Pantheon Press Blog

Continuing our lead-up to the release of Fortune's Fool this summer, here's a first look at the game's character sheet!



This loveliness was designed by our good friend John Carimando. If you are looking for something to play while you wait for Fortune's Fool, why not check out John's excellent tabletop fighting game Super Gachapon Fighter Omega Infinity?

As this is the fooliest of days, we thought we'd give you an update on how Fortune's Fool is progressing and give you a little taste of what is to come!

The game has entered the final phase of playtesting, and by the end of this month we'll be beginning the production phase! If all goes according to plan, we will have actual books, ready to sell, at GenCon.

The Art
Our cover, and most of our interior art, is being done by Christopher Kimball, a talented gentleman who we met by chance and who happens to live in the neighborhood. We've taken quite a shine to the big lug, and are gaming with him regularly. That is, when he's not slaving over a hot sketch pad to produce us such pieces as this one:
The Tower

If you'd like to see more of Chris's art, visit his site or just wait for Fortune's Fool!

Of course, our good friend Andrew DeFelice is also contributing a few pieces, taking famous works of Renaissance art and giving them a fantasy twist!

The Fiction
As if writing a whole new set of rules wasn't enough, we've also been hard at work penning some short pieces of fiction set in the world of Fortune's Fool. Here's a sample from "Cleo's Duel," the tale that opens the book.

The chill morning wind slapped Cleo in the face. It made the throbbing in his head seem even worse. It was cold and misty but at least the rain had stopped. God, it’s early. Not even eight? A savage time to be awake.

Cleo stared through bleary eyes at his opponent across the green. It took a moment for the hangover clouds to part. When they did, Cleo saw a graceful figure warming up with a beautiful rapier. There was something glinting on the blade’s hilt, but Cleo could not quite make it out. What is that? The shape was blurry and took a moment to slide into focus. Ah yes, a noble crest. Marvelous. The figure moved lazily through some simple cuts and forms.

Then Cleo saw the pointed ears. This is too much! A miserable November morning and I am dueling not just a trained swordsman, not just a nobleman, but an ELF as well? Worse, Cleo had no recollection of why they were about to duel. Cleo turned to his second, his old friend from England. “Ashford, help me on this. Do we know that elf?” He pointed emphatically to guide his friend’s bleary eyes, “That one. Over there. Who seems intent on hurting me?”

Ashford stared and pursed his lips, trying to remember. He made a few ugly noises trying to find his voice and finally offered, “Ah…’tis an elf, Cleo…and noble by his look.”

Real progress. “Yes, I see that, Ashford. Do we remember why he wants to stick me with that pretty little sword?”

Ashford stared hard and furrowed his brow. His face was sheet white. He mopped his forehead with his kerchief, “There was…I think…a…ball?” No help here. While Cleo began removing his jacket Ashford was still struggling, “I remember… the dessert table!”

After a couple swallows of brandy (thank Christ), Cleo found himself on the field a few strides from his opponent. Cleo was amazed. How could the elf tower over him, yet still seem so light on his feet? This was turning serious. Time for some diplomacy.

“Noble sir, it is with deepest regrets that I offer up my heartfelt apologies for…for…for the many wrongs that have passed between us!” The elf’s face flickered with contempt, but his eyes never lost their icy stare. His second, an officer from the king’s guard, stepped forward and answered on the elf’s behalf, “You have publicly smeared the name of the Baronet’s sister. Your calumnies may not now be retracted because you have not the stomach for a fight. The Baronet’s honor must be satisfied!”

How will Cleo get out of this predicament? Or will he be skewered by the Baronet's blade? You can find out this August!

The Rules
Of course, this is a game we've been talking about. And no game is complete without rules!

Players in Fortune's Fool don't roll dice to see whether they succeed or fail, but instead all pull from a single Tarot deck called the Fate Deck in the game. But players also have the power to manipulate the Fate Deck to give them a better chance to succeed! Here's a glimpse at how that works:

Fate Twists
Fate is a capricious mistress. She will be kind one moment and cruel the next. Just when you come to depend on her, she will turn on you. But when she is on your side, everything falls into place!

Fate Twists allow you (the player) to manipulate the Fate Deck itself. Some twists allow you to look at upcoming cards or reshuffle the deck. Others let you play with cards face up or put certain Major Arcana near the top of the deck. Clever use of a Fate Twist will benefit not just you but your entire party.

Because Fate Twists are entirely a player action and not a character action, they take no time to perform. If you spend 5 minutes in the middle of a fight debating the use of a certain Fate Twist, no actual time passes in the game. They are something you the player do, and your character is uninvolved. You can twist fate as much and as often as you wish as long as you still have Fate Points in your Fate Pool.

Every time you twist fate, you must spend 1 Fate Point. Your Fate Pool refills after every session. For example, Rob’s goblin, Ismara, has 2 Fate Points and 3 Fate Twists. This means she can twist fate twice in a session. She does not have enough Fate Points to use all her twists in a single game session. After a play session, Ismara’s Fate Pool will refill to 2. Regardless of what Rob spends, Ismara will start the next session with 2 Fate Points in her pool.

But what are the specific Fate Twists? Read on:

Borrowed Trouble
If another character places a Major Arcanum in the Boneyard as a result of Fortune Weeps, and that card is a Fortune Shines for you, you may pick it up as a Fate Counter. Once the card is covered, this opportunity is gone.
Fat Chance
Take any Minor Arcana of your choice out of the boneyard and shuffle them back into the remaining Fate Deck.
Ill Omen
Wherever the Death card is, the gamemaster must find it and shuffle it into the top three cards.
Premonition
You may look at the next three cards in the Fate Deck and discard one. The gamemaster then shuffles remaining two and a third together and replaces them on top of deck. Keep this information to yourself.

That's about all for our preview of Fortune's Fool. We hope this has gotten you as excited to play the game as we have been making it!

The Adversaries Almanac is now available for purchase! Ripe with 18 full-color entries, it'll provide you with a bad guy for just about every campaign level. Sexy assassin? Check. Fallen paladin? Check. Crazy tattooed dwarf? Check!

Check out the Pantheon Press marketplace to buy yours today.

And remember, the discount code GNOLLOWEEN is still good for the rest of this week!

Tyr "Tearbringer" Mal'dorr
There is but one rule in the goblinoid clans that populate the lands northeast of Emberstone—strength equals power. Until recently, this was exemplified best in the Mal’dorr (Goblin for ‘hidden knife’) clan, which was led by the hulking bugbear Molok. As strong as a minotaur with a command style to match, his clan survived, but never flourished. They barely fought back assaults from other goblinoid clans, and attacks on the nearby human settlements were almost always failures. On one such raid, a young hobgoblin named Tyr lost his eye. He also lost any respect he had for Molok.

Tyr believed that cleverness could be another form of strength, and therefore another form of power. Why announce your offense with a screaming charge when you could slip behind enemy lines under the cover of night and slit their throats while they slept. Both tactics had the same result, but the latter left you with far more of your own forces still alive. As he continued to watch Molok stumble blindly into battle, Tyr saw opportunities abound. A contingent of archers in the trees could take out the enemy before they were seen. A force hidden in a nearby cave could emerge after the battle was already joined to catch the
enemy from behind, and they would be crushed like an eyeball in a raven’s beak. Tyr’s mind was naturally suited for tactical combat.

Tyr knew that he couldn’t take Molok in hand-to-hand combat, so he devised a plan to wrest control of the clan from the bugbear. He had heard rumors of a poison dusk lizardfolk hermit living near the edge of Emberstone. On the pretense of scouting a strike against the Groo’bin clan, he sought out the lizardfolk. After several weeks of hard travel, he found the hermit and paid her a handsome sum to brew up a powerful toxin called “sapper.” The poison, which Tyr sprinkled into Molok’s food when he returned, was a subtle one. The next time Molok’s adrenaline flowed, he would be rendered as weak as a baby kobold.

After a few days of poisoning Molok to make sure it would take effect, Tyr called the bugbear out to the fire pit of their camp. Tyr challenged Molok’s authority, saying that he was no longer fit to lead the clan. Then, Molok punched Tyr right in the face, as he did to all would-be usurpers. Tyr knew this was coming, and though his jaw was broken, he managed to stay on his feet. He continued to taunt Molok, taking blow after blow, until each hit felt no stronger than a mother’s touch. That’s when Tyr drew a short blade and stabbed Molok right in the chest. He was nearly beaten to death, but he won leadership of the clan.

Tyr’s first campaign as chief of the Mal’dorr was against the human lumber camp of Oakstone. While his clan triumphed, killing all the humans, it was not without losses. Tyr lost three of his fiercest warriors and one of his fingers. He learned not to underestimate his enemies, even if they are just woodsmen with simple axes. Tyr made sure that one human escaped, and then set a trap for any retaliating forces amongst the deadly water-powered lumber saws. He and his clan lay in wait for over a week, despite many of the smaller goblins’ insisting on burning the entire camp to the ground. His patience paid off when a well-outfitted battalion entered the camp and set off the trap, leaving them wounded enough for the goblins to finish them off. The Mal’dorr ended that day with more spoils than they had seen in a generation.

Tyr repeated this stratagem at two other settlements, earning him the nickname "Tearbringer” among the humans, but while his goblins were quite happy with their growing hoard, Tyr felt like he was merely picking at scraps. He knew there was greater plunder to be had closer to the human’s City-States Region where trade prospered. One night, he gave his clan a choice. They could leave all the treasure they accumulated behind and join him in his travels, or remain and forfeit the greater glory of future conquests. The Mal’dorr split in half that evening, but Tyr felt no ill will to those he left behind; the goblin mind doesn’t accept change quickly.

Tyr and his remaining clan moved northwest, sneaking their way past Bergen and into the hills flanking the Bergen Pass. When they were almost run down by a speeding carriage moving along the trade routes there, the Tearbringer feared he had gotten himself in over his head. In an attempt to even the odds, Tyr and his goblins began a search for their own mounts. They were naturally drawn to the large wolf-like worgs that populated the hills. Smarter than the average predator, Tyr knew they could not simply be captured and trained.

He found a smaller pack and approached them diplomatically, with offerings of raw deer meat. To his surprise, the oldest worg spoke Goblin, and the two found that they were of the same mind. They quickly entered into an arrangement beneficial to both sides: Tyr’s goblins would ride the worgs, while the worgs would get a steady supply of food from successful raids.

The hobgoblin and his new clan then launched a campaign of terror, striking against the caravans of goods and money within the Bergen Pass. Tyr soon became known as the bandit king of the hills, and his reputation as the Tearbringer spread. They usually hit the wagons carrying gold toward the mining settlement of Gunpowder, with the worg riders blocking the route while Tyr and his second-in-command, a bugbear barbarian named Dox, closed in from behind. Seeing the fearsome goblinoids, most simply surrendered their cargo, and the few that have survived a fight with Tyr’s clan tell stories that help to fuel that fear. While they usually use traditional weapons, Tyr’s clan is close to mastering the use of firearms. If they do so, they might be unstoppable.

Tyr is a particularly cunning hobgoblin. He is tall, but not gaunt, and agile, but not slight. Tyr’s body is a network of scars that cover burnt orange skin. His long hair is almost black with tinges of red, and he usually keeps it in a ponytail. He wears an eye patch over his missing left eye, and the rest of his clothing is functional warrior’s garb. He wields a notched scimitar in close combat, commanding his minions into flanking positions to gain advantage. His typical raiding party consists of six goblins riding worgs, Dox, and himself.

As we mentioned last week, our next book, Adversaries Almanac will be available on our store in the next few weeks. To pique your curiosity, we present an excerpt from the entry on "Emperor" Naron, a twisted sewer dweller who calls the vermin there his subjects. With art courtesy of Jesse Cutler. Enjoy!

EMPEROR NARON
The Naron family was blessed. Vodon Naron, head of the household and husband to Jelina Naron, was a very successful local politician. Many a district prospered under his fair representation. Jelina, daughter of a very influential shipping guild family, was an accomplished poet and artist whose works sold for not a tiny sum of money. When they were married their families rejoiced. What a great success this union would be! Truly their future was bright! They had three children all within a year of each other and all boys: Jerro, Piotr and Lorin. Jerro grew very tall and strong and aspired to be part of the military. Piotr was very smart and had a fierce curiosity for all things written. Then there was Lorin. He was...quiet. Lorin had no special skills or even had any ambitions to pursue any sort of career. Although his parents were very successful and his brothers were all coming along, Lorin never truly excelled. He was just not a part of the success of the Naron family. He seemed to choose not to succeed even when given every opportunity to do so. His parents and brothers were very disappointed in him. They told him so almost every day.

His studies were average at best. He had no desire to spend much time with any friends and it took monumental effort just to get him to speak to even his own family. But there were some things he did spend time with. When his family was hosting a garden party on their estate Lorin was often found in his family’s cellar feeding the rats, millipedes, and other vermin. After the family took a day trip to visit relatives, Lorin showed up at the coach dirty, stained, and smelling of dirt. This childhood phase became more and more of an obsession. Eventually he took to sneaking into the cellar to sleep, leaving the comfort of his opulent bedroom for the cold, musty dampness of the place he felt the most comfortable.

His brothers would tease him incessantly. They and their friends would sometimes find him outside under a tree petting and talking to an insect. When Lorin saw them coming he shooed the creature away and just sat there huddled with his arms wrapped around his knees as the taunts, punches, and pokes came. Eventually they would get bored and leave him. When he would return home, his mother naturally chided him for his being dirty and again banished him to his room after he got a painful scrubbing from her. Then the lecture from his father came. Again. As it always did. Speaking of success and how blessed he and his mother were and how his brothers showed great promise.

One day, things changed for Lorin and not in a very good way. As he was at a picnic with his family and relatives, he walked away from their spot and found a good-sized snail slowly inching across the roots of a large tree. He had a piece of bread with him that he crushed and moistened in a puddle nearby and placed it near the snail to see if he would perhaps enjoy eating it. Lorin sat near the creature against the tree to watch it. It was slow but it eventually reached the bread that was laid in its path and it slowly oozed onto it. Lorin, happy that his new friend was eating, relaxed and started to drift off to sleep in the cool shade of the tree. He was not asleep long when he awoke to a crunch. His brother Jerro stood over him, smiling. Piotr was not far behind, laughing so hard he was doubled over. Jerro lifted his foot and Lorin saw the crushed snail. Its greenish gray insides dripping down the root of the tree. Jerro quickly wiped his shoe on Lorin’s jacket as he sat in shocked despair. “Here is your friend, Lorin. You can keep him close to your heart, now.” Lorin looked down at the dripping ooze on his jacket then at the crunched snail shell, then at his cruel brothers laughing at him. Lorin, for the first time ever, stood up for himself. He launched furiously at Jerro, taking him off his guard and knocking him back onto the ground. Lorin punched and throttled his older brother with a fierceness no one ever though him capable. Piotr, shocked, tried to pull him off but Lorin would not be budged. As Jerro screamed, Piotr ran to tell the family. His father ran over and pulled Lorin off of his crying bloodied brother.

Incensed, his father slapped Lorin across the face. “You have disgraced your family for the last time!” He marched everyone abruptly away, ending the picnic, and headed home. When they arrived late in the evening, the servants had already gone home. As his wife tended to the injured Jerro, Vodon was alone in his study with Lorin. He told him that he would be notifying the headmaster at the military academy that Lorin would be their newest student. He was going to send Lorin away to be taught discipline and proper behavior. Come the morning, Lorin would no longer be a burden on his family and he will be whipped into shape by the sternest tutor in the academy.

As Lorin sat there, hearing his father scream and screech about sending him away he felt oddly soothed by a feeling of cold peace. He could have sworn he could hear chittering, scratching, and squeaking. What was even odder his father heard it too and looked around. As his father peered into his fireplace the sounds got louder and louder until a wave of rats, insects and other vermin vomited forth from the fireplace. Then from cracks in the floorboards. Then bubbling up from the first floor windows. They swarmed over Lorin’s father as he screamed and slapped at them uselessly. Lorin watched as their tiny mouths tore pieces from his father’s clothes and flesh, he stared as tiny stingers and mandibles pierced his father’s flesh and injected him with venoms a thousand times. Still feeling a cold sense of calm, Lorin stood up and listened. A cacophony of buzzing and squeaking among the sounds of muffled screams emanating from the vermin-choked mouths of his entire family filled the Naron home. His mother and brothers met the same fate as his father. He smiled a wicked smile as the swarms finished their work and, as if in celebration crawled to Lorin and amassed at his feet and simultaneously buzzed, clacked, clicked and squeaked as if cheering and paying respect to their lord and master. Among the carpet of vermin were two huge dire rats who placed tokens at his feet. They were somewhat crude but were adorned with the markings of Oloren, the Blackened. He was still laughing as he left his home forever, the bloody, swollen bodies of his family left in tortured death poses.