I Love Weird Monsters (and You Should Too)

Looking through the Second Edition Advanced Dungeons and Dragons monster manual has reminded me that seeing some weird and utterly nonsensical monster is great. I just look at the feyr or the deep spawn or the thought eater and am filled with so much inspiration that I don't get when I look at goblins or orcs.

There is a certain magic to the classics, don't get me wrong. I like my goblins and orcs as much as the next gal, but I feel that with the classics you run into a problem. Say you encounter a troll. You know how to deal with a troll: with fire. The act of using fire on a troll is less good thinking and more a test of "do you know your dungeoneering basics?" A fine question, and one that should be asked at times.

But we can do better. What if you didn't immediately recognize what you were fighting. Instead of a troll being tall with green mottled skin, a troll is instead a giant insect with fast regrowing chitin. The answer is still the same, but then the question has changed, and thus discovering that fire works is new and exciting! The issue that there is only so many times you can reskin a troll before players begin to suspect that every new monster is troll in sheep's clothing.

What happens when you come across a feyr though? It's weird and different, and obeys its own rules. Figuring out how to deal with it comes with the same magic they must have had back in the day when they realized how to beat trolls. The classics are the classics because they're easily recognized, a shorthand form of symbolism. New monsters, weird monsters, ignore this symbolism. That makes them interesting.

As a GM, using cool monsters is a large part of my enjoyment. Putting a cool challenge in front of the players and seeing how they deal with it is my fun, and weird monsters are the perfect cool challenge, fresh and new and exciting. This is why bestiaries are my favorite kind of TTRPG product. A monster can be an entire adventure, a whole and complete session bundled in a few dozen sentences of description. It's also why I've added different types of monsters into my setting Neurim, and changed up the ones that are more classic while removing some of the usual suspects. You've seen a goblin, but you likely haven't seen my goblins, and you assuredly haven't seen my husks.

Long story short, I think we should stray from the classics every now and then and use something a bit more exciting. Not always, weird monsters are like candy, too much and you'll rot your teeth but perfectly fine as an occasional treat.

Better Torches

Despite the fact that a key factor in the survival horror gameplay of the OSR, torches are ultimately kind of boring. They are often left as little more than a checklist. Did we buy torches? Have we lit a torch? Busy work, I'd call them.

So I've decided to throw some ideas out there for more interesting torch mechanics, ones that are interesting to engage with and have the following traits:

1. The question of whether or not to light a torch is an interesting one.
2. There's a reason to keep using torches once lanterns have been purchased.
   
3. The torchbearer doesn't feel punished for having the torch.
4. The torch going out is bad news.

The Five Levels of Light.

Level	Sources	Human Effects	Monster Effects
Shining	Magical brightness, Brightbugs	+1 to attacks	-1 to attacks
Bright	Fresh Torch, Sun	As normal	As normal
Dim	Dying torches, Full moon	-1 to attacks	+1 to attacks
Fading	Candles, New moon	Disadvantage to attacks	Advantage to attacks
Dark	The pitch dark of no light	Automatic failure on attacks	Automatic success on attacks

Torches.

A torch burns for 1 hour or 6 turns. When lit, it burns bright for three turns,  dim for two more, and fading on the final turn. After, the torch goes dark. Torch timers are incremented at the end of a turn. A torch can be intentionally dimmed as many levels as desired. The brightest source of light in an area is the light level used. A torch can provide reasonable light for a half dozen characters.

Torches in non-human dungeons or carried by monsters are never brighter than dim.

Striking with a Torch.

If a torchbearer misses an attack with a melee weapon, they can chose to swing with the torch. The torch deals damage equal to the die of a sword minus one die size (if a sword deals 1d8 damage, the torch deals 1d6). On a hit, there is a 50% chance the torch dims one level. For example, if a bright torch is used as a weapon and is rolled to dim, it moves to the dim stage and burns for 3 more total turns. A dark torch is not a torch, and is instead a club.

A torch can be thrown, say to light a pool of oil. A thrown torch has a 50% of going out upon impacting something.

Lighting a Torch.

A torch can be lit from another torch, automatically gaining that torches light level, but not its remaining time. A torch lit from a bright torch burns for 6 turns, though one lit from a dim torch only burns for 3.

Torches can also be lit from a flint and steel. In good conditions, with at least fading light, this process succeeds automatically and takes no more than a minute. In poor conditions, such is when it's wet or dark this process takes an entire turn and has a 25% per negative condition to fail.

A torch can be automatically lit using a brightbug, a special alchemical mixture that creates extremely bright flame. A torch lit this one way burns shining for one turn, then bright for two, dim for two, and then dim for one.

Torch Replacements.

Lantern.

Lanterns burn dim for one hour when given oil. Lanterns cannot be used like a torch to attack, but can be attached to a belt instead of carried.

War Torch.

A torch holder designed for combat. Holds a normal torch. When used to attack, the torch has no chance of getting dimmer.

Candle.

Borderline useless as light for a dungeon. Burns fading for 6 turns. Only enough light for one.

Alchemical Flare.

Burns extremely bright and fast. Burns shining for one minute. Rare.

Specialized Torches.

One can get torches (or lanterns) designed to burn different colors for certain uses. Such torches or lanterns cost three times the normal prices, and are likely harder to find, but can burn with a number of unique properties. Examples include:

• The violet flame of ghost warding: spectral undead cannot enter its range while bright.
• The golden holy flame of demon warding: demons and similar outsiders have disadvantage within the torch's range while bright.
• The silver mercurial flame: reveals hidden doors and text while bright.
• The pale blue astral flame: is cool to the touch, cannot start fires, is not put out by water.
  

Using Light Levels.

Using this torch system, light levels can be used as an interesting way of engaging with monsters. Different creatures can interact with light in ways that are interesting to learn and to engage with. 

For example, goblins could be terrified of bright light, fleeing while in the presence of it. While the party is engaging with goblins, the questions relating to "do we light a new torch" become even more interesting. The inverse is also true when fighting other humans. Turning off your torch makes them worse at fighting you just as it makes you worse at fighting them.

Conclusion.

To me, the most interesting part of this system is that torches get worse over time, thus the question of lighting torches early is raised. A dim torch is still usable, but it ramps up the danger and whether or not you wish to spend the extra resource of a new torch is a legitimate question, which was my primary goal.

The risk reward of wasting torches or being in dimmer light could be amped up further. Perhaps, XP gains are increased while the torch is dim or fading. A piece of gold grans 1.2x or 1.5x xp, meaning there's even more reason to play risky with a dying torch. I have no idea if that's a good idea, but it definitely sounds like one worth testing.

Husks, the Azure Dead

The Azure Dead.

There are few places on Neurim where one can find hordes of the mindless dead: the great crater-tomb of Svog, Asuria, and the southern reaches of the continent of Mgamba. A different plague infests the world: husks. Ancient worker constructs made of bismuth and bone, animated by blue astral fire, like gaseous glass.

Husks, also known as the Azure Dead, are not undead, though most anti-undead measures on Neurim are designed to also work on them. They are constructs, animated by magical energy, skeletons reinforced with bismuth armor and forced to move by astral fire, the force of the Dead Star, Gnottis, forcing animation into that which is long dead. 

Husks are ancient, hundreds of thousands of years old. They were the worker constructs of the once rulers of Neurim, known only as the Bodyless Ones. They are connected by a vast mind-network that allows them to communicate in an instant, though this network is in disrepair and husks have a tendency to lay inanimate for millennia, until forced to rise again by the presence of a demiurge or a mage with the knowledge of the arcana of stars.

Armies of the Bismuth Host.

The husks were not built for war. They are service-machines, designed for manual labor and planet re-shaping. Even today, the husks are not designed for combat. They try to kill with sharpened fingers and rocks. Husks are incapable of using weaponry. Their machine minds cannot grasp the concept.

No one knows why the husks gave up on their mission to do war. All that is known by historians (elves alive since that day) is that one day the husks began to tear each other limb from limb. Beautiful violence performed by machines with no idea of how to do violence. Wherever one finds supplies of bismuth, it is a safe assumption that the husks warred there in elder days. The husks that survive today are those that were the victors of their battles.

Modern husks are only animate when in the range of a demiurge or a controlling mage. Better maintained husks can travel further from their source of animation before shutting down, up to 100 miles.

Husks.

Drudges.

The lowest workers. Built of the skeleton of a human or elf, reinforced with bismuth armor. 

HD: 1

Defense: As Chain.

Mobility: As Human.

Tactics: Swarm. Husks are incapable of more complex tactics.

---

Halfling Solidarity: Husks will not attack halflings unless the halfling attacks them first.
Half-Dead: Effected by all effects that only work on undead, such as turn undead, but do not take damage from being healed.

Claws: As sword.

 

Reavers.

Immense harvester husks. Built of the skeletons of ogres or trolls but with their arms replaced with massive bismuth blades. 

HD: 6

Defense: As Plate.

Mobility: As Ogre.

Tactics: Swarm with the drudges.

---

Halfling Solidarity: Husks will not attack halflings unless the halfling attacks them first.

Half-Dead: Effected by all effects that only work on undead, such as turn undead, but do not take damage from being healed.

Reaping Blades: As greatsword times two. Hits all adjacent creatures, including other husks.

Priests.

Repair husks. A humans skeleton hovering a few inches above the ground, with robes of paper-thin bismuth. Their skulls are replaced with bismuth. They move as if puppeted by string.

HD: 4

Defense: As Chain.

Mobility: As Human, but Hovers.

Tactics: Hide behind other husks.

---

Halfling Solidarity: Husks will not attack halflings unless the halfling attacks them first.

Repair Protocol: Another husk is healed for health equal to 1 HD.
Overdrive Protocol: .Another full-health husk takes an immediate turn, then dies.

Hosts.

Formed of the skeletons of a large beast like an elephant. The back has been replaced with a bismuth construct with a number of holes carved in the side. Deploys small workers, formed of smaller beast skeletons, no larger than a dog.

HD: 5
Defense: As Plate.
Mobility: As Human.
Tactics: Hide behind other husks. Deploy lots of workers. When out of workers, flee.
---
Halfling Solidarity: Husks will not attack halflings unless the halfling attacks them first.
Half-Dead: Effected by all effects that only work on undead, such as turn undead, but do not take damage from being healed.
Worker Host: A hosts has 2d20 workers remaining in it. Workers have 1 hit point and deal 1 damage with an attack (no roll to hit). When killed in melee by a trained combatant, the killer gets another attack.
Deploy Worker: The host deploys 1d4+1 workers.

Demiurges.

Husks designed as receptor towers for other husks. Built of the bones of an immense creature, like a dragon or giant, but with bismuth wings.  

HD: 12

Defense: As Plate +2.

Mobility: As Dragon.

Tactics: Use the husks as legion. Only engage when forced.

---

Halfling Solidarity: Husks will not attack halflings unless the halfling attacks them first.
Half-Dead: Effected by all effects that only work on undead, such as turn undead, but do not take damage from being healed.
Emergency Husk Call: Every turn the demiruge calls all nearby husks to its aid. Husks drop all current tasks and move at maximum speed to the Demiurge.

Husk Animator: The presence of a demiurge animates nearby husks. If the demiurge dies, all nearby husks animated by the demiurge cease animation.

Bismuth Claw: As greatsword times three. Makes this attack three times.
Astral Fire Breath: 60' cone, deals damage as fireball.

Oracles.

Oracles are heavily modified drudges, converted from physical labor to remembering machines. Oracles have the knowledge of the ancient days stored in their machine minds, though most of their data has been corrupted over millenia. Oracles are animated of their own will. Unlike all other non-demiurge husks, oracles can move throughout the world, which they do to record data and history.

An oracle has a 50% chance to remember any occurrence in the past century. Every century prior reduces the chance by 5%. A husk has a 1% minimum chance of remembering anything.

Oracles are non-violent, and will not attack unless provoked, even if nearby husks attack. If stats are necessary, use the drudge's.

Spell Words and Steles

Spell Words.

Magic is chaos, raw entropic force that bends the very laws of the universe to its whims. Thus is why alchemists hate magic. Science breaks down in the presence of magic. The fundamental laws break down. It is only near a spell that 1+1=3.

The raw chaos of magic is written into words. These words are illegible, barely more than a random assortment of lines and squiggles in the vague shape of something that might be readable if you squinted and tried very hard. Most find these spell words to be the nonsense that they are. It is only those who are magically inclined who can look upon the words of magic and understand that there is some hidden meaning. It is only they who can read the words, and it is they who can become mage.

When a mage speaks a spell word, a welling of magical energy is created in them, which is then usually channeled out through a tool such as a staff. The word is then forgotten. It is only in rare circumstances of the truly magically gifted that spell words can be remembered after use, and those with such power are often poisoned by an overabundance of magic. 

Spell words are divided into arcana. Each arcana contains a dozen or so spells, though no arcana has been completed. Doing so would allow the spell words to be combined into an immensely powerful ur-spell. The most common arcana is the prismatic arcana, which contains such spells as magic missile, multicolor armor, and color spray. The arcana of prayer, mostly used by clerics, contains spells like heal, flash of light, and turn undead. The number of arcana is unknown.

Steles.

Spell words exist on steles. Steles are quartz gems, somewhere between 3 and 10 feet tall, with a single flat face with a softly rounded side and back. A single spell word is carved into the flat face. The type of quartz varies based on the arcana of the spell (for example, spells of the prayer arcana are found on citrine while spells of the leaf arcana are found on moss agate).

Reality breaks down around steles. Those that hold weaker spells might only destabilize the rules of the universe within a few feet around them. Powerful ones can destabilize entire regions. Gravity reverses. Suddenly a square has 5 sides. Technology breaks near them. The more complex it is, the faster it breaks. 

It is lucky, perhaps, that such powerful steles no longer exist on Neurim. They have long since been destroyed. In ancient days, empires attempted to transport the most powerful of Neurim's steles. Doing so nearly destroyed the world. It did destroy much of the lands of the North, now referred to only as the Wastes.

There have been attempts to make more steles, but doing so has proven difficult. The only steles made in recorded history are the 17 teleportation words (the words of teleportation are all modified forms of the base teleportation spell word, thus they do not belong to an arcana).

Scrolls and Spellbooks.

As steles cannot be moved (not without consequence at least) the easiest way to access their knowledge at a difference is through the power of a scroll, a recreation of the spell word of a stele. Scrolls can be copied from each other, and it is through this method that spells spread. Spell words can be read off of a scroll, but doing so will destroy the scroll with magical energy. It is more common to memorize a spell word off a scroll so that it might be reused time and time again.

Scrolls are made using special parchment designed to hold magical energy This parchment is more resilient than other forms of paper to the general wear and tear of the world. Such is why scrolls tend to last centuries rather than years. Copying the word from a stele is an easy process, taking no more than a minute. Copying a spell word from a scroll requires copying the illegible scratch of the language of chaos perfectly. It is a difficult process that can take days or weeks.

Multiple scrolls bound together is a spellbook.

Steles as Reward.

Stele are an attempt at solving two issues: making magic feel stranger than the norm found in most DnD adjaecent settings, and to encourage mages to explore more. I find that mages don't have a lot of reasons to explore. Gold loses its luster after a while and mage find most magic items to be of less use than those of fighters. Steles solve that. Now a mage explore to find new spells, sometimes brand new spells that haven't seen the light of Neurim in millennia..

A stele can exist in a dungeon or other dangerous place much like any magic item or pile of treasure. A mage can learn of it and then adventure to it to add a new spell to their book. Outside of more common spells, where one might be able to procure a scroll, this is the only way to gain new spells. This provides an active reason to explore, even for experienced mages, as there is no way to research a new spell into existence. You either buy it off another mage, steal it off another mage, or go find it. Some steles, the powerful ones, can even warp dungeons into chaotic realms where reality works weird and is extra interesting to explore.

Map of Neurim

This is the world map of Neurim, or at least all of the world that matters. It's made by me. It gets its own post because I want an easy access place to link back to.

Neurim. Not pictured are the orcish steppes to the west, the extend of the norther wastes, the bitter northern sea, the bug isles to the east, the rest of Mgamba, and the Shattered Continent Zatrom.

Floating Islands Should Be Weird

Floating islands are a staple of fantasy fiction. It's easy to see why: floating islands are cool. Take an island and push it into the sky and it goes from mundane to extraordinary in moments. It is a shame then that most sky islands are kind of boring. It is strange that the underground (a thing that exists in real life) gets treated with a sense of wonder and mystery and uniqueness while sky islands (a thing that does not exist in real life) gets treated as "an island but sky".

Let's start with an example. There's this game called The Legend of Zelda: Tears of the Kingdom (TotK), perhaps you've heard of it. TotK happens to have both deep dark caverns and sky islands and the difference between them is obvious and apparent. The underground is weird. It's dark and ominous and plays differently to much of the game. The things you find down there are alien; strange rock formations and trees long since petrified into rock. It's cool. The sky islands are just islands in the sky. They're autumnal, which is cool, but otherwise just some islands and some ruins. They're cool, but they're not interesting.

This is a common occurrence. All too often I have seen a setting that boils down to "sky islands!" as the beginning and end of its pitch. Sky islands are cool but why do we accept sky islands as the end of the concept? Sky islands would be weird. Like extremely weird.

Let's start with the obvious. Sky islands are in the sky. This, at the very minimum, means they're going to be colder and have less oxygen than most places on the surface. They're also an incredibly isolated environment, so whatever evolves on them is near guaranteed to be weird and hyper-specialized. Even beneath the island, where its presence creates a permanent dark spot on the surface will have a strange environment. A lack of sun will lead to a lack of plants. Perhaps a mushroom forest will grow there, or something weirder.

There's a reason that the Shattered Continent of Neurim (known as Zatrom), is a weird alien environment that lacks plant life, primarily being inhabited by living rocks and stone dissolving fungus. To me, part of the fun of fantasy is seeing a new weird world, and that's part of why it bothers me that sky islands are often treated as "an island but sky" rather than "what are the ramifications of having an island in the sky?"

The Ooze Mastermind

The Ooze Mastermind.

It's body is thoughts. A protoplasmic slime formed of churning memories and half-formed ideas. A single cell with a dozen minds. This is the ooze mastermind.

An ooze is a simple creature. It exists only to eat, creating a slime network across its environment, receptors that activate in the presence of food. When the ooze grows too big, it splits into two identical daughter oozes. It is little more than a single cell.

An ooze mastermind is also a simple creature. It exists only to eat, creating a slime network across its environment, receptors that activate in the presence of food. When the ooze grows too big, it splits into two identical daughter oozes. It is little more than a single cell. Except that a mastermind feeds not on death and detritus, but on the thoughts and memories of intelligent creatures.

Ooze masterminds are intelligent, their entire body acting as a pseudo-brain filled with the thoughts and memories of those they have devoured. They are cunning, able to develop and execute complex plans in order to feed. Masterminds have the ability to create ooze-clones of those they have eaten, a near perfect replica formed by memory, a perfect recreation in all ways except their ooze-like texture. With these clones, a mastermind can infiltrate a society, slowly replacing everyone within with itself, until it is the society. From there, it'll expand like an infestation, daughter masterminds infecting nearby villages until an entire region of the countryside is nothing but ooze-clones.

Young Ooze Mastermind.

An ooze mastermind that has yet to develop the power to create ooze-clones, generally one that is freshly born. Around the size of a small bush. Come in a variety of colors, but most often gray-green.

HD: 1

Defense: As Leather

Mobility: Below average, but can squeeze into tight spaces.

Tactics: Devour the thoughts of sleeping people. Otherwise, hide.

---

Pseudopod: As Dagger, but Bludgeoning

Engulf: Can swallow the head of a target that is unconscious or prone

Devour Thoughts: While engulfing a target, can devour their memories for damage [as sword] to intelligence, or similar effect. If reduces target to 0 intelligence, consumes their mind and grows 1 hit die.

Adult Ooze Mastermind.

An adult ooze mastermind, one that can form clones. Can be as large as a semi-truck. Come in a variety of colors, but most often gray-green.

HD: At least 6, up to 12

Defense: As Leather - 1

Mobility: Below average, but can squeeze into tight spaces.

Tactics: Use ooze-clones to lure prey to it. Otherwise, hide.

---

Pseudopod: As Sword, but Bludgeoning

Engulf: Can swallow a target adjacent to it

Devour Thoughts: While engulfing a target, can devour their memories for damage [as great-sword] to intelligence, or similar effect. If reduces target to 0 intelligence, consumes their mind and grows 1 hit die.
Create Ooze-Clone: Creates an ooze-clone of a creature the ooze mastermind has eaten. Ooze mastermind takes damage equal to health of ooze-clone (it still regains this health over time)

Ooze-Clone.

An ooze-clone formed by an ooze mastermind. Appears as a human but with skin that feels like ooze. They split into cytoplasm when cut open. Capable of using normal equipment.

HD: 1

Defense: As Equipment

Mobility: As Human.

Tactics: Convince others it is human.

---

Pseudopod: As Dagger, but Bludgeoning
Weapon: As Equipment

Conclusion.

The ooze mastermind is a re-imaging of the oblex from the 5th Edition Dungeons and Dragons book, Mordenkainen's Tome of Foes, my favorite original monster from 5e and one of my favorite monsters in general.

It's also an attempt at system neutral monster stats, something I'm not entirely sold on my execution yet, but that should be more helpful than my older method.

Hacking: Environment Based Magic

Today on my ever growing list of "ideas that would be fun to design around but currently lack the defined mechanics to make them useful": hacking.

This is a little outside of the wheelhouse of what I usually discuss, but I want to talk about hacking. In TTRPGs that have a high tech level, hacking is often included because it's cool and ingrained in popular society as an aesthetic of high tech fantasy. Hacking is often seen as an advanced parallel to magic (because people lack understanding of how computers and their ilk really work), with the ability to do anything if the hacker is given enough time.

This is fine. Cool even. The issue is that hacking is implemented in TTRPGs poorly. Hacking is often a sub-system, a minigame within the TTRPG (just look at Shadowrun). Such minigames can be fine, but the issue arises when the mechanics grow complex and engaging with the system takes time where the non-hacker players simply watch someone else roll dice. This can be fun every now and then, but if you want to play THE hacker, well, prepare to take the spotlight, and a lot.

I think this sucks. It sucks to play and it sucks because it fails to capture the aesthetic of hacking. I personally cannot think of a piece of media where the process of hacking something is important rather than the outcome of the hacking. The tech-wiz tapping on her laptop keys to open the door is what people find engaging about hacking, not the process of finding weak points in code-based defense and tricking firewalls into ignoring you.

So what? Is hacking supposed to be a glorified version of lockpicking? A quick dice roll, some narrative tapping on the keyboard, and the door clearly labelled "use hacking here" is opened? That's also not what people want from hacking. Well, it's not what I want, and I imagine you don't either.

Well, if hacking is magic, why not lean into that?

Environment Based Magic.

A group of mercs are attempting to bust into the skyscraper of a shady megacorp (not that there's such a thing as a non-shady megacorp). The lobby is heavily guarded and the mercs are outgunned, but they have a secret weapon: a hacker sitting in an alley across the street. She's already got her eyes in the camera system, so she has a bird's eye view of the lobby. Before any combat starts, she trips the fire sprinklers, spraying the room with water and giving her team the advantage of surprise.

First round of combat she activates a smart grenade on a guard's belt, causing it to explode. Second round she causes a turret to haywire and shoot at the wrong target. Third turn she jams a call for support from the guards, but accidentally trips security and gets herself locked out.

Environment based magic is exactly what it sounds like: magic based on the environment presented to the hacker/mage. An environment based mage's spells (or a hacker's hacks) take advantage of distinct traits of the environment: such as a roaring fire or fire sprinklers.Effects are guaranteed, but something has a chance to go wrong. These spells/hacks would be tiered, similar to spell slot levels. As a mage/hacker gets better, they get access to better tiers of spells/hacks, and eventually can do lower tier magic/hacks without fear of backfire.

A low tier spell/heck on a half decent mage/hacker is 100% safe. The next tier up would require a d12 roll, then the next tier would be a d10, and so on. If the mage/hacker rolls a 1, something bad happens. Perhaps a magical anomaly forms, or a hacker trips security and gets locked out of using their abilities. Something dangerous to fill the aesthetic of accidentally tripping the alarms and realizing everything is going to hell.

Personally I prefer the idea of a system with defined spells/hacks rather than a more open one. In a more open one, it becomes the GM's responsibility to define how difficult any action is at any time which makes running for a mage/hacker annoying. You might think that if a mage/hacker only has certain spells/hacks, then they'd be useless if none of their abilities work in the situation they find themself. And I'd agree. I'd argue it's good.

Staking out a place before causing a problem there is peak cyberpunk media for me. Asking the player to plan and think ahead of doing anything dangerous is, I think, good. It's fun to plan ahead. And besides, it's very possible to shift the environment into your favor (start a fire to use said fire).

Example Spells/Hacks.

Magic.

Level 0: Expand Fire, Freeze Puddle, Redirect Wind

Level 1: Create Flamethrower, Earth to Mud

Level 2: Freeze Pond

Level 3: Create Tunnel, Condense Air

Hacking.

Level 0: Look Through Camera, Disable Light Security, Open Door

Level 1: Stun Machine, Jam Weapon, Trip Fire Sprinklers

Level 2: Disable Heavy Security, Activate Grenade

Level 3: Control Machine, Jam Communications