The secret origin of Plasmoids in Dungeons and Dragons

Today we’re diving deep into one of the most fascinating shifts in the history of tabletop gaming: the metamorphosis of the Dralasites from the classic sci-fi RPG Star Frontiers into the enigmatic Plasmoids featured in Dungeons & Dragons’ Spelljammer setting. What began as a species known for their philosophical outlook, intrinsic charm, and unique physiology has, through the hands of creative evolution, transformed into a blank-slate, shape-shifting blob with scarcely any background lore. Let’s get into the nitty-gritty of how these cosmic beings went from rich lore to a canvas of creative freedom.

Back in the days of Star Frontiers, the Dralasites were a standout species. These short, amorphous beings possessed a flexible, rubbery membrane but they are not single celled organisms, nor are they colonies of cells like most other oozes, they have nerves such, they are just very alien, giving them both physical resilience and an unmistakable presence in the galaxy. Far from being mere combatants, Dralasites were contemplative and philosophical in nature. Their culture prized introspection over aggression; these creatures were often depicted as individuals who questioned the status quo, shunned the conventional chase for wealth or power, and found meaning in either immersive communities or by solitary reflection alike.

In Star Frontiers, the detailed lore behind the Dralasites included distinctive cultural practices and unique forms of communication, such as vibro-tactile interactions and even chemical signaling. They were not merely biologically interesting but also culturally rich. Their communities embodied values that discernibly separated them from typical militaristic or conquest-driven alien species. Dralasites were home to philosophical debates on the nature of existence and the purpose of life in the cosmos, making them a beloved subject among RPG enthusiasts who craved depth not just in mechanics, but in narrative and character study.

Fast forward to the era of Spelljammer, a setting that catapulted players into the wild, uncharted realms of space-adventure within the D&D multiverse. As Wizards of the Coast began reimagining various elements from legacy systems, a pivotal decision was made regarding the Dralasites. With the expansion of the game and the aim to streamline races into the Spelljammer narrative, these beloved beings from Star Frontiers underwent a significant transformation, emerging under the new moniker of Plasmoids.

In the original texts the Dralasite species are referred to as plasmoid life forms, so, there can be other species of plasmoid if you want to create them and there is no reason your plasmoid character is not one of them and the Dralasites still exist, but, not as player characters, more like an interesting faction or culture far off in Wildspace somewhere.

The Plasmoids retained a few of the physical quirks of their predecessors—most notably their amorphous, shape-changing abilities. You can think of them as the ultimate example of adaptability, able to morph, shift, and squeeze through the smallest crevices. However, while their mechanical traits were emphasized to generate engaging gameplay dynamics, much of the Dralasites’ lore was excised in the process. Gone were the rich traditions and philosophical musings that had once defined them; in their place, the Plasmoids became a species with virtually no well-defined background, history, or cultural framework.

Now, its a knee jerk reaction to say Wizards of the Coast did this because they are lazy, or fired all the best writers or doesn't care about the lore... ok, that last one is probably more accurate, but look at the way the game player base has changed, look at the way the publisher has been handing the creative freedom and removing restrictions from the game for a while now, from the publisher's point of view, they want the players to have a lot more control over the background, personality and culture of the species, rather than presenting them as a fully fleshed out culture for the players to discover and become immersed in.

Well, if you were gearing up for a future where the role of the dungeon master is gradually being replaced with a digital virtual player in the form of AI, you don't need to provide a lot of dungeon master tools, they actually took a step back from that in the latest dungeon masters guide, with even less clarity on how challenge rating works, for example.

So, In the current design ethos, there's a growing trend to move away from "bioessentialism"—that is, the tendency to tie a race to a specific set of cultural or historical attributes. By providing a blank canvas in the form of the Plasmoids, they empower players and Dungeon Masters alike to invent their own intricate stories, cultures, and even complex intergalactic histories. This transformation, however, did come with a cost: it stripped away much of the inherent personality that once made the Dralasites so memorable.

One of the most perplexing aspects of the Plasmoid transformation is the noticeable absence of a rich historical background. The lore associated with the Dralasites, filled with philosophical debates and cultural depth, simply isn’t present in the Spelljammer iteration. Why was this celebrated backstory jettisoned?

Initially, one of the influencing factors was related to legal and trademark issues. As the original trademarks for certain Star Frontiers elements expired or were repurposed, Wizards of the Coast found themselves with a dilemma: How do you incorporate a beloved species without infringing on legacy content or being tied down by its established history? In response, the design team opted to sidestep these potential pitfalls by stripping the race of its detailed backstory, essentially leaving the Plasmoids as a generic, yet mechanically intriguing species.

There is also an increasing modern trend in tabletop RPG game design towards flexibility and player-driven storytelling. Rather than prescribing a rigid cultural identity or history—elements which might limit creativity—the decision was made to offer fewer fixed characteristics. The result is a race that, while fascinating in its physical form, serves primarily as an adaptable tool for narrative creation. The transformation from a species with defined cultural markers to one that is essentially a blank slate has notable repercussions on gameplay and roleplaying dynamics.

For players and Dungeon Masters who revel in world-building, the sparse background of the Plasmoids presents an enticing opportunity. Without a stringent, pre-packaged cultural framework, the Plasmoids can be molded according to the campaign’s needs. Want a race of cosmic philosophers who secretly gather arcane knowledge? Go ahead. Prefer a mysterious, otherworldly force that operates by its own enigmatic rules? The Plasmoids can be re-envisioned accordingly. This freedom makes every Spelljammer campaign a chance to authentically create and develop a new community or culture from scratch.

On the flip side, the painting-by-numbers approach can be a source of frustration. Long-time fans of the original Star Frontiers might feel that the unique, philosophically rich character of the Dralasites has been diluted. The stark absence of pre-defined lore leaves many wishing for the narrative depth that the original species enjoyed. For those who value a well-structured historical backdrop as much as engaging mechanics, the modern Plasmoids might seem like an incomplete puzzle—one in need of additional artistic effort to restore the lost grandeur.

It’s all about balancing the love for canon with the freedom to innovate. While some players derive joy from crafting entirely new histories, others may find the gap a hindrance in immediately immersing themselves in the game. Both perspectives are valid, and they represent the evolving nature of tabletop gaming where narrative diversity is celebrated even as it presents challenges in maintaining consistency.

The metamorphosis of the Dralasites into the Plasmoids has sparked varied reactions within the gaming community. For some, the idea of playing a being that is essentially a sentient blob capable of morphing through space is nothing short of exhilarating. They praise the mechanics that allow for creative gameplay, inventive problem-solving, and unexpected roleplaying moments born of a flexible character template.

However, others lament the apparent loss of lore and cultural texture. Die-hard fans of Star Frontiers often yearn for the return of the detailed, rich history and philosophies that once defined the Dralasites. This divergence encapsulates a broader debate in the RPG community: should character races be handed down as vessels of pre-defined backgrounds, or should they be provided as frameworks for players to craft their own epic sagas?

The consensus among many veteran gamers is that while the move to a blank slate can initially feel like a narrative loss, it ultimately invites players to engage on a deeper level with storytelling and world-building. Dungeon Masters can take advantage of this creative ambiguity to craft lore that fits perfectly with their campaign’s tone and themes—a custom narrative that might even surpass the original depth imagined for the Dralasites.

As time marches on, the potential for Plasmoids in Spelljammer remains vast and largely untapped. With each new campaign, players and DMs have the opportunity to redefine what it means to be a Plasmoid. Perhaps future editions of the game will revisit their origins, slowly reintroducing snippets of lore that pay homage to their Dralasite heritage while embracing the liberated creative philosophy of the modern age.

In any case, the transformation journey from a richly detailed species to a flexible, narrative-conforming creature is emblematic of the innovation that has always defined tabletop RPG communities. It challenges all of us to look at familiar themes through a different lens—to appreciate the old even as we embrace the new.

In the grand tapestry of tabletop roleplaying, few transitions illustrate the balance between legacy and innovation as clearly as the evolution of the Dralasites into the Plasmoids. On one hand, we have the cherished memories of Star Frontiers—a universe where philosophical, introspective beings with distinct cultural identities wandered the cosmos, full of nuance and character. On the other, we encounter a modern reinterpretation designed to offer limitless creative opportunities: the Plasmoids of Spelljammer.

The decision to strip away the rich lore of the Dralasites was driven by both practical considerations, such as trademark limitations, and an evolving design philosophy that prefers flexibility over rigid backstories. While some may mourn the loss of a fully realized cultural heritage, others embrace the blank slate as a chance to paint new legends across the vast canvas of space. Whether you choose to resurrect aspects of the canonical philosophy in your own custom lore or venture down entirely uncharted narrative paths, the story of the Plasmoids is ultimately one of endless potential—a journey waiting to be defined by every adventurer who dares to explore.

So, the next time you roll your dice in a Spelljammer campaign, take a moment to appreciate this fascinating evolution. Reflect on how a species known for its poetic musings and intricate culture was reimagined into a malleable, shape-shifting enigma. And above all, remember that in the realm of storytelling, it is our passion and creativity that breathe life into these beings, transforming them from mere game mechanics into legends of the cosmos.

Its not their D&D Multiverse, it's ours and only exists because of us.

My name is AJ Pickett, as always, thanks for listening and I will be back with more for you, very soon.

Large Luigi Dungeons and Dragons Lore for Spelljammer

I recently received a most peculiar letter, not by courier, not by magical sending, not even by the usual missive-bearing raven trained by the avowed of Candlekeep. No, this one arrived by spelljamming vessel, no less! The captain of a rather battered-looking wasp-class ship, crewed by a mixed lot of giff, elves, and at least one grommam, personally delivered the scroll into my hands, stating in no uncertain terms that it came directly from the Rock of Bral, and more importantly, that it had been dictated by none other than Large Luigi himself.

Now, for those unfamiliar with that name, allow me to enlighten you. Large Luigi is no ordinary tavern-keeper, nor is he an ordinary beholder, for that matter. In fact, he is a singularly extraordinary beholder with a reputation quite unlike any of his kind. Where most of his kin are paranoid, egotistical, and violently xenophobic, Large Luigi is... well, erudite, composed, and possessed of a certain undeniable charisma that has made him one of the most respected information brokers in all of Wildspace.

He operates the Happy Beholder, a tavern on the Rock of Bral, which serves as both a hub for adventurers, merchants, and spies alike, and as an unrivaled wellspring of cosmic knowledge. Unlike his kin, who see all other beings as lesser and seek to dominate through sheer terror and cunning, Luigi appears to have no such ambitions. He engages in conversation rather than conflict, dispensing wisdom rather than death. Some speculate that he is an unusual mutant, while others suspect that he is simply playing a longer game—though to what end, none can say.

The most intriguing aspect of Large Luigi, beyond his demeanor, is his encyclopedic knowledge of the planes. He is no mere spelljammer bartender but an entity seemingly blessed—or cursed—with an innate awareness of cosmic truths. He speaks with absolute certainty on matters even the most learned sages of Sigil or the great libraries of Zikran’s Tower would struggle to comprehend. Whether this knowledge is due to some latent psionic ability, divine insight, or something even stranger, none can say for certain. What is known is that the Arcane, those enigmatic traders of spelljamming goods, treat Luigi with the utmost respect, and that alone is enough to set him apart from virtually every other being in the known spheres.

So, when I unrolled the letter and read its contents, I could hardly contain my excitement. The message was brief but direct—an invitation to visit his establishment, promising insights into certain obscure celestial phenomena, provided I was willing to endure the trip to the Rock of Bral. Naturally, I wasted no time in securing passage, for how often does one receive an invitation from a being who may very well be the most well-informed entity outside of the Lady of Pain herself?

What followed was a journey fraught with the usual spelljamming perils—space pirates, astral storms, an accidental detour through a color pool that led perilously close to Limbo—but ultimately, I arrived at the Rock of Bral intact, if not entirely unruffled. The Happy Beholder was just as the stories described: a lively establishment, filled with all manner of beings from across the spheres, and presided over by the enormous, floating, ever-watchful form of Large Luigi himself. His deep, rumbling voice greeted me warmly, and as I took a seat, he set before me a drink that shimmered with arcane hues and promised knowledge in every sip.

But this was no ordinary casual meeting—Luigi had information to impart. And, perhaps most fascinatingly, it pertained to the strange and oft-misunderstood home of beholderkind itself: the bizarre, ever-shifting disk-world that orbits no sun, known only in scattered accounts and half-whispered legends.

Beholder society is a labyrinthine mess of ideology, mutation, and, above all, personal supremacy. Yet, their home world—if such a chaotic place can be called that—is even more incomprehensible. Unlike most terrestrial planets, their world is not a sphere but a vast, disk-shaped landmass that defies conventional physics. Theories abound as to whether this is a naturally occurring anomaly or something artificially crafted by an ancient, long-extinct race. Gravity behaves strangely there, pulling toward the surface from both above and below, allowing creatures to walk upon both sides of the disc. More perplexing still, the entire world is pockmarked with floating fortresses, twisting, interlocking tunnels, and caverns riddled with deadly traps—each one home to a different beholder faction, every one of them utterly convinced they alone are the rightful rulers of all beholderkind.

This perpetual, seething war of ideology manifests in more than just political feuds. The very landscape of their world shifts according to the whims of the strongest beholders that inhabit it. Great floating citadels, carved into impossible geometries that would drive most mortals mad, rise and fall with the success or failure of their masters. Strange, organic structures, almost hive-like in appearance, dot the land, constantly reshaping themselves through sheer will and arcane might. It is a world where logic falters, and reality bends to the nightmarish creativity of the beings that call it home.

Luigi, of course, offered all of this information as though recounting the latest market trends in Bral. But when I pressed him further, asking how he came by such knowledge, he merely chuckled—a deep, rolling sound that sent shivers through the gathered patrons. "Some things, dear friend, are better left to the imagination," he intoned, before pouring me another drink that shimmered like the Astral Sea.

And that, my friends, is where we shall begin our exploration of the great and mysterious beholder known as Large Luigi. So, grab a tankard, settle in, and let us delve into the truth behind the most unusual eye tyrant in the multiverse.

Also, a quick thank you to those who continue to support my work with your deeply nerdy mugs and other curiosities—it is through your generosity that I can afford the occasional jaunt across the cosmos. Now, let’s get deeply nerdy, shall we?

To begin, one must first ask the question: why is Large Luigi so unlike his kin? Beholders are creatures of singular paranoia, each believing themselves to be the pinnacle of their species. They see deviation as weakness and regard all others as either threats or slaves. Yet Luigi defies this mold entirely. He is affable, diplomatic, and, above all, willing to coexist with beings he should logically seek to annihilate. There are many theories as to why this is the case. Some scholars posit that Luigi is an aberration, a one-in-a-billion mutation whose mind simply does not conform to the typical xenophobic and megalomaniacal instincts of his race. Others suggest that he was exposed to some cosmic force—perhaps an ancient artifact, a god’s blessing, or an unusual confluence of planar energies—that altered his very nature.

And then, of course, there is the theory that Large Luigi is not, in fact, a beholder at all. Not in the conventional sense, at least. There are whispered rumors—unsubstantiated, of course—that he is something older, something far stranger. A being masquerading as a beholder, wearing the form of an eye tyrant as a convenience rather than a necessity. While such ideas remain purely in the realm of speculation, one cannot deny that he is, in every measurable way, unique. Even the other beholders of Wildspace, who despise all deviations from their perfect self-image, do not seem eager to challenge Luigi’s existence. Perhaps they know something we do not. Or perhaps, deep down, even the most hateful beholder recognizes that there are some battles best left unfought.

But, you know, and I know, that I am not ordinary mortal dire halfling sage, and I happen to know a lot more about what luigi actually experienced when he did the nearly impossible, not once, but twice, and ascended to the apex of the spire of H'Catha.

It's no coincidence that there are legends of cosmic portals at the peaks of such planar landscapes, the central spire of the concordant plane of the Outlands terminates in the fabulous city of portals known as Sigil, the apex of the Seven Mounting Heavens of Celestia terminates in a fortress of absolute purity containing a portal said to exit the dungeons and dragons universe itself, there exists a portal in the ultimate depths of the Nine Hells, contained in the mighty fortress of Nesses where Asmodius rules, said to take one who steps through it to literally anywhere they wish within the D&D Multiverse, like an exact mirror opposit of the portal in celestia, it leads only back inside the D&D cosmos, and the Great Old Ones who created the D&D Multiverse in the first place are said to have ascended into higher dimensional states, beyond our understanding, creating an impassable vortex which none can now breach. The greater god, known by many names, the chained one, the mad god, the great elemental eye or Tharizdun, is said to be well aware that the entire dungeons and dragons multiverse is nothing more than a dream, a figment of imagination, existing and maintained only by the will and whim of these great old ones, a fact which had driven him insane, a secret discovered by and now concealed at any cost by the archlich who became the god called Vecna.

It would seem, that above H'Catha there exists another gateway perhaps, which would confirm my theory that all of the beholders are, in some twisted way, actually the displaced and now leaderless and directionless angels, if you will, of none other than the great eye himself... tharizdun, ironically, the god now trapped in a prison of his own mind.

Large Luigi looked at me across that bar and my shimmering drink, and in a mercifully brief telepathic connection, he informed me that he knew exactly what I was... I was not just a very unusual part hin, part goliath dire halfling, and not just an ascended Immortal of the Sphere of thought now residing in disguise as my former indentity, gathering experience and power on the planet Toril so I could compete in the immortal olympics and attain a higher rank, but I was also AJ Pickett, a writer, artist and Youtuber from the planet Earth, who was currently typing this account, this very moment down on a wondrous item called a computer, on the planet Earth, and that AJ Pickett, was a Roleplayer, the very entities whom the great old ones themselves, were dreamed into existence by, and it was at the whims of these roleplayers, that everything, all imaginary worlds, everywhere, existed at all.

Needless to say, I screamed, clawing at my eyes, vomited, soiled myself, reverted involuntarily to my true immortal form, causing every mortal except a few in the tavern to drop like stones to the floor and start convulsing from the sheer power radiating from me, and I teleported off the rock and into the deep ethereal plane as soon as my wits returned to me.

I have not returned to talk with Large Luigi, and I must admit, I don't think I will, because he was absolutely right.

Some things, dear friend, are better left to the imagination.

Large Luigi has the same basic form as most other true Beholders, he is around five feet wide, a bit smaller than the Beholders you find on planet Toril, who are some of the largest of their kind for some reason. When Luigi escaped H'catha and the Spire, he was transformed, his death ray eyestalk was replaced with a detect lie eyestalk, and his mind was forever altered thanks to basically being in direct commune with beings beyond the dimensional vortex, forever changing his alignment and personality, as you would expect, and transforming him into a being who firmly believes that the only correct thing to do in the case of a reality built entirely like the dream of another being, is to do nothing to upset the situation, so, good and evil, that status quo, is of absolute paramount importance. Understandable, if any serious disruption of the balance may result in a chain reaction of awakening that simple wipes the D&D cosmos from existence entirely.

If I were Large Luigi, I would probably just hang out in a tavern all the time as well.

My name I guess, is AJ Pickett, as always, it seems, I will be back with more for you... very soon.

I dare not do anything otherwise, as the consequences... the consequence... well

Best fetch another beverage.