wizard.  Even stabby roguish types tend to prefer short swords to daggers for mechanical reasons in many systems.

So, I'm taking the next week to put up some ideas for knives, poniards, daggers, stilettos, and other breeds of small blades that your players might actually remember rather than stick on their inventory sheet and forget until they need something to distract a rust monster or spike a door.  They'll be system-agnostic, with some suggestions on "D&D-ish" mechanics where called for.  Mostly I expect folks to be able to hack their own rules to suit their pet system, though.

Without further ado, I present today's entry:

Delver's Dagger

Description:  A well-made but unremarkable dagger, with a blade about 7" long and a sturdy cross-guard.  The pommel is a disk inscribed with a stylized sun on one side and a moon on the other.  Magical senses will reveal an aura of power that suits the potency your campaign needs, as these blades come in many levels of power.  The dagger's light-shedding power (see below) fails to register even under strong magic, although it may detect a suggestion of some concealed ability.

Powers:  In addition to the usual combat enhancements found on an enchanted weapon, the blade sheds a 30' radius of dim light when drawn.  This light sheds no shadows and can only be perceived by creatures whose blood (or corresponding internal fluids, if any) has been shed by the dagger at some point.

Possible Origins:  These blades are also commonly called Burglar's Daggers, but it remains unclear whether they were first created for a sneak-thief or an adventurer.  Both professions can certainly benefit from a light source that can't be seen by most other observers, whether it be wandering monsters or patrolling guards.  Their creation formula is fairly well known in the spellcasting community, and having one made on commission is almost as common as finding one in a treasure hoard or "inheriting" one from a former owner.

Complications:  These blades are coveted in both criminal and adventuring circles (which often overlap anyway) and may attract undesirable attention if your ownership of one becomes common knowledge.  Moreover, once the dagger has drawn even a drop of blood from a target, its light remains visible to that creature forever after.  Second-hand Delver's Daggers may have an inconveniently large pool of previous blood donors, especially since it's common for both adventuring parties and gangs of thieves to blood a dagger en masse so they can all operate under its light.

Design Commentary:  Almost prosaic as magic items go, but a useful tool and the potential limitations of "used" daggers that have been in circulation in an area for a long time can lead to some interesting wrinkles in a game.  Why does your seemingly-innocuous innkeeper see your dagger's light, anyway?  Was he cut by it in a bar fight long ago, or is he a retired thief who ran in a gang with a previous owner, or is the explanation something stranger? 

Faithful Bowl of the Mendicant, A System-Agnostic Magic Item

Faithful Bowl of the Mendicant

Description:  A crudely-made wooden bowl, wide and shallow, much-stained and scarred by long usage.  Magical senses will detect a modest aura of divine power around the bowl, and strong identification magic may result in hearing a brief prayer (see below).

Powers:  The bowl itself is nearly indestructible by any mortal agency.  Anything placed within the bowl cannot be removed by any means.  The bowl offers no protection to its contents beyond that, so wax could be melted, paper burned, etc.  Objects that won't fit within the roughly 1' diameter cylinder of space above the bowl won't trigger the magic, although it will retain absurdly tall mounds of small items like rice grains or coins, keeping them from spilling.  Living creatures small enough to fit within the bowl may leave of their own free will but can't be removed by other means.

The bowl has a "command word" in the form of a short prayer of thanks to whatever god/saint/spirit of charity suits your campaign.  On doing so (taking about ten seconds) the speaker (and only the speaker) may remove any or all of the bowls contents for the next hour or so.  Each bowl has its own prayer, which can be learned either from a previous owner or through the same mechanics your game system uses to discover more conventional command words or phrases.

Each morning at dawn the bowl (and any contents) will miraculously appear at the feet of whoever last used the "command word" prayer, even crossing planar borders or bypassing magical wards to do so.

Some owners have claimed that food eaten from the bowl tastes better than it should, especially when shared amongst friends, but this effect may be wholly psychological.

Possible Origins:  Many scholars believe Faithful Bowls are the creation of one or more of the many divine or spiritual entities associated with the virtue of charity, and are often carried by one of their avatars then left behind to the deserving poor after the manifestation ends.  Others have pointed out the many potential uses of these items for theft and chicanery and insist a trickster god is responsible for them.  The close association of beggars' and thieves' guilds makes it quite possible that both beliefs are correct.

Complications:  While rare, Faithful Bowls do feature in enough folk tales that many storytellers or sages have at least a vague idea of their abilities.  Unfortunately, so do many ne'er-do-wells, and the same traits that make the bowl useful to an honest beggar or busker can serve more nefarious purposes, including theft, smuggling, and various confidence games.  It's also an odd sort of thing for a wealthy adventurer to be lugging around to the mansion of a noble patron, or a royal ball, or even to their favorite fence, so it may attract unwanted attention and comment.

Design Commentary:  This post was inspired by the Fakir's Bed, posted over on Telecanter's Receding Rules.  As usual, he manages to be concise where I'm regrettably wordy.  :)

http://recedingrules.blogspot.com/2020/10/the-fakirs-bed.html