DriveThruRPG: Your One-Stop Shop for the Best in RPG PDF Files! The Largest RPG The World of Synnibarr 3rd Edition: GM Screen (Portrait) · The Worldship . Raven McCracken collecte des fonds sur Kickstarter pour son projet Republishing: The World of Synnibarr Welcome back! This is a project for the new edition of. Does anyone have a PDF for the World Of Synnibar? /rs/ says that there was a "echecs16.info (LASER BEARS!!!!1" file which was uploaded in.
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World of Synnibarr is touted as "one of the worst RPG's ever written". Combining a mixture of high, grimdark and alternative fantasy, it is a beautiful mess of a game. Documents Similar To The World of Synnibarr Corebook. The World of Synnibarr 3rd edition: The Ultimate Adventurers Guide I This massive pdf clocks in at pages, 2 pages of editorial, 1 page. Product Type, Format, Publisher. Non-Core Books Remove Search Term. PDF Remove Search Term. Synnibarr Remove Search Term.
Two of these pages are devoted to char-sheets. One page contains basically a GM cheat-sheet and the pdf comes with a massive index of 10 pages, which actually helps navigating the massive book. This review was commissioned by my patreons as a prioritized review. So, Synnibarr. I know. We all have read the reviews of the previous editions, know it to be an incredibly crunch-dense and somewhat obtuse system.
The kindling collapsed in a heap along with last of the boys hopes. Tarlan felt a flash of anger, Father, I hate the bees! My son, I have been patient, but the seasons have no such concerns.
Tarlans father thrust a bunch of twigs into the wreckage of the flames as if they would consume his mounting anxiety. Shaking his head sadly with a deep sigh, he turned back for another handful. The suns light speared down through the trees in shafts of gold and blue, painting the surface of the spring as it splashed across moss-covered rocks. Crawling out onto a steaming root, Tarlan took a long drink.
The cold water made his head ache.
The feeling matched the weight in his chest, the twin sensations forming a bittersweet harmony of misery. The deep clear water of the spring vanished into shadow as it curved beneath the tree where the darkness plunged downward in a mad rush. Tarlan had tried once to swim down to explore against the strong current, but the frigid water had driven him out after only a few feet, frozen and breathless. After that, whenever he came here, Tarlan imagined what lay down the dark tunnel.
Sometimes it was a monster, but more often than not it was a vast underground playground of adventurethe type filled with escapes and secret places, and most importantly, treasures. Today, however, the spring called out to him with nothing so much as a promise of freedom.
As Tarlan daydreamed, he caught sight of a movement deep within the watery darkness amidst an unusual cascade of bubbles. Tarlan let out a shout of surprise and quickly jumped behind a nearby bush, the foliage swallowing him like a shadow. Breathless, he watched as three strange figures emerged from the cold water and into the sultry jungle morning.
The first was a white-skinned man with grey hair bound by a leather cord. He had scrupulous eyes that told of his alertness and attention to the possible dangers of the forest. He wore a long wet robe, the red and gold fabric practically strangling the figure as he emerged from the water with a large splash. When he stood, a posture about him spoke of command. His lean figure was tall, perhaps seven heads altogether, and while he appeared to be somewhat old, he carried himself with the sure agility of a warrior, though he held no weapons.
The second to surface was a thin girl with pale skin and white hair- and to Tarlans utter amazement- coal black wings! She took a deep breath and started to flutter like a bird in a bath as she shook her long hair, the droplets sparkling in the morning light. Upon close inspection, he noted that attached to her strange clothing were all Along the way, a cluster of young shock vinesa close relative of the strangle vinesnapped out at Tarlans ankles in an attempt to electrocute its dinner.
The plant was not evil, so his protection gesture did not defend him, and too small to be any real danger. He barely felt a tiny tingling where the weak strands lightly gripped his calves. Since this was only a sapling, the shock vine, or SalKava as it was known to his people, had not had the chance to grow its single massive taproot deep into the soil and so the bulb came free of the earth easily with only a minor crackling of static electricity.
The pale rhizome resembled a tiny brain with veins of deep green, and like an octopus, the creature writhed and gripped his arms with all of its metal-tipped tentacle vines. If left alone, by this time next year, the SalKava would have grown to be lethal with a reach the length of three grown men.
Tarlan felt no remorse killing the creature as he smashed the bulb apart with a rock and tossed the body deep into the forest. It was dangerous and could harm a member of the village; it needed to die. A small cloudburst found him, relieving much of the heat from his exertions. Chilled, Tarlan was unable to contain the tears of frustration as he trudged the rest of the way to his favorite place.
Always without warning, the Sacred Wind caressed the treetops, and the abrupt absence of magic was a palpable sensation. Tarlan had asked his grandma about the Sacred Wind as a boy.
She had explained that it was created to make all the people thankful for magic and the spirits. When the people take magic for granted, the winds come and steal it. In this way, we are taught to be respectful, dependent upon ourselves, and mistrustful of power. Following tradition, Tarlan found a quiet place to hide, waiting for the absence to subside. When he felt the powers come alive again, he carefully remade his protection gesture and continued on the rest of the way.
The winged girl looked just a bit older than Tarlan and maybe two heads taller, but she comported herself with the surety of an adult. These first two carried large sacks, sagging and wet as they drained spring water. When a particular glint of sunlight reflected off the girls dark wings, Tarlan looked closely; each of her fore-feathers flashed as if they were made of metal. The sight amplified Tarlans fear over his surprise. Although, however strange these two seemed to the young boy, it was the last figure to emerge from the spring that shook the fibers of his heart.
It was perhaps a head smaller than himself and covered in a thick golden fur, its muscular frame topped by a panthers face, its eyes sparkling with the colors of jade and fire. Gripping the still-steaming root with one hand, it easily levered its golden form from the spring with a diminutive splash. It was wearing a leather harness fitted with many pouches and a wide, armored belt.
Once free of the water, it then magically grew to be at least five times Tarlans height amidst a swirling of blue neon energy. Tarlans jaw dropped as the spirit cat enlarged itself, and the earth groaned beneath its restored weight in testimony to the creatures reality. For a moment, Tarlan forgot where he was. Paying no attention to his footing, he snapped a twig noisily; the tiny sound exploded in his ears.
He had broken silence! The import of the act stunned him beyond what he saw, centuries of tradition shattered in an instant. Before he could recover, the girl dropped in front of Tarlan with a flash of her wings.
The act threw him back into the bush, a jumble of brown arms and legs. Unexpectedly, in a splash of light, both of the others appeared by her side as if by magic. Terror clogged his motions. All Tarlan could do was shiver and dart his gaze from one figure to another, the beginnings of tears in his dark eyes once more.
The winged girl gave a warm smile of relief at the sight of the frightened native boy. Holding the reassuring expression in her unusual brown eyes, she tried to soothe Tarlan with a soft voice.
Despite the fact that the words were strange, her sweet tone was unmistakable. After a few seconds, Tarlan started to relax, yet he was far from calm, the sight of the fierce wing blades and the gigantic sword-like feathers eliciting nothing but caution. Tasting fear, Tarlan tried to swallow and regain some of his composure.
What are you? Spirit beings? His words flowed into the wind like so much music to the trio. As if on some unbidden signal, the woman looked at the man in the wet cloak, her glance birdlike in manner. The man sighed and cast a wary glance at the spring before he mumbled and made a few gestures, his damp face a mask of practiced concentration. In his expression, Tarlan read tenderness, stern attention to detail and, above all, compassion. Nevertheless, when the mans hands began to glow and a faint energy danced over the man, Tarlan fell into a renewed panic.
Fear strangled him despite his observations and he made as if to run. Before the boy could move, the giant spiritcat reached out with a single massive hand and deftly grabbed Tarlan about the chest. The great paw was callused, strong as iron, and smelled strongly of wet cat. Struggling in vain, Tarlan was surprised when the cloaked man spoke in a powerful voice, his words clear and unmistakable. In a perfect Prehina accent the figure said, I can talk to you now. There is no need to be frightened.
He pummeled at the furred creatures hand and wrist.
The cat being noted that with each strike, the little boys fists dug, albeit futilely, into every nerve center available, with vicious intent. The robed man chuckled warmly as he wrung water from the fabric. Were just passing through, little one; we are nothing to be afraid of.
The words did little to ease the boys fear. But what are you? I have never seen anyone like you. His eyes drifted across the trio with a wonder that threatened to blind him. Are you, gods? Well, then Tarlan since you are undoubtedly from around here, would you be so kind as to show us the neighborhood?
We need a place to rest for the The mages request was cut off just as the air shook and the spring erupted.
This time it disgorged a magical force of swirling black energy. With its appearance, a cold chill smashed the heat from the forest. In the energys depths, Tarlan could read everything his grandmother had ever warned him about, and the realization of its origins hit him like a hammer. This was a spirit of pure evil. The golden giant threw a measuring glance at the mage, a look of mild annoyance appearing on his feline features, where Tarlan had expected fear.
Thought he was out of it?
It, ahem appears that I was mistaken, replied Blackforge, as his hands quickly painted a magical pattern in the air, the neon forces diminishing the daylight. Here goes the last easy one. With a flick, the brilliance vanished from Blackforges fingertips to appear beneath the swirling mass of diseased shadow. The irresistible whirlpool, its grip unshakable, held the being, the event accompanied by an entropic roar. Without hesitation the trio opened fire, releasing a devastating barrage of light and force at the trapped being.
The fury of their assault concluded and with a silent scream of rage, felt by all as a rushing wind of sorrow, the blackness subsided. Tarlan pressed his hands to the sides of his head as if the action would block out the psychic echoes of the beings dark emotions. The telepathic cry, not only laced by outrage, had tasted of ashes wet with tears. The salty mixture, a recipe of bitter despair and hopelessness, reminded him of his earlier feelings about his own dismal future.
As if sensing the void above, the spring suddenly erupted again, the water disgorging a series of smoldering grayskinned forms into the morning. The stocky, muscular human-like creatures scrambled outward from the tiny spring like so many ashen spiders. Each was as tall as the At first, Tarlan thought he saw the giant cat-man nod his head yes.
The action halted when the cloaked figure cast him a warning glance that said, dont-you-dare, the comical exchange unmistakable. By the fates, no, little one, he chuckled, We are adventurers, and weary ones at that, added the robed man. His voice held a serious tone when he said the word, adventurers, a tone that- in his language- made it sound as if it was a job of mysterious danger.
I am a mage, and my companions here are a winged warrior and a neosapien. With care, the giant cat being hesitantly released his gigantic grip. His warning look telling Tarlan to stay put. The sudden absence of the warm hand made the sultry jungle air feel like a cool breeze. He could still feel where the powerful being had gripped his bare skin.
The mage continued politely as if nothing were amiss. We have just come from an adventure that required us to make uh an escape through that spring. Quite refreshing, actually. He ended his statement with a regal flick of water from his brow. Astonished, Tarlan watched as the lean figure continued to wring out his attire, with an austere dignity as if he were a great chief. A million questions came into his mind, though all he could manage was a small, oh.
The mage, as he had called himself, had eyes that were as dark as Tarlans, to the point of almost being black, set in a kind face. Instead, you roll Fate, a percentile die. If you match the Shot score or roll above it, you evade the attack. This makes combat, as you will have realized by now, extremely swingy.
There are Constitution and willpower, as noted before. Where does the 20 come from??? So, now it begins. Rounded up or down? No idea. The book later tells us to not round advantage…which does not help alleviate my question.
Oh, and 5 Con can be used to add an additional action per second for the turn. Does this include the bonus action for winning advantage?? Please apologize this little feat of deception. What the above represents is very much an experience of how it feels to read this book. You have these big question marks and then, suddenly, bam, another rules that seemingly contradicts what you read before.
On the plus-side, the excessive combat examples. Okay, so combat is obtuse, but frankly could be worse. Speaking of which: Merit. It kinda sorta seems to behave like skill ranks of XP spent, denoting a kind of pool point, but at the same time, it is a play statistic. So merit is basically a point-buy resource that can be applied to increase skills, abilities, etc. There, solved the terminology issue in the approximately 2 seconds it took to type this. Know what?
I actually like this. Cogency is defined significantly clearer: You take Merit allocated, multiply it with Constitution burned and receive the cogency of the respective skill use. Oh, and for the roleplaying aspect, a player can narrate a flashback story about a skill to make a narrow hit miss or vice versa. Smells of the competitive bullshitting that is FATE. With a fiery passion. The pdf then goes on to a step-by-step character generation section, which includes race, cybernetics, etc.
Merit cost for race selection ranges from 0 human to beravan and there are a ton of them available: From flymen to giants and everything in between…like sentient dreams of the worldship, the selection is pretty interesting, though the internal balance of the race choices and their bonuses is not perfect.
Guild and organization membership of characters can similarly be purchased. Astrological signs, religion — all of these influence the skills and abilities of the character, which means lots of tables and lots of choices. Some organizations are obviously racially exclusive. Higher cogency scores in competing abilities or skills always wins out, though certain pieces of equipment and environmental effects can block out cogency. What happens on a tie?
Which brings me to the main issue of this book: The didactics of this system are horrible. No, really. It requires close reading of a metric TON of dry rules-text, but it is very much possible! The prime issue of this book boils down not to rules-language either, but to didactics.
You see, we have only scratched the tip of the ice-berg. So far, we have taken a look at the very basic, vanilla skeleton of the system. What the heck is a defensive event? No idea! It never comes up in the whole book! Several dominions influence intelligent agents, but without actually bothering to define them in the first place.
Which is systematic of a crucial and perhaps the crucial, central flaw of this book. You see, the book contains a ton of creatures, adventuring ideas and locales, etc.
Conclusion: Editing and formatting, on a formal perspective, are decent. There are a couple of formal glitches. On a rules-language level, the book manages the exceedingly rare feat of being at the same time very precise and horribly obtuse — more on that later. The pdf has no bookmarks, which is an unforgivable comfort detriment for a book of this size — much less for a crunch-book of this size. Raven c.
If you can manage to slog through this dry hyper-detailed book of rules, you can actually play a game, which, while more math intense than Pathfinder or 3. X, can actually be played.