Ramdamalla, Petty God of Drama and Miscommunication

Special thanks to Jeff Rients, Faoladh, and Kapitan Von for help with this Pettiest of Petty Gods.

Name: Ramdamalla

Symbol: An inverted pyramid balanced on its tip,
looking simultaneously like an eruption (such a geyser or a volcano) and also like a great weight about to fall.

Alignment: Chaotic Evil



Summary

Ramdamalla is the third leg of an unofficial triumvirate of petty gods that contains Manidono and Dickanus and might, in modern times, be called "Deities of the Postmodern." Alongside the Slacker God and the Asshole God, Ramdamalla is the Drama God -- no, not the drama of theater, but the petty dramas and stupid arguments and useless conflicts that afflict everyone's lives. However, while Dickanus is sophomorically self-centered and Manido doesn't care much about anything, Ramdamalla takes a perverse glee in ruining the everyday lives of people just for laughs. 

Ramdamalla is sometimes referred to as "That Motherfucking God," as speaking its name tends to invoke its attention. It has no one preferred form; rather, it is a mass of chortling chaos that shifts forms as whim and circumstance dictate. Known avatars in the past have been a rockslide, a seething mob, a torrent of vomit, a mountain of excrement, a herd of alpaca, and a grotesque troll. 

Worshippers

"That Motherfucking God is invoked by accident and served by fools."  -- old proverb

No sane individual worships Ramdamalla; like many deities of ill-fortune, it is propitiated in the hopes that it will stay away from those who make the proper offerings. Those who do worship it (mostly its clergy, although there are always a few "champions" of Ramdamalla who terrorize cities, towns and countrysides) are unstable or disturbed in some manner; usually one of the various forms of sociopathy, although masochism is also common.

It is worth noting that Ramdamalla does not specifically endorse violence (but neither does it disapprove); it is not a god of murder or warfare. Neither is it a parallel to Eris, whose portfolio of Strife also encompasses the concepts of Chaos and "breaking down the established order." No, the only concepts important to Ramdamalla are arguments, hurt feelings, and wasted energy; feuding cliques between schoolchildren over clothing or popular culture are just as important to it as as fighting between politicians in the halls of government. To Ramdamalla, we are all just ants scurrying about after our anthill was kicked away, and it finds our frantic attempts to repair our lives to be humorous antics.

There are no grand temples to Ramdamalla; even among its clergy, there is too much discontent and misunderstanding to accomplish such a thing. (Centuries ago, there was a major schism over whether to call themselves "Ramdamallans" or "Ramdamallites.") Instead, shrines to the Drama God are found in caves, or basements, or other "hole in the wall" locations, usually maintained by a single priest. There may occasionally be an apprentice being trained by the priest, but inevitably there will be a falling-out between the two and one of them will leave.

There are no feast days or festivals; priests worship their deity through starting fights and enabling drama, all while declaring that they wish to be left alone. Ironically, Ramdamalla doesn't even need worship, or even followers; it gains its strength from factionalization and petty fights, with which humans provide it aplenty.

"Why would anyone be a priest of this god that ruins lives?" Look in a mirror, you fool". -- another proverb, this one attributed to Ramdamallan scripture.


Invocation and Abilities

Don't try to invoke Ramdamalla; you'll succeed, and then you'll be sorry.

There's no table to roll, no percentage chance to see if it reacts well to you. If you speak its name, it will bestow its attention on you, and it will never be a good thing. The DM is encouraged to inflict the pettiest, most soap-operatic thing that can happen to the invoker -- and his friends and/or compatriots, if possible.

Instead, Ramdamalla can be made to go away (un-invoked, if you will) by one of two methods: ignoring it, or giving it attention.  There is a 50% chance that the method chosen is the correct one; the other will only make the situation worse.

Attention: This is best accomplished through ritual sacrifice, whereby the petitioner seeks to symbolically substitute objects of value for time that would be spent dealing with the problem. Every 100 gold pieces' worth of sacrificial items (money, jewels, livestock, magical items) equals a 10% chance that Ramdamalla will be satisfied and go away. A blood sacrifice can also be performed; sacrificing a hit point (the petitioner's own, not that of other beings) also equals 10% chance of propitiation -- but this damage must heal on its own, not via magic or potions, or else the sacrifice will not be considered favorable and the trouble will come back to the petitioner, doubled in intensity. Blood and goods may be combined in a single sacrifice, if desired.

Ignoring it: There is a commonly-known gesture that is believed to shield the performer from Ramdamalla's attention. By clapping one's hands together in front of one's chest, and then pushing palms-outward in the shape of a V, the drama is believed to be redirected back to its source.  However, this gesture (known as the Niemo Jemałpy in an obscure dialect) usually exacerbates the problem as the conflict is redirected onto itself.



The Author wishes to point out that this entry is not aimed at any one individual -- claps hands, "Niemo Jemałpy", etc -- but rather came to fruition because it seems like the world is going to hell and the internet, blogosphere, Facebook etc are turning on themselves and becoming whirlpools of strife and stupid arguments.

Dickanus, the Asshole God

http://www.funnyjunk.com/funny_pictures/3482241/HD+DickButt/

Name: Dickanus (pronounced Dick Aynuss, although the more sophisticated Dick In Uss is also permitted)

Symbol:  A man with a penis coming out of his anus

Alignment:  Chaotic Neutral




Summary
Dickanus is neither a trickster god, nor a god of humor. Both of these concepts are too subtle for him. He is the petty god of all things puerile [don't you mean penile?], juvenile, and base; of things which would make adolescents snigger, but cause adults to sigh wearily and roll their eyes in frustration.

Dickanus is the god of toilet humor [poop!] and of gratuitous nudity [poop comes from buttholes!]. He is the peeping tom who drills holes in walls [glory holes wooo!] and who steals underwear. He is the inspiration for anatomically improbable graffiti, the source of disgusting noises made when someone bends over or sits down, and the king of tea bagging [balls on your chin]. He is the god of thinking getting kicked in the crotch is a fount of boundless mirth. He is the eternal virgin who endlessly masturbates [leaving crusty pillows in his wake]. And he will never, under any circumstances, allow anyone to be serious [dickhead says what?].

He is, essentially, the patron deity of prepubescent boys and what they think is funny. He would be a force to be reckoned with were it not for the fact that most (though not all) of his believers outgrow such things by adulthood. Those who are still so inclined usually move on to worshiping greater gods, such as those of love or procreation (or in extreme cases, gods of pain and violence and death).

Relations with Other Gods [heh heh heh, "relations"]
While most deities just ignore the Asshole God, he has a special relationship with gods of love and fertility. To whit: he is a creeping creeper who creeps on them, and in return they loathe him, sometimes violently. (For inspiration, see any PG-13 movie involving social outcasts getting back at snobby cheerleaders.)

Dickanus is frequently seen in the company of Manidono, as their worshipers often have significant overlap. Unlike Manidono, however, Dickanus has an active clergy and congregation.


Worshipers
Let's be honest here: if you worship a god named Dickanus, you're pretty much an asshole by definition.

That said, there are two distinct parts of a Dickanal congregation.The first group consists of overly-hormonal juveniles who think that anything rude and disgusting is hilarious, who will do anything to catch a glimpse of a bare breast, and for whom "That's what she said" and "Your mother" are practically liturgical responses. They are the ones who perform the basic rituals which give Dickanus his power:

• Spying on women in bathhouses
• Giving wedgies (bonus if it results in skidmarks)
• Knocking on doors and disappearing
• Leaving sacks of flaming dung burning on doorsteps
• Making fart noises whenever someone bends over
• Generally being assholes to all and sundry

They perform these rituals to pass the time, and hopefully earn enough favor with the god that they are rewarded with masturbatory material [like your mom]. They usually drift away from the church about the time they realize that their rituals are actively preventing them from getting anywhere with females who might actually be interested in them. While female Dickanusites are possible, they are rare [pink on the inside, like their crotch], and are usually even more disgusting than their male counterparts (a trait that keeps them from being harassed by the rest of the congregants). 

The second, smaller group of Dickanus worshipers are angry, bitter outcasts who have no social skills and seek revenge upon the world in general. They are not the broken-hearted, for those may still seek succor with love goddesses; no, these are the angry "permanent virgins" who are ugly in spirit, if not in flesh, and who blame the world and everyone in it for their loneliness and social ineptitude [and let’s face it, you would be bitter, too, if you were a small dickanus]. It is this latter group which goes on to become Dickanal priests, and they are rewarded by becoming excellent creepers, voyeurs, and assholes. [Want to know the three most offensive words in Common? 'God's Bleeding Cunt.']

Dickanal priests must walk a fine line of annoyance. Too much (or too twisted) and they risk being run out of the community by townfolk sick of their antics; not enough and they lose favor with their god. They must be just enough of an asshole to be irritating [like your crotch rash!], but not so much that it becomes worth the time and effort to deal with them.

Dickanus has only one prohibition for his worshipers:  Do no permanent harm (except to enemies of the faith, or in self-defense), for a dead victim is someone who cannot be irritated or creeped upon again. [Jizz stains on their clothes are permanent enough.]  Too often, a Dickanal priest has taken things too far and has descended to the depths of molestation or rape, and it is in those moments when the torch and pitchfork wielding mob catches up to them that Dickanus shows his displeasure by stripping all powers from his former priests [total dick move, bro].

Invocation and abilities

Dickanus cannot be invoked; he is far too much of an asshole to actually show up [probably too busy polishing his knob]. He will, however, often give his worshipers a special ability and then watch the proceedings using his divine powers of clairvoyance. Anyone being viewed by Dickanus is automatically aware that they are being creeped upon, but also knows that they are powerless to stop it [shake it baby, unf unf unf].

His most common blessing is giving the invoker the ability to make an opponent literally soil themselves at an inopportune moment.  Other blessings include:

• Clairvoyance (typically to spy on people who are bathing or disrobing)
• Ventriloquism (to embarrass someone, usually an authority figure, with rude or disgusting noises while in public; but making it seem they are swearing or insulting others is also a popular choice)
• A Curse upon anyone who rejects them (this power is available only to priests of the Dickanal order)

Any recipient of Dickanus' blessings gains a mild affliction for twice as long as the blessing lasts:  a disgusting case of acne, poorly timed and uncontrollable wet farts, and awkward erections are all common [all your erections are awkward!].

Appearance and reaction
Dickanus is rarely encountered, but if he manifests he appears as a sleazy male of indeterminate age -- he is a dirty old man, a hormonal adolescent, and a chortling prepubescent all at once. While he is technically a high-level thief, all his skills are geared towards skulking, creeping and stealing; he will run away instead of fighting (preferably after annoying the PCs).

Upon meeting the Asshole God, roll 2d6 for reaction:

• Result of 2-4:  All male PCs grow breasts and all female PCs grow penises. (Gender-neutral PCs grow both.) This feels highly weird and makes their armor incredibly uncomfortable, giving them a -2 to all rolls until either the curse is removed or 1d6 days pass. 
• Result of 5-6:  All the PCs are highly skeeved out and have an immediate compulsion (as per a geas) to take a hot bath as soon as possible in order to wash the creep off of them. Any females or elves of any gender [elves give me the weirdest boners] so affected will be unable to shake the notion that they are being watched while they bathe. Anyone who does not bathe temporarily loses 1d6 points of Charisma. 
• Result of 7: Unbeknownst to the PCs, they are each granted a wish, but it will interpreted in the most perverted and assholish way possible. When their wish is granted, they will know who it's from and why. 
• Result of 8-10:  
• All fighter types:  Weapons become limp and flaccid, unless they're already flaccid, like whips or flails, in which case they become startlingly erect. Damage does not change, but all weapons are -1 to hit. 
• All magic types: Rude graffiti covers scrolls, grimoires and prayer books. All spells take twice as long to memorize. 
• All religious or charismatic types:  They reek of body odor, make farting sounds when bending or reaching, and cannot talk without having their speech peppered with profanity. 
• All sneaky types: Gain a +2 bonus to all rolls that would be relevant in a panty raid. In addition, all underwear within a 20' radius appears in their possession (bags/ backpacks/ pockets.)
• All of these effects are removed after 48 hours or Remove Curse.
• Result of 11: Everyone within 100' of Dickanus defecates themselves in the noisest, wettest, most explosive manner possible. -2 to all rolls due to itching and -1d6 points of Charisma until they can clean themselves. 
• Result of 12:  Everyone feels like they've been kicked in a very sensitive and intimate area and suffer 2d6 damage. If this reduces them to 0 hit points, they are not dead; they merely wish they were, as they writhe on the ground in agony. Anyone seeing this thinks it's hilarious and loses 1d6 turns from hysterical laughter. 

Petty Divine Relics

For the upcoming Petty Gods supplement.


The Sword of Rasoob

Green with corrosion, this sickle sword looks absolutely ancient. Made of bronze, it is heavier than a steel sword of identical size, and its edge has been blunted over time (-2 penalty to hit and damage). However, these penalties may be overcome through certain ritual actions, which impart a cumulative bonus to the sword for each act:

• Remove all objects of iron or steel from the wielder's person:  +2
• For each member of the party who similarly forsakes iron and steel: +1 per party member
• Ritually sacrifice magical items of armor or steel in a sanctified forge: +1 per each +1 of sacrificed object.

With each bonus gained, the Sword of Rasoob becomes sharper, lighter, and less corroded, until it is a gleaming bronze khopesh of incredible sharpness. All bonuses are lost if the wielder or party members equip themselves with iron or steel, or if the Sword of Rasoob is placed beside weapons containing that metal.

Once the Sword of Rasoob has reached a bonus of +5 to hit and damage, additional abilities are unlocked:

• Remove tarnish from all non-ferrous objects at will. 
• Expend a +1 bonus to rust ferrous metals, as per a rust monster, with a successful strike. 
• Expend a +2 bonus to cast flesh to stone (bronze, in this case) as if an 11th level magic-user.

If Rasoob has been summoned, he will always be wielding this weapon at full (+10) power. If he is defeated, it will have no starting bonuses. If he lends it to a PC in whom he finds favor, it may have a random number (1d4) of bonuses.


The Half-Assed Relics of Manidono
Manidono leaves semi-powerful relics of dubious use in his wake like crumbs from a child's lunch. They only last for a short time after leaving his presence.

The Couch of Manidono is any place where the petty god has chosen to rest. Anyone sitting in it must succeed in a save vs paralysis, or be unable to leave due to lack of desire. Those afflicted will ask others, usually in a whine, to bring them food and drink or do other tasks. In cases where they must move, they will wheedle and beg others to carry them and their couch. However, while confined to the chair, they will not suffer from long-term effects such as illness, starvation, etc, as they literally never get around to dying.

The Snack of Manidono is the leftovers of any foodstuff that the petty god has enjoyed. Eating it will result in fingers and tongue of unnatural coloration, and a desire for more of the same. All other food and drink will seem tasteless in comparison, and the fingers will stain clothing and other porous substances, for a day.

The Garb of Manidono is any piece of clothing that the petty god has touched or worn. It will protect from environmental hazards (cold, fire, poison, etc) but it will also cause the loss of 2d6 points of Charisma for as long as it is worn. Caution is warranted to wearers of the Garb of Half-Assery: they never know when it will stop being magical.

The Pipe of Manidono is, like, this thing, you know? And you suck on it? And whoah. Visions, dude. Of the future. You want to know the future? Okay: Ask me a question.

Roll 1d4:

1. Absolutely, dude.
2. No way, dude. 
3. Maybe, dude. 
4. Beats me, dude. Ask again later.

All of these answers are 100% accurate but annoyingly vague.

Rasoob, Petty God of Bronze

Picture courtesy of Eden Photos. 

Name:  Rasoob
Symbol: a Statue, often broken or neglected
(formerly a sword)
Alignment: Neutral






Pity the fallen god Rasoob.

For centuries, he reigned supreme as a god of warfare, as everything -- weapons, shields, armor, even chariots -- was made from bronze. From the lowliest knife to the finest sword, if you wanted a metal tool, it was made from bronze.

Bronze meant war. Bronze meant agriculture. Bronze meant tools. Bronze even meant health, for not only were its users able to feed and defend themselves, but "bronzed" also means "to have a tanned appearance that suggests good health."

Rasoob had it all: power, glory, a thriving priesthood, a seat at the head of the table of the gods, even lesser gods who followed along on his coattails -- gods of the forge, and of the hearth, and even a petty goddess of decorative brass, Lytessa, who got in mostly because brass looked like bronze.

Then the inevitable happened:  Just as Rasoob supplanted the gods of flint and obsidian, so too was he supplanted when a mortal discovered the secret of smelting iron.

Overnight (as the gods calculate things), he was worthless. Iron shields turned away bronze swords, but bronze breastplates were no match for iron spear-tips. Iron was stronger and lighter than bronze, and its only weakness -- vulnerability to rust -- was mitigated when the petty god of tin (Rassob's former shieldbearer) alloyed himself with the god of iron. This is how the word "irony" came about.

These days, Rasoob is but a shadow of his former self. Iron has become Steel, and is firmly entrenched within the highest levels of the pantheon, ruling over war, the forge, and tools. All of Rassob underlings have forsaken him -- even Lytessa. Brass is shinier and more decorative than bronze, and is used in the trumpets that kings and generals love so much. Promoted to status of lesser goddess and patron of  bards, she now lords over him the way he used to lord over her, as bronze has been relegated to the portfolio of Things That Once Were Useful But Now Are Mostly Decorative.

He is also the god of statuary:  motionless idols to past glory, left to the mercy of the elements and for birds to foul with their droppings. The irony is not lost upon him.


Abilities:
Rasoob may be summoned easily, for he does not have many duties (nor, in fact, many worshipers.) He is occasionally called upon by sculptors, and more frequently profaned by serfs cleaning bird filth from old statues. He is far more likely to respond to anyone involved in actively destroying pieces of iron or steel than to those working with bronze.

When summoned, his powers are limited. He can turn mortals into bronze (as per Flesh to Stone) and back, although the frequency and scope of this ability is dubious due to his waning power. He can, on rare occasions, induce rust in iron objects. He can also clean and restore bronze objects at will.

Rasoob's main strength is in his skill as a warrior (10th-level Fighter). He appears as an old, grizzled soldier with leathery skin and antique bronze armor and weapons. If called, he will gladly throw his avatar into battle for a glorious, suicidal charge -- assuming the caller isn't using any hated iron. If iron or steel is present, Rasoob has a chance of entering a berserk state and attacking everyone until dead.


(If you're getting the impression of a grouchy, "Get off my porch" god, who nevertheless aches for one last battle, I've done my job.)

Manidono, Petty God of Half-Assed Effort

Over two years ago, I submitted this to Jamie Maliszewski for inclusion in Petty Gods. Since then, the project has been tabled indefinitely, his website Grognardia hasn't been updated for over a month, and he hasn't replied to any of my emails.

From this, I conclude that the project is vaporware, and if I want my submission to see the light of day I'll have to print it here.  I figure that two years after the fact, with the editor AWOL, the rights have reverted back to me (even though I never signed them over -- or signed anything for that matter).

In accordance with this, and the fact that my mom has surgery tomorrow and the rest of the week is going to be half-assed at best, I present you with our mascot and sponsor:

Mr. Maliszewski,

I know that you said you preferred a serious tone for Petty Gods, but I figure that every monster book needs at least one loser monster. Manidono, the Petty God of slackers, half-assed effort, and loose change, is this book's Flumph.

Art by Barking Alien, who missed the memo on half-assery.

Name: Manidono
Symbol: An unmade bed
Alignment: Chaotic Neutral*

Created by the halfhearted, momentary worship of people who desperately desire (if only for only a few moments) that their current problem goes away, Manidono is the petty god of slackers, half-assed effort, and loose change. He has no organized priesthood, no formal temples, and no official holy days, because those things would take dedication, foresight, and effort, all of which are anathema to Manidono. He is called upon only in moments of duress (and at no other time) by people too lazy to do any real work and who expect a quick and effortless miracle.

If Manidono can be bothered to answer the prayer of a supplicant (25% chance), it usually manifests in the form of a handful of pocket change: 3d6 copper and 1d6-3 silver pieces. However, if the supplicant is truly lucky (rolling a 100 on percentile dice) then Manidono's curiosity has been aroused and he will bless his follower according to the Reaction Table below.

Instructions for using Manidono's reaction table: Grab the closest die or dice at hand and roll. Just because the table has 100 entries doesn't mean you should roll percentile dice; sometimes Manidono just doesn't care enough to roll more than a 6-sider, you know? Just chill, dude.

Roll	Result
1	Dude. That's a major bummer. Manidono is bummed on your behalf. Everyone must succeed at a morale check or do nothing except sit around and be bummed out for 1d6 rounds.
2-3	Wait, what? Everyone in the vicinity loses a round as they figure out what just happened.
4-5	Here, have 1 hit point. It tastes like nachos.
6-7	So, like, stuff? A random piece of equipment worth no more than 50gp appears in your possession.
8-9	Aw, man, that sucks. Take a do-over and roll again.
10-11	That thing you don't like? Stop doing it. Restart the round from the beginning.
12-18	The spirit of half-assed effort fills the area. Everyone takes a -2 penalty to all rolls.
19-20	OK, like, everyone needs to just chill. Combat ends and everyone is returned to maximum hit points. Diplomacy is possible but everyone has the munchies.
21-99	Manidono has nothing better to do and appears next to his supplicant to "hang out for a bit." See below.
100	Manidono delivers you from your current dilemma by inviting you to hang out on his couch for a while. You disappear from wherever you are, reappearing 1d10 turns later. All of your wounds are healed but you have aged 2d10 years.

Adventurers who end up summoning Manidono must now deal with the presence of a slovenly, bored godling who shuffles along behind them. He does not help the party in any way ("I'm just here to hang out, dude, I'm not on the clock") but still consumes party resources such as food, water, bed space, etc. He will try to cooperate with the party's actions such as being stealthy or trying to appear inconspicuous, but will do so in such a half-assed manner that it might as well be failure.

Manidono never attacks, as that would be too much work. If attacked, he half-assedly defends himself (mostly by holding up his arm and saying "Ow! Quit it, dude!") and forces another roll on the reaction table. If the party persists in combat, Manidono disappears in a huff after taking more than half his hit points in damage, and forever after they will carry the Curse of Manidono – which will be really awesomely painful when he gets around to making it.

Manidono always appears as a large, unkempt man with stringy hair, stained clothes, and a strange odor about him. Imagine Hurley (from LOST) as a Greek God -- possibly Dionysus' slacker cousin -- and you've got the right idea.


Old-School Stats for those who are into that kind of thing

Movement: 90' (30')
Armor Class: 9
Hit Points (Hit Dice): 21 (7)
Attacks: Special
Damage: Special
Save: F7
Morale: 12
Hoard Class: V
XP: One. Seriously, you guys just whacked a stoner and you want a reward?

The original sketch I sent to Adam. Behold Manidono in his half-assed glory.

* Chaotic in the sense of entropic. It's a very lazy form of chaos.