A Cloak of Air and A Cloak of Sludge

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Billowing Cloak of Father Wind

The lions were released and pounded across the sand at him. Thumping. Prowling. Snarling. Stalking. The stranger only walked towards them. The crowd only murmured. They’d seen this show before.

As the first great cat bounded once, twice, and then leapt at the stranger it turned in the air and slammed onto its side–squaking and wildeyed. The beast clawed the air and had difficulty finding its feet before the stranger plunged a casual knife into its neck–missing not a stride.

The other two raced in, intent on running and tripping the man-thing down. But as they approached they were shunted right and then left, chaotically. They clawed and missed. They roared and the sounds were muffled under the din of the wind now roaring about the arena.

The stranger looked up to the stands and the crowd went wild… spinning a dagger in his hand, he looked back down at the fearsome things trying to murder him and then his eyes went wild and his hands dropped their weapons and went to his throat and as he stumbled first right and then left and fell… eyes bloodshot… turning blue…

Hours and lots of entertainment later…

The arena slaves stripped the mutilated and half-eaten body at the end of the day. The lions found their footing and absolutely ruined the promising newcomer to the games. They ate well. Shame, looked like he had it for a while like the other times.

Popular consensus amongst the patrons was that he choked on something, what with his clawing at his neck. One of the slaves noted the burns on his fingers, however, where he seemed to be struggling with the knot of his cloak’s clasp rather than his own neck–but what did he know of cloaks and necks.

Into the pile the bloody beige cloak went along with some decent leather pants and a boot from another fight. Lord Ahnash would have them cleaned and given away to the poor, as all the clothes of the fallen were.

System: The cloak, once attuned, grants three powers once worn (these are not activated, but always on when worn by the owner) due to the fierce magical winds kicked up by the garment:

  1. All movement around the wearer in a 10 ft. radius sphere centered on them counts as difficult terrain for everyone above ground (this does not effect burrow movement), this effects the wearer as well.
  2. Upon first entering the sphere of wind and at the start of that creature’s turn, the creature must make a Str save DC10 or be “shoved” by the wind 5ft any direction the PC wants–this does not incur a reaction attack.
  3. The PC is considered to have partial cover to all projectile-based attacks, granting +2 to their AC.

Donning the cloak requires a full action. Once donned, the knots ties itself tightly–Escape Artist DC15 to untie.

Once worn, on the first turn, the PC is subject to suffocation rules due to the whirwind of air around them creating an severely lessened ability to breathe. A creature can hold their breath for 1 + its Con modifier in minutes (minimum 30 seconds)–so, a Con of +2 means 3 minutes or 30 rounds. Once out of breath, it can survive for a number of rounds equal to their Con modifier (minimum 1). At the start of the next round after that, they drop to 0 hp and start dying.

Once the PC suffers a critical hit from any source, is grappled, is shoved, falls, or gets knocked prone, they roll a Con save DC15. On a failure, they cease being able to hold their breath, if they were holding their breath.

 

Cloak of the Eldest

The mire is all mind.

The ocean is vast.

The universe wide.

The brain-think-breath-pulse-things breed and fall apart.

The master of all blesses his truest.

The drip is forever.

The acidic moist is truest.

The mire is all mind.

Warmth and cold and hard and soft.

The mire is all mind.

System: The cloak itself is a swirling multishade gray, shiny (nigh-wet looking) leather cloak that resembles most closely a wet granite boulder.

The wearer, once attuned, is immediately transformed upon donning the cloak (taking their movement) into an ooze–the secret and loyal unknowable creatures spawned by one of the Great Old Ones.

PC rolls 1d4.

On a 1, they turn into a Black Pudding. On a 2, they turn into a Gray Ooze. On a 3, they turn into an Ochre Jelly. On a 4, they may choose one of those forms and may roll an additional 1d4 as they begin turning into multiple oozes. Repeat until no 4’s are rolled.

This gives a bizarre opportunity to turn into several creatures. All oozes that are the PC have the stats of those oozes from the Monster Manual and abilities (and penalties and limitations).

This means, with an intelligence so very low, and a wisdom so low, that it is hard to remember that they’re a PC at all when in this/these form(s).

On the turn they change, they have spent their movement, but still have an action possible (or multiple, if several oozes). They also have their mind hanging on inside there and may freely choose their action.

On subsequent turns, at the start of their turn they roll an Int Save DC10. If they succeed (roll for all oozes just once together, as the PC), they may direct their body/bodies however they want for that turn. If they fail, the DM controls the oozes in a manner befitting oozes and their nature which may include wandering off if no prey is in range of their senses or attacking the nearest thing or possibly avoiding unpleasant stimuli.

Once all the oozes the PC has turned into are destroyed, the PC reverts back to normal in the space the last ooze died with 2 levels of exhaustion. There is no other way to change back. The cloak rests underneath them–unworn.

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