Ten Thousand Words For Green

A Truth About the Tongue of Dragons

Dragons have keener senses than lesser creatures, and their vision and hearing are particularly precise.  Because of this, the draconic language is full of subtleties of pronunciation unequalled even by the long-lived elven folk.  No humanoid can truly speak draconic well, and even with magical assistance their accents are atrocious.  Dragons do not take kindly to hearing their native tongue mangled by others, although their reactions vary from veiled contempt to immediate violence.  

When a dragon does deign to communicate with a humanoid, they do so in the latter's tongue, not their own.  If the dragon happens to use an archaic form of, say, Gnomish that they learned two thousand years ago, that's the listener's problem.  Criticizing a dragon's language skills is an excellent way to commit suicide, nor do they appreciate being asked to repeat themselves.

Ten Thousand Words For Green

Draconic vision is particularly good at differentiating between fine gradations of color.  Because of this, they ascribe a great deal of importance to precisely describing shades and hues, especially as they relate to their own coloration and that of other dragons.  This is further complicated by each dragon's (justifiable) conviction that their are unique and special individuals.  Certainly no two share the exact same color patterns, which (to dragons) is an obvious truth at a glance.  

Hatchling dragons choose their own names.  Part of the process is to coin a word that perfectly describes their own hue, which becomes part of their personal title.  These words are built on common roots for basic colors (eg "green") but add layer upon layer of subtle detail and nuance to make them truly unique.  As they age and their scales change in color, a dragon will retain their original hue-name but its meaning changes with its owner, always defined by their current appearance.

Because each new name is unique, draconic languages include thousands upon thousands of color words.  Each precisely (to a dragon, anyway) identifies a single dragon, live or dead, but they share many common elements with other dragons of the same breed.  To a non-native speaker, the subtleties of personal hue-names are largely a mystery, and many give up trying and just use the root color as though it were a simple title.  Anyone fool enough to do so while attempting to speak draconic will discover that dragons find this about as insulting as humans do the most vile racial epithets.  When speaking humanoid languages addressing a dragon with something as crude as "the Red" or "the Green" still rankles, but a dragon will generally choose to let it pass.  

The tongues of humanoids are far too limited to properly reflect the glory of dragonkind, after all.

Bestowal of Serpentine Digits, A Transformative Spell

Description:  A moderately complex spell involving complex gestures and posturing, a sibilant evocation, and powdered snake scales as ritual focus.  Most spellcasters of the Third Circle can manage it, although more elderly practitioners may find the motions involved are hard on joints stiffened with age.  As such, it has something of a reputation for being a magic for young and dashing types.

Effects: The Bestowal of Serpentine Digits can be cast in one of two ways.  First, it may be used on either the caster or an ally whose hand they can grasp.  This effects a transformation that turns the fingers and thumb of one hand into wriggling poisonous serpents about twice the length of their normal digits.  The altered hand can no longer be used to grasp or carry objects, but it allows an unarmed melee attack at a +10% bonus to strike.  On a hit, the target takes piercing damage equal to a dagger thrust and must attempt to resist the serpents' poison.  If they fail to do so, the victim is left weak and shaky for about five minutes, suffering a 50% reduction in their speed and melee damage, and a 25% failure rate on attack rolls and any feats of strength or dexterity attempted.

Second, the spell may be placed on any object the caster can lift in one hand.  This places a curse on the object that will be triggered by the next creature to handle it unless a password (established during casting) is spoken.  This curse effects a similar transformation to the one above, but the serpents attack the victim rather than being under their control, biting at any body part within reach.  Use the victim's own attack chance with the same +10% chance to strike.  If allies of the victim attempt to physically restrain the cursed hand they'll suffer the same attack instead (choose randomly if several people are wrestling with the serpents at once).

In both cases, an attempt resist the magic can be made when the transformation begins (although the first casting mode is generally used only on willing targets, who forego their resistance).  The transformation lasts until 1d6+3 melee attacks have been made or until about five minutes have passed, whichever comes first.  A cursed item can be triggered until the next sunrise or sunset, at which point the magic fades and the item is safe to handle again without use of the password.  Suitable countermagic can end the spell early as usual.

Possible Origins: The formula for this magic can be traced to the prehistoric serpent-folk civilization, and was originally recovered from some of their ruins by adventurers.  It remains somewhat obscure, in part because the archivists who maintain most arcane libraries tend to be of advanced years and regard the spell as undignified (and uncomfortable) to cast.

Complications:  You've got snakes for fingers on (presumably) half of your hands for about five minutes, or until their venom is drained during combat.  This can be inconvenient, and prevents any spellcasting that requires gesturing with both hands.  It's also likely to evoke comment from bystanders, and you may be suspected of being some kind of horrible mutant or shapeshifting serpent monster.

Design Commentary:  Most caster will probably prefer to use the "cursed object" mode rather than engaging in melee themselves.  You can absolutely pull shenanigans like (having said the password yourself earlier so it's safe for you to hold) handing a cursed coin to an unsuspecting victim, so its utility goes well beyond just protecting your wallet or setting static traps.  As long as a creature touches the object with their hand the magic will trigger, but watch out for (say) things with manipulatory tentacles or pincers.

Some other characters might actually get an upgrade in effectiveness by hitting things with a handful of snakes rather than a sword.  The poison effect is a really strong debuff, even if won't directly kill a target (although a bunch of snakebites might).  Things that are immune or resistant to poison are much harder to deal with, of course.  If you have this spell cast on you more than once you can attack with each transformed hand once per round, and if you somehow have more than two hands you can benefit from separate castings on all of them.

Grandmother's Candies, Magically Delicious Treats

Grandmother's Candies

Description:  Brightly colored hard candies shaped like various vermin - mice, moles, spiders, slugs and snails, and a whole selection of peculiar beetles.  Roll 2d6 to see how many individual pieces there are, then roll that number of d8s to see which types are found.  Then roll the dice again to see what color each candy is, but honestly they all taste the same regardless - a bit like black licorice, if you must know.

Shape                  Color

1- Mouse             Red

2 - Mole               Pink

3 - Spider             Orange

4 - Slug                Yellow

5 - Snail               Green

6 - Bat                  Blue

7 - Beetle              Purple

8 - Big Beetle       Black 

Magical senses reveal nothing of the true nature of these things, although their unusual shape may well cause suspicion.  Some places have traditions about making regular candies that are visually identical.  Others have laws forbidding that sort of foolishness.

Powers:  Any creature that voluntarily places a piece of candy in their mouth is instantly transformed into a normal specimen of the appropriate type of vermin until the next sunrise.  A test to resist magic is allowed if desired.  The transformed creature retains its own mind and memories, although it may find its new body confusing at first.  Unlike some transformative magics any possessions are left unchanged, usually leaving a pile of clothes and gear with some verminous critter perched atop it.

The magic in these candies won't function if they're thrown, dropped, or forced into an unwilling victim's mouth, nor will licking trigger them.  They do function if they're accidentally eaten by an unsuspecting individual (perhaps hidden within other foodstuffs) but a resistance is still allowed.  If some greedy pig shoves several of them in at once, roll randomly to see which of the pieces decides the form of vermin, while the rest are simply wasted.  Only one save is made in this case, although if you consumed them one at a time you'd resist them one after another till you fail.

The candies can be dissolved, broken, or melted as though they were mundane treats, but their magic will be ruined in the process.     

Possible Origins:  Witches.  Of course it's witches.  Rumor claims Grandmother herself first created them, but she gets credit (or blame) for a lot of things.  Actual witches do sometimes share the alchemical recipe for these things, and some hedge wizards and mystic hermits can make them as well.  They require more than a little fresh human blood to make, which can be a problem.  With a few willing donors you could make a few on a sustainable basis, or you could bleed someone dry and get enough for couple of dozen.  On the plus side, they keep forever as long as they don't get wet or slowly devoured by ants or something.  

Complications:  Whoever eats one of these things is stuck in a tiny, fragile physical form till dawn.  If the transformation came as a surprise this can easily be a fatal experience.  Just carrying these things around can lead to some difficult questions, since there are plenty of stories about them being handed out to children by the evil-hearted on All Hallows' Eve.  More adult (and plausible) tales speak of wily spies and thieves using them to infiltrate strongholds and treasure rooms and the like.

There's also the small possibility that Grandmother is directly involved in making these things.  If so, stumbling across one of her "Special Batches" is always a possibility, and they'll have very different effects indeed.

Design Commentary:  Potentially a great tool for sneaking into places you shouldn't be or escaping pursuit, but risky since you'll be stuck in a form where a bird or housecat could be a lethal danger till the sun rises.  The candies do work just fine if you happen to carrying one or more of them when swallowed by some monstrous creature, which (assuming they fail their save) will leave them transformed and you covered in toothmarks and saliva but otherwise none the worse for wear.