A SICKNESS IN THE STOMACH

CORINTH, MI.

Population 1,543.

A small township in northern lower Michigan, somewhere between Gaylord and Atlanta. It sits on the edge of Miller Lake. Every July tourists come for the brown trout festival.

It's winter and unseasonably warm. The sky alternately slate grey and brilliantly sunny. The roads are black slush and patches of dead green show through the patchy snow-melt. Snowmobiles sit abandoned in yards. The conifers stand bunched together, still clad in their dark green raiments.

There is a rot in the trees. Needles turning sickly yellow. Swathes bare, denuded, like dead pillars. The forestry officials aren't sure why.

You arrive in town, on main street. It stretches for two blocks. Cinder-block bars, shuttered cafes, and little shops selling ammo, liquor, and lottery tickets. A big truck with a snowplow strapped to the front trundles past.

There is sleep in your eyes and a craving for coffee in your belly. A dossier sits in your glove-box, stamped with the name Harry Konikowski. White, middle-aged, owns a small time construction company out on Willow Road. Three times charged with battery and assault, each case settled out of court. His Facebook page is endless pictures of fish he's caught and anti-vaccination conspiracies.

You're here because the precogs back at headquarters picked up something odd. A gyre, something psychic, spiraling inward on this town. A deepening sink of rage, fear, and distress.

Find out whats causing it. Stop it if you can.

Proceed with caution. The locals are, as a rule, paranoid and armed. 

WHAT YOU DON'T KNOW

Konikowski's daughter, Jenny, a high-schooler pregnant before her time. The thing in her belly terrifies her; a tumorous parasite growing, leeching. Abortion is a sin she daren't commit, so the fear festers.

Since thirteen she's been on a cocktail of anti-depressants proscribed by a doctor in Gaylord. They keep her mind muddled. Her parent's think there is something wrong with her. They blame the flu shot and pray for her deliverance.

In fact, she is a grade-A psychic. One of a hundred in the whole country. No one could possibly know this. She certainly doesn't.

Jenny takes refuge in the backwoods, when she can sneak out. Cans of beer and her best friend Eva. Sometimes, in the smoke of a bonfire, through the haze of liqour, they steal soft kisses from each other's lips. Vague dreams of flight and escape bubble up and fade away in the light of day.

She's stopped taking the pills. Each morning they're washed down the bathroom sink. The world feels so much more acute now. People find her observations uncanny, lacking in tact. Her parents whisper, when they think she can't hear, about a visit to the Church psychiatrist. Her classmates call her a crazy bitch behind her back.

In three days, a freak ice storm will knock over trees and break power-lines. In five days asphalt will boil and bullies bleed from their ears. Pets will birth malformed offspring. In seven days, reality breaks. Corinth becomes a nightmare-scape, its people lost and maddened amid houses twisted into kitsch labyrinths and devouring trees that crowd you in like a jeering mob. At the eye of the storm, Jenny. Tormented by parents become ogreish grotesques.

The Agency will cordon off the township and expunge it from the records.

This is the worst case scenario. 

+++

Use Violence. Else, the fiction reigns. 

I made the art. 

A Farmhouse

Thatched roof and fieldstone walls, barn nuzzled up against the south end. Nailed to the door is the farmer. Flies languidly buzz around his head. 

 

You feel as if you are watched.

Inside, motes of dust hang in shafts of light. A dim impression of rafters, hanging bunches of garlic, stacked cookpots, the pervasive smell of spoiled milk.

The witchfinder and his two lackeys hide behind an overturned table. They have heavy wheellock pistols and basket-hilted blades. The farmer's wife and his two twelve-year old sons lie gagged and bound on the floor. They have long since cried their throats raw.

Lurking in the tall grain, a seventeen year old girl. There is a fat black rat perched on her shoulder. It has terrifyingly intelligent eyes. Together, they have spent the last three hours carefully drawing an elaborate sigil around the farmhouse with dirt and pebbles. She will drag them all down to hell if she can.

Rough Night at the Wayside House

A lonely stagecoach stop somewhere high up in the Colorado Rockies. Inside, a warm fire. Outside, a raging blizzard.  

 

+++++

Bill Walker 
The coach driver.
Appearance : A small, sturdy man, worn down by the elements. Well tanned. Short, brown hair. Wears a heavy oilcloth duster and a red neckerchief.
Personality : Dependable, trustworthy, deeply xenophobic.
Desire : A hot meal and a warm bed.
 

Thinks Mrs. McKenzie is shiftless. Mixed opinion of the two Germans. Quite likes Pearlman and would be devastated to find out he was a “Bohemian.” Ambivalent about everyone else.
 

Keeps a shotgun about his person.

Mrs. McKenzie 
The proprietress.
Appearance : Matronly, hair as grey as her dress, a dirty white apron tied about her waist.
Personality : Inquisitive, nosy, pushy, faux innocent.
Desire : A vast and rambling house.

Motherly affection for Oskar underlined with biting criticism. A shit-stirrer as far as the others are concerned.

Has run the Wayside House for the last five years, ever since her husband died. Will likely run it till she passes herself, if nothing else changes.

Throws a surprisingly hard punch. 

Miss Josephine 
A southern belle.
Appearance : A tall woman, her brown hair tightly done up. Wearing a travelling dress of green checkered serge. Key hanging from her neck.
Personality : Cagey, haughty, unexpectedly verbose.
Desire : Start a new life, on her terms.

Fucking Pearlman, enjoying the freedom of it. Considers Pullet a lamentable necessity. Finds most everyone else uncouth.

Says she’s travelling to San Francisco to meet her fiancé, with Pullet as escort. Avoids questions about her family and background. Carrying several thousand dollars worth of stolen gold and government bounds inside her trunk; her father would desperately like it back.
 

Carries an old, single-shot pocket pistol in her purse.

Colonel Arthur Pullet
Honorably discharged.
Appearance : A lanky, black haired man with a thin mustache. Still wears his cavalry uniform, kepi worn dashingly askew.
Personality : Opinionated, pretentious, loud, unsubtle.
Desire : For people to pay attention to him.

Josephine’s accomplice (and harbouring lingering feelings for her). Dislikes Drumond on principle. 

 

He is not, in fact, a colonel.

 

Carries an old army issue revolver.

Pearlman  

Murderer in disguise.
Appearance : Snowy haired, otherwise nondescript. Melts into the background. Wearing an eastern style suit and a derby hat.
Personality : Inoffensive, helpful, quiet, plotting, slow to rouse.
Desire : To have some fun.

Fucking Josephine; plans to kill her and steal the money. Thinks Pullet is hilarious and Oskar pathetic. Wary of Drumond.

Actually Laszlo Bozsik, the “Smiling Hungarian,” responsible for seven murders between here and St. Louis. Rather ruthless, a tad sadistic, and quite clever. His Midwestern accent is flawless, but slips when he gets angry.

A derringer in his breast pocket, another in his boot. A knife hidden in the small of his back.

Oskar  

Small time outlaw. 

Appearance : A scruffy young man with blonde hair, limping noticeably. 

Personality : Edgy, smiling, obsequious. 

Desire : To succeed at something for once in his life.

Thinks Drumond is after him and that his brother (Albert) has sold him out.

Shot in the leg during a botched bank robbery. Lying low. If anyone asks about the limp: a horse kicked him. Speaks with a thick German accent.

A knife sheathed at his hip. A revolver under the pillow on his bed.

Drumond
An old hand. 

Appearance : Lean and haggard, bundled up in an old greatcoat. Salt and pepper muttonchops. Doesn’t take his hat off indoors. 

Personality : Course, gruff, rude, cunning. 

Desire : Another bottle of whiskey.

Suspects Pearlman, considering Oskar, hasn't ruled out Bill. Doesn’t give a shit what Pullet thinks of him. Gentlemanly toward Josephine.

A bounty hunter out of Kansas City on Bozsik’s trail, but he doesn’t know what the latter looks like. Was a bushwhacker during the war, on the Confederate side and doesn't much regret it.

Carrying a heavy dragoon revolver and a bowie knife.

Albert
Long suffering.

Appearance : Greasy. Blonde haired. Two day's old stubble. A bit twitchy. Wears a heavy bearskin coat.

Personality : Begrudging, put upon, bitterly polite. 

Desire : For his boss to meet a horrible accident.

Hates Drumond with a passion. Complicated feelings towards his brother (Oskar). Finds Pullet and Bill both irritating in different ways. 

A revolver at his hip and a rifle in a saddle sheath.

+++++
 

Dinner is stewed beef and kidney beans, apple pie for dessert. The blizzard will die down by mid-afternoon the next day.

I Ran The Iron Coral #3

Previous Sessions : 1, 2. 

+++++

 

Once again we have M. playing as...

 

Creed (Dex +1), locked inside their crimson armour (armour 1, defer blow onto an ally), armed with sword and pistol. Rendered listless last session, proscribed stimulants in order to function.

Doug (Wis +1), armed with a rifle.

 

Also featuring: Slob the dog. 

We open on Creed staring out the window of the party's new boardinghouse lodgings at the falling rain and the forest of ship's crosstrees. They are listless, their hair matted. Behind them, in the room's second bed, Doug is curled up with the dog. From a vial Creed takes some white powder and snorts it, immediately achieving a measure of alertness and awareness previously lacking. 

At breakfast (mostly fish and lard) the landlady gives Creed a letter from Doc. Cruette asking if they would like to give a small recounting of their exploits in the Iron Coral to some physician friends of his on visit from Bastion. (1) They decide they'll need a showpiece: an expedition is in order.

 

Asking around for recruits in the dockside pubs, they are met by two men--Suleiman and Piotr. They are rough sorts, washed up out of one of Bastion's armies by the look of their mismatched kit. But they've been in the Iron Coral before, as part of one of Nigel's expeditions. They don't like Nigel much--he got one of their buddies killed and paid them a paltry amount in spite of making it out with two crystal orbs. It's not the danger they mind so much as the lack of rewards. (2) So they agree, in part to spite Nigel, to sign on for no up-front pay but rather a share of the treasure. A seven-three split is agreed upon.

They ship out in Dorett's little fishing boat in the pouring rain. (3) It takes longer than usual to navigate the choppy waters but after an arduous amount of rowing the Iron Coral's jagged form looms and the party pulls into the cove in its side.

 

They enter the gaping passage and after an inordinate amount of time descending find themselves walking through a sort of cavern whose rocky walls seem to bear impressions of cyclopean machinery. (4) Then the tunnel narrows, crowded out by freezing pipes and they squeeze through and out into some sort of engine room thick with even more tangled pipes. They feel a rumble through their feet and the sound of distant machinery churning to life. 

Exasperated at yet another change to the dungeon, (5) they nonetheless press on and encounter a small, rodent-esq creature which spoke to them in oddly comprehensible gibberish. A helper beast: it asked to be given a task. Not knowing what else to do, Creed told it to come along with them and it let itself be scooped up and placed on their shoulder.

The room to the north was bigger, with a tangle of pipes on the ceiling leading into two massive tanks festooned with glowing gauges. The coral in this part of the dungeon has an odd golden color. As they stepped into the room however, Piotr stopped them with a hiss and raised fist. (6) Very slowly he indicated the ceiling and they saw the large, almost transparent, shape of an insectoid creature shift position in the pipes above. (7)

Slowly, Doug, Piotr, and Suleiman raised their rifles, training them on the glassy creature. At Creed's instigation, they began to sidle their way across the room to the door on the east wall, but the creature above shifted to intercept them. 

They made their decision. Piotr and Doug opened fire. The pipes masked it (and it was nearly invisible besides) so their shots didn't quite hit home (8) but the creature is hit nonetheless and falls from the ceiling with a panicked, chittering screech. The gunshots echo against the metal walls. (9) They have just enough time to see the gouts of translucent red blood and then the glass mantis lashes out with its clawed arms, grappling Piotr, who takes a nasty wound and loses his rifle. Creed yells at the other two to take the shot, even if it risks hitting Piotr, and another volley of rifle fire smashed into the creature, blowing its head open and, unfortunately, hitting Piotr as well, who goes limp. 

The glass mantis toppled and the gang rushes over, pulling Piotr free from its clawed embrace. Fortunately, he is till alive. (10) Just mangled and with a cleanly shot-through wound to the flank. A quick debate, then Suleiman and Doug began to drag Piotr back towards the entrance while the dog pranced about wildly and Creed bent over to examine the creature's body. 

Before he can however, they saw a ripple in the wall. Slowly, like a shark's fin breaking the surface, a golden clawed hand emerged and went racing across the floor towards Doug and Suleiman. (11)

In desperation, Creed pulled their sabre free and slashed--at empty air. With a massive swipe, the arm tossed Suleiman aside and he flew into one of the metal tanks with a meaty thud and resonant clang before crumpling to the ground. 

Doug tries to disentangle himself from his rifle strap, still half dragging Piotr as the arm circles round. Creed takes the time to pull out his revolver, aim, fire, and blow the arm into weird metallic droplets. It subsumes into the floor and all is quiet save for the ringing of the gunshot and the churn of machinery in the walls. 

Creed then helped Suleiman up, who is fine if badly bruised (maybe with a broken rib), and then put him back to the task of hauling Piotr out to the boat. Meanwhile, Creed bends over and starts hacking at the body of the glass mantis. After tense minutes of effort, acutely aware of how alone they are in the claustrophobic bowls of this waking edifice, Creed managed to gather up an arm and head of the translucent creature. (12) Its blood gets everywhere, staining his armour a deeper crimson. 

He hurries out after his comrades and, after jogging in darkness, emerged into the pouring rain. The sea is choppy and the little fishing boat bobs in the swells but they load Piotr aboard, covering him with a tarp. Creed gives Suleiman a handful of money, the arm and head (now wrapped up) and instructs him to row back to Hopesend, get medical attention for Piotr, and deliver the "specimens." Then come back and pick Doug and them up. Suleiman gives a salute and shoves off. 

Together, Doug and Creed turn back to the gaping dungeon mouth. They feel a shudder pass through the coral underfoot.

Entering back into the relative dryness, of the Iron Coral, they descend, once more squeezing their way through the cold pipes and into the engine room, then proceeding to the room with the huge tanks. (13) Two of the little helper beasts are there, fiddling with the gauges on the tank that Suleiman collided with. They chatter and ignore the party. At least until Creed tries and fails to snatch one up and shove it in a snack, at which point they scampered off. 

Shrugging, they open the door to east and find a hub-like room with some odd white "leather" chairs on the wall and a shaft in the ceiling dripping foam. Creed sat in one just for the hell of it. Then they tried a door covered in incomprehensible signage to the southeast. On the other side they found a small, bare room with three locked metal lockers on the wall. (14) Finding them locked, they tried a passage leading south that smelled of rot. At the other end was a crude chamber heaped with rotting flesh. They retreated back to the hub room and try, this time, the northeastern door (also covered in weird signage). That hatch opened up onto a long passage which they proceeded down. As they neared the end they noticed the sounds of an immense creature breathing. The dog whines and refuses to go forward. With trepidation, they look out into the huge room beyond. There is a passage on the far wall, but between them and it is a huge, black scaled, six legged monstrosity deep in slumber; nearly the size of a steam truck. 

They retreat quietly and carefully. Back in the hub room, they try the northern door, which opens onto a chamber with several dangling machines and two doors, one blasted open. 

They try the blasted door and find a small, bunker-like room with a splatter on the wall and a hatch in the floor. (15) Then they check the dangling machines, which are some sort of power tool--saws and the like--attached to the ceiling by thick cables. The dog is pawing at the eastern door, so they open it, getting a whiff of rot, and find a sort of dining room with white chairs and an ivory tabled heaped with mouldering foodstuffs. Creed and Doug extract some of the pseudo-ivory cutlery and platters, shoving it all in a sack, then decide they've pushed their luck as it is and began to make their way out of the Iron Coral. 

They pass through the hub, through the tank room, through the engine room, squeeze their way through the freezing pipes (the sounds of machinery are nearly deafening), trot through the dark passage, and finally emerge back into the cleansing rain. 

The boat is not yet back, so they wait in the passage-mouth and watch the choppy sea. Abruptly, Creed realizes that they can see a smear of marshland on the horizon--which should be impossible given the angle of the cove. The Iron Coral is, ever so subtly, drifting. (16) Perturbed, they hunch inward in their poncho, trying to keep warm.

Eventually, the boat returns, crewed by Dorett, and they board and quickly shove off. As they row away, the parry watches the jagged hulk of the Iron Coral slowly moving through the water. 

And that's where we wrapped up for the day.

+++++

(note: sorry for the meandering tenses)

 

(1) Prepped this hook in advance. 

(2) Vaguely had some dissatisfied former-hirelings of Nigel in mind before the session then improvised the rest on the spot after M. said they wanted to hire some mercenaries. 

(3) Random weather roll. Rain and then rain again. When they get back to Hopesend there will be flooding. 

(4) Rolled echo #3: engines.

(5) M. was both exasperated and delighted at the way the dungeon's shifted between sessions.

 

(6) Made an opposed d12 roll for surprise and M. won it. 

(7) So echo #3 states that each room should have an encounter as the Iron Coral "awakes" and this was my initial result, but after the mantis fight I switched over to rolling more conventionally as it felt weird insomuch as pacing was concerned to be having an encounter every room. 

(8) I gave the Glass Mantis 8 hits and had its claw attack do 3 hits. The players would have done 6 hits with their two rifles but I gave it armour 2 for being nearly invisible and also hidden up among the pipes. So it was badly wounded, fell from the pipes, lashed out, and then was finished off. Guns are powerful. 

(9) Prompting encounter checks. 

(10) Dropped to 0 hits. When the party checked on him, M. flipped a coin and called it correctly so he lived.

(11) This whole thing was a pretty brutal series of encounter checks. 

(12) This begins a streak of very lucky encounter rolls (nothing) that lasts for the rest of the session. 

(13) If I were to run the same situation again, I might bring the "explode if any damage is done to them" factor into play what with all these shots being fired. 

(14) No idea why they didn't try to bust these open. 

(15) M. also refused to open the hatch, citing caution. 

(16) Seemed like a good way of making the "waking up" of this echo have a bigger impact. I will figure out what this means for the next session. Maybe it crashes into the marshland or even into Hopesend. 

So far, this was our shortest session, but it packed a punch. About three weeks have passed, in universe, since the party's first foray into the dungeon. M.'s characters are all professionals at this point. One more expedition and they'll be experts.

I Ran The Iron Coral #2

This write-up will be a bit on the loose side as I wrote it up almost a week and a half after the session and then procrastinated tidying it up, so some detail was lost. Likewise, I don't have as thorough referee notes. 

 

Previous Sessions : 1.

+++++

My friend M. played as... 

Creed (DEX +1), locked inside the Crimson Armour (armour 1, may defer a wound onto an ally) and armed with sword and pistol.

 

With their companions Bob (halberd, crude armour) and Doug (WIS +1, rifle). 

We open on a dreary day. The party is moping about at a table in the Pickled Goose Tavern & Boardhouse. Bob is massaging phantom pains out of his new peg leg, while Creed keeps an attentive ear out for rumours of note.

Three looming men approach the table, almost bulging out of their suits. One removes a little black notebook from his pocket, opens it to a page, and asks: "Messieurs Creed, Bob, and Doug?"

The three look at each-other. "Who wants to know?"

The goon shuts his notebook with a snap and returns it to his breast-pocket. Then, with one swift move, his fellow sweeps all the glasses off the table, sending them smashing to the floor. They lean in and say: "We've heard that you've recently come into some money. Yet you have not begun paying off your debt. Curious. We hope you will heed this reminder." 

 

They left.

Rattled, the party pays for damages and leaves, now uncomfortably aware of the thirty shillings burning a hole in their pocket.

Purchases: prybar, lockpicks, fire oil, and a mutt (named Slob). 

 

While walking the dockside they pass a couple of funny men in cerulean robes hawking pamphlets in front of a blue painted ship. "Join our voyage to the stars beyond! Where you shall transcend and join in the congress of enlightened alien intelligences! We are sure to succeed this time!"

The party decide to engage an expert: Gullwin, the man who'd identified the poison when Creed asked the Pickled Goose's clientele the week before. He asked to be paid up front, at an expert's going rate, and they settled on five shillings upfront, five on return from the expedition, as well as one shilling bonus if any treasure was gotten.

Thus they assembled in the early morning on a mist shrouded wharf. Dorett was there to see them off and Gullwin arrived, out of the fog, polishing his glasses, a hefty revolver stuck in his belt.

After some time on the water...

The Iron Coral sat, a jagged island looming out of the sea. They land on the metallic sand of the cove and find, to their surprise, another little yawl already pulled ashore with footsteps leading into the gaping entrance-mouth.

The party sorted themselves out and proceeded into the depths.

After an indeterminable amount of time spent trudging down the sloping tunnel, they emerged, not into the hub chamber they were expecting, but into a space whose edges their lamp light cannot reach, nor can they feel it. The floor is soft underfoot. They creep about and find, dangling from some sort of shaft leading upward, a rope.

Upwards they climb (Doug hoisting the dog up after them). As they do, a rusty residue accumulates on their joints. At long last, they emerge out of the shaft and find themselves in the pit room where they slew the carapace beast. Sure enough, its corpse was where they had left it in jumbled pile on the floor. They noted that the rope was tied to a grapnel sunk into the pit's rim.

They move north and north again into the room with the metal boxes, retracing their map. North again, through the room with transparent walls and the mouldering corpse. They skirt the psychic ball-sack and enter the room with the bulging class dome only to hear a BANG on the doors at the top of the room. 

After some argument, they decide to open the doors; weapons at ready. The metal doors grind apart, revealing a small room with three crystal spheres on pedestals surrounded by shuffling, pallid humanoids who hardly react to the intrusion. Cautiously, the party sidles into the left side of the room.  

 

They observe the pallid husks for a few minutes, poking them a bit, and determine that they are fairly non-responsive. Creed decides to go for the leftmost orb only for the two husks guarding it to frenziedly attack. They wrestle it from them and the party blasts and hacks them to pieces, only to notice that Creed is now nearly catatonic wrapped around the orb, staring fixedly into it.

Bob pries it out of Creed's hands and shoves the crystal orb in a sack. The party flees, dragging Creed along with them, taking the stairs downward. 

They catch their breath in the colorful coral room and watch some skittering fishbugs. Bob decides to re-enter the gladiatorial pit and this time fight the half-man, half-coral gladiator. His proposal: a grid of flaming oil upon the ground. The combat is tense, but Bob wins and collects the dead gladiators gear. 

They head east, into the sticky room again, and hear slithering from down the dog-legged passage. They prepare themselves and blast the coral snake apart as it emerges; gunshots echo through the dungeon. They take the time to skin the snake and roll the long strip of leather up into a bundle. Then they continue and enter the room where they'd found the crimson armour. They are met with seven or so fish-men all clustered around poking at the corpses on the ground! 

Both sides regard each other tensely but no one yet acts. 

The party decides to slowly advance into the room. The fish-men respond by backing up, but flow around and suddenly the party is blocked off from the way they came in. Cursing themselves, they head north, and three fish-men followed while the rest split off down other routes. 

The party follows the corridor north, dogged by the three fish-men, and end up pushing their way through a bristle-wall into a room with a little salty stream. They try to the room to the east and note that it has weird flexing holes in the ceiling. Nonetheless, they try and cross only for spikes to shoot out! Bob and Doug are injured and quickly retreat. They decide, fuck it, and blast their way through the three fish-men and flee south. 

They make it as far as the dog-leg passage when they are ambushed. Bob, who was in front, puts up a fight but falls under the onslaught of hooked barb-chains. The rest of the party blasts away till the fish-men falter and the survivors retreat. Checking on Bob, they find he is dead. Doug retrieves some items from the body and then they flee back through the rooms and up the stairs, heading for the entrance shaft. 

Somewhere around the box room they hear a gunshot, but ignore. Back down the shaft and then out into the fresh air and they pile into the boat, push off, and leave.

 

Afterward, Doug paid Gullwin the rest of his money, disgusted with how little help the "expert" was. Then he hocked the snakeskin and met with Darius, the port overseer, who gave him a substantial sum (1g) for the crystal orb. Finally, the beleaguered and mournful Doug took Creed to Doc Cruses and got them proscribed a powdery white stimulant in the hopes that it would shake them out of the listlessness that had predominated since the orb incident. 

+++++

M. enjoyed how things went sideways this session, though the loss of Bob was a tragedy. Gullwin could have been better run on my part. M. had stated that she wanted to hire a "naturalist or biologist" but within the dungeon I wasn't exactly sure how run that so he mostly didn't do much. The gladiator was a bit of an odd little diversion that didn't feel totally appropriate, and running combat as sport of that sort is tricky with the mechanics I'm using.

I Ran The Iron Coral! (Again)

Another day of delving one of my favorite dungeons. This time as a one on one with a friend, M (see also: the Fever Swamp session).

 

I did next to no prep for this session, as Iron Coral is more less a complete adventure as is and I didn't feel any particular urge to fiddle with the aesthetics or content. That said, because I can't let things lie, I hacked together a pseudo-ItO chargen to plug into a Hits & Fatigue style mechanical base. 

Chargen was roll 2d6 for STR, DEX, and WIS and note a +1 or -1 or the like if it was a particularly low or high score. Characters started with 4 hits and 0 fatigue. Then rolled on the ItO equipment tables. 

I codified Short Rests as taking a turn and replenishing hits entirely but doing nothing for fatigue, which required a full weeks recuperation. This turned out to be an excellent choice. 

+++++

M played as: 

Creed (DEX +1), armed with a sword, pistol, and crude armour (armour-1, bulky).
 

Her two companions were Bob (STR +1), who carried a halberd, and Doug (WIS +1), who had a rifle. (1) 

 

Together the little band was collectively in debt 100g. Creed was nominally their leader, by virtue of Bob and Doug being in a feud.

The party found itself on the cove-like shore of the IRON CORAL, facing a passage into its depths. They left their little rowboat behind and entered, Doug going first with Bob and Creed behind (2), and found themselves in a complex little junction room. (3) As they entered, they caught a glimpse of warty thing disappearing down a foam filled passage to the south. (4) They pursued!

The room into which the passage let out was filled with foam up to their chests and they couldn't see head nor tail of the creature they'd chased. Creed had them spread out in a line and begin systematically searching the room. About halfway across, Doug felt himself step on something, which made a croaking squeal and then spit a weird barb into Doug's leg. (5)

The thing went scampering off through the foam (they still couldn't see it) and Creed pursued, managing to corner it in a corner, and it spit a barb at them too but the dart bounced harmlessly off Creed's breastplate. (6) They fired their revolver, the gunshot echoing off the metallic coral walls, but missed. (7)

The party decided to beat a hasty retreat (8) and fled further south, into a room where a metal pipe in the floor was spewing out more foam. A grill in ceiling babbled something in an alien tongue. They ignored it and kept moving south, stumbling out into a cave with a weird shell-man at the center. Creed approached and the shell-man peeped its eyes out from the bottom of the shell and with grunts and gesticulations, indicated a chute to the south. Perturbed, Creed chose instead to investigate the doors on the west wall.

Shying away from the left door (which was warm) they opened the right door and entered a room with a meaty wall. After prodding it a bit (the wall twitched) they decided to rest there. (9) The barb was finally pulled out of Doug's leg (he had been limping along with Bob's help) and patched up. While resting they heard distant scuttling noises, like something chitinous moving.

Now they tried the left door, looking through into a room full of metal cages. Creed sent Bob on ahead, who carefully walked over to the far door and opened it. Then the rest followed and they passed into a room with a big shaft in the center. Peering over the edge, they had Bob drop his lantern into the darkness. As it fell it briefly illuminated a carapaced thing, which started moving!

Retreating from the edge of the shaft, they formed up around the door they'd entered and faced the pit. Over its edge climbed a weird, chitinous human shape, crawling on all fours; a hollow carapace with a gnashing maw. It began scampering back and forth towards them but Creed and Doug opened up with their pistol and rifle respectively and the beast died in a hail of gunfire which echoed down the strange metal passages. (10)

Investigating the corpse, Creed noted a little drip of some sort of poison from the maw and collected a bit of it in a vial to look at later. (11)

They moved north through a door into a weird misshapen room and noted strange glowing symbols on the north wall. Creed copied them into their notebook and then cajoled Bob into touching them at which point a secret passage dilated open with the scraping of stone and coral.

They entered a room filled with metal boxes, dominated by one big ceramic box. Before they could examine anything, a person emerged--derby hat first--from a crawlway to the west. He stood up, revealing himself to be a mustachioed man in a workingman's suit with a cudgel, and eyed them warily. He was named Nigel and was a fellow "treasure hunter." Half-ignoring each other, both parties began to search the room.

Inside the ceramic box were a bunch of jars full of green beads. Creed and the rest were hesitant to touch them, but Nigel came right over, curious, and plunged his hands in, revealing them to be frictionless. They party investigated a grate to the north, then quickly retrieved a single jar of beads, before removing it and heading through, leaving Nigel struggling to haul jars out of the box. Behind them they heard a curse, a shattering noise, and then some beads went rocketing away underfoot. (12)

On the other side of the grate was a room like an aquarium with transparent walls looking out on a sea of dead fish and writhing worms. A pallid, naked corpse lay on the floor. After prodding it, they passed through a metal door which slid up into the ceiling and into a room covered with yellow slime. At its center was a pulsating, balloon-like sack. Creed prodded it and it rippled with light and the party felt a pressure increase in their head. (13) They chose to not mess with it further and passed down a passageway to the east and into a huge room with a glass dome in the center.

As they entered, the glass seemed to bulge, almost tidally, towards them. Warily they crept along the edge of the room to the stairs in the south. As they did they saw a great, undulating yellow shape within the dome.

Down the stairs, the coral changed into a weird marbled kind. They exited into a sort of coral garden, whose delicate, colorful growths crumbled underfoot. The party broke through a blocked passageway to the south. As they did, a strange insubstantial water snake with a human face swam out of the wall and pleaded with them, in a whispering voice, to destroy coral. (14)

It eventually left them be and, shrugging, they finished clearing the blocked passage. On the other side was a sort of pit with a half-man half-coral gladiator armed with net and trident, pacing in circles. It challenged them to fight, but only if they could come up with an entertainingly twist. Much thought ensued, but they decided it was best to move on. (15)

They passed through a room of soothing stones and into a long cavern of sticky, white stone with a big white stone in the corner. Creed prodded this and received a glutinous slapping for it, getting knocked back into Bob and Doug. (16)

They fled down a dog-legged corridor (17) and stumbled out into a room with two corpses on the floor and suit of Violet Armour standing against the wall. They took the opportunity to rest here, then examined the bodies which turned out to belong to two treasure-hunting types--killed with some sort of bludgeoning and tearing weapon. Eyeing up the violet armour, Creed sloughed off their own (rudely gifting it to Bob) and disposed of the shriveled up corpse inside the Violet Armour. As they put the new armour on, they felt little tendrils dig into their flesh through their clothes and intuited the Arcana's function (it couldn't be removed without surgery but could shift a blow in combat onto an ally).

Feeling exhausted, the party followed the scent of fresh air to the shore of a huge underground lake. Without anywhere else to go, they began backtracking, and made it as far as the coral garden room. But as Bob, at the party's front, was about to step through the passage, he sensed danger and jumped backward--narrowly avoiding the bite of an overgrown coral snake. (18)

Quickly the party backed up, keeping Bob up front to block the passage. He dealt the snake a blow with his halberd as it struck again, but it bit down on his leg. Yelling, Creed convinced the panicking Bob to go limp and fired their pistol into the beast's head, killing it. (19)

They pried the injured Bob free and, with him leaning on Doug, climbed their way back up the stairs, circled round the bulging dome, passed through the room with the pulsating sack, and the aquarium room, and finally into the room with the boxes (now emptied out). (20) Figuring that Nigel had come almost directly from the entrance via the crawlway, they followed it out into the first junction room. But before they could leave, they were confronted by a crate with a slug like foot slowly edging its way across the room.

Intrigued, Creed walked over and rapped on it with their sword hilt. It went off like a flash-bang, dazzling everyone, and sending Bob nearly catatonic. But otherwise everyone was alright, so Creed shrugged and they left--rubbing their eyes. (21)

Sky, fresh air, and lapping waves. The party boarded their little rowboat and began the journey back to HOPESEND, along the edge of the LIVID MARSH.

(A short break ensued. Me and M discussed the game, we decided we were feeling lively and would play out the downtime segment)

At the docks, amid the crowded steamboats and tall ships, the yelling captains and bustling stevedores, they met with Dorrett--the fisherman whose boat they had borrowed in exchange for a share in the treasure they found. (22)

The party made its way along the dock front (where most of Hopesend's notable establishments are located) to the Sipping Hole, where they crammed themselves in around a table and ordered a round of Fire Beast rum.

The rum hit hard and fiery in their bellies, causing hallucinations on the edge of their vision, but only Dorrett seemed really to be effected. (23) The party debated whether to simply fence the jar of beads (their only treasure, discounting the armour now stuck to Creed) at Paridiso Park or to spend a week finding a buyer. (24)

After getting Dorrett to loan them three shillings for housing at a local dormitory, they decided on the latter course, and lurched out into the foggy evening, the alcohol sitting like fiery lumps in their bellies.

Along the way, they passed outside the Pickled Goose Tavern, which was aglow with light and sounded rowdy inside. Creed's ears perked up, for they had heard a specific voice. Sending Bob and Doug on their way to escort Dorrett back to his shack, Creed ducked inside.

It was crowded and raucous, drinking and gambling, and the center of attention was Nigel who had a shiny new hat and was stood half on a stool and half on the bar as he bought everyone rounds of drinks and rambled about his adventures in the strange depths and the wealth it had gotten him (he had, of course, fenced the four jars of beads he'd lugged out for a nice profit). (25)

After questioning the landlady, Joy, Creed squeezed their way over and challenged Nigel's story. The room went "ooooohhh." The braggart began to sputter and tugged at his cudgel--tucked into his belt--but before he could do anything Creed kicked the stool out beneath him and the man toppled onto the floor and was knocked out cold. A moment of silence. Then the room erupted in laughter and began clapping Creed on the back and offering drinks and demanding he tell the "true" story.

Before anything else though, Creed asked if there was anyone who could identify the vial of poison he'd found. Luckily, a reedy little intellectual with glasses at one of the faro tables was able to place it as a joint-locking venom.

Creed spent the night partying before meandering "home" to the dormitory where the party was staying and collapsed on the cot next to Bob and Doug's (those two shared a bed).

A week or so passed, during which Bob's injured leg began to grow horrifying red coral nodules and fans. Eventually, they found a buyer, and so one morning Creed and Doug went to the massive Black Flamingo Tradehouse to meet with Darius the Port Overseer.

They were lead by a burly doorman into the warehouse, past stacks of crates and sacks, and up a rickety stair to a windowed office overlooking the work floor. The inside was luxurious, expensive widgets, upholstered furniture, if still an office (a desk piled high with papers). Awaiting them, with his legs up on a footstool, smoking from a long pipe, and a hound curled up beside him, was Darius. The lanky, blonde bearded and headed man greeted them and offered a paltry 20s for the jar. They haggled and, with cunning arguments about quality among other things, got him to pay 55s despite the other jars that Nigel had put on the market. (26) 

Darius liked their gall, and bid them a good day, expressing a hope that they could do business in future.

The last act of the session was to use some of their newfound money to get medical treatment for Bob's leg. At Doc. Cruette's (a townhouse apartment up a narrow staircase, crammed with jars, a stuffed alligator) they paid 10s to have the leg looked at and, after prognosis, have it sawn off. Bob was convinced by Doug to accept and they strapped him down to the table, spread some sawdust on the floor, ignored the downstairs neighbor banging with the broom, and off the leg came.

The doctor even paid them 5s to let him keep the leg. Bob got a peg leg out of the whole deal. (27)

And that was it for the session.

+++++

(1) I did a little ad-hoc chargen mechanic here, where she could tradeoff stat bonuses for weapons. I forgot exactly how it worked, but in future I think I will just have companions and the like randomly roll stats.

(2) Marching order was established. 

(3) I think the very first room is one of the dungeon's weakest, as it has a surfeit of entrances and exits to describe, each of which is unique, which makes it tricky as the very first/second area the players encounter.  

(4) Rolled an omen, rolled for what it was an omen for, and picked the doorway at random. Whole situation was improvised in the space of about a minute. 

(5) Converting ItO monsters on the fly was a tad tricky. I decided the barbs did 1 Hit and that the Sprayer Thing had surprise be dint of being hidden in the foam. 

(6) I think? I was running armour as reduction rather than extra hits. Either way, in the fiction the barb was negated by the armour. 

(7) I had M. make a roll plus DEX to see if she hit an unseen target. 

(8) Incurring 1 fatigue each for fleeing an ongoing fight.   

(9) I.e. they spent a turn taking a Short Rest and I rolled for encounters. 

(10) This was a tricky situation. I'd decided as they entered the room, that if they'd walked past the shaft, then the Crawling Carapace would have crawled out and ambushed them from behind. Given that they took proactive measures, I let them have a moment to organize themselves which more or less let them win the fight handily. I could, perhaps, have given the creature more than 4 hits. But M. said she liked how the fight was anticlimactic and that she'd been majorly spooked by it nonetheless. 

(11) Improvised detail based on the Carapace's statted attack.

(12) I am eliding an incredibly funny conversation with Nigel here. Both parties very quickly established a mutual distaste for one another.

 

(13) Could have played this out differently, maybe with the party feeling the psychic pressure from the moment they entered the room, but this worked well I think.

(14) A random encounter rolled during the time they spent bashing the passage open. It was a bit awkward to insert, as the players were already focused on one interaction with the world (the passage). 

(15) Eliding a longer conversation and discussion here. M initially planned to come back later and fight the guy, even though the "rewards" for such were unclear. 

(16) Ruled the slap as 2 hit, so Creed's armour protected them (partially) once again and I characterized it as them receiving a bruising.

(17) I think I gave them fatigue for fleeing? But it felt a tad awkward. 

(18) I had M make a roll for Bob here, since it felt unfair to just spring the random encounter on them. In future, I think I would have given them a more in-the-fiction warning to interpret at their own risk. 

(19) A tricky little fight. M rolled to see if they could convince the panicking Bob to do something so non-intuitive as dropping to the floor to have a clear shot. 

(20) Remarkably they made it through all of these rooms without a single encounter, and I was rolling each turn/room. 

(21) I soft-balled this guy I think. In future I would have the flashbang effect pack more of a bunch, they chose to mess with it after all. And it would have been funny if Bob had died from that after almost getting out of the dungeon. 

(22) I asked M whether they owned the rowboat or had rented it out from a fisherman, they chose the latter, and then thing's cascaded and bam, now we've got Dorett the fisherman-investor.

 

(23) Everyone rolled and only he failed.  

(24) I asked M how she was planning to sell their treasure and then invented these two choices on the spot, half in dialogue with her. 

(25) I just had to bring back Nigel again, especially since he'd made off with a significant chunk of treasure. A rival is born! 

(26) I asked M if they wanted to roleplay it out and they did and so they laid out their arguments for why their offer was good, etc. 

(27) I'm eliding a good lot here. Doc Cruette was a fun invention.

 

General Notes :  

 

The cobbled together system ended up working marvelously and hit the exact feel that I wanted. I am particularly proud of the innovation of having the cost of fleeing combat be a point of fatigue. According to M, she felt like she didn't have to think too tactically in the moment of fights, but rather had to think about whether she was going to fight and how it shaped the dungeon crawl as a whole. Fatigue was the real resource pressure, with each fight increasing it.

I definitely soft-balled a few of the monsters as a consequence of converting between my thing and ItO on the fly. I said as much to M, who agreed but said she still felt the fights were tense and the creatures weird and spooky. The perfunctory putting down of a monster (like the carapace thing) felt appropriate to the overall theme and didn't undercut the dangerous feeling.

Also, having rests be a choice that must be taken in order to "renew" hits was a good choice (stolen from ItO). It gives being dropped to half hits a bit of an edge, while still keeping hits as a renewing resource.

At game start I gave M the choice between 1d6 or a 1d12 for rolls and the d12 was chosen. They've got a nice feel in the hand. Operated on "roll 8 or over."

The Barons, the Bridge, and the Troll

 

Ralph von Konigskamm is haggard man, always fretting with his collar and rubbing his knotted brow. He is pursued by a crowd of clamoring petitioners, creditors, and relatives. 

 

The royal commission was supposed to be simple: build a bridge over the river Wurm and get the lucrative toll rights in exchange. But work has ground to a halt. The masons and labourers refuse to go near the bridge. Worse, they're demanding compensation for those of them eaten by the troll which has taken up residence underneath the half-finished bridge. None of the baron's men are up to the task so he's hired you "professionals" to take care of it. 

What the baron's secretary knows : 

 

The troll has been there for a week and a half now and has killed (and presumably eaten) five workman, one draft horse, and a shepherd boy.

 

What the workmen know : 

The troll's a huge and nasty thing that can hurl a man like he was sack, but worse, it's sneaky. Likes to hide in the river so you think its not around. We'd like to bury our fellows' bones if you could retrieve them.

Before you can leave the baron's estate a coach attended by burly guards pulls up and out steps Maximilian von Damesburg resplendent in foppish finery, come to pay his "respects." He and Konigskamm hate each-others guts.

+++

 

An imperial highway runs along the river Wurm. To the south of the bridge site, an alcoholic ferryman move goods and people across the river with the help of his two sons. They are happy about the troll, as it means continual traffic for themselves. To the north, a rickety wooden bridge crosses over a stagnate, weed choked tributary. This was the trolls old lair and the fishermen who live thereabouts can tell you it was nuisance. They remember a "red haired man" being about recently.

Highway Encounters :  

1. d4 drovers and their flocks of sheep/goats/hogs
2. Wandering monk
3. d6 pathetic highwayman 
4. Tax collector and d6 bodyguards
5. Cloth merchant w/cart and d6 helpers
6. Traveling wizard

Workman's huts lie abandoned, tools littered about. Nearby is a pile of dusty masonry blocks waiting to be used. The river is wide but slow with numerous shallows and sandbars. Four stone piers rise out of the water like rocky islands. The span across is only half-built, a maze of wooden scaffolding marking out the future arches.

 

The troll lurks in the shadow of the scaffolding between the second and third piers, picking its teeth with the bones of dead masons. It is huge, warty, and mossy-backed. Despite its size it is surprisingly nimble, clambering up the scaffolding with ease and slipping beneath the water with the faintest of splashes. It is arrogant but wary, always with an eye out for tricks. "Awful little things don't play fair." It moans while rubbing at old scars. Demands a toll (whatever looks most valuable on your person) or a life from anyone trying to use the bridge or cross this stretch of the river by boat. Grabs victims and twists them till they pop or rips off their heads with its shark-like maw.

 

In the troll's lair--a weedy sump below the third pier--are the gnawed bones of several workmen and a sack containing its hoard: 150 silverpieces, a magnificent (if moldy) feathered cap, a golden necklace, and a barber's mirror.

 

If the troll is goaded into conversation it is quick to complain about the unfinished state of the bridge and to bemoan the "redbeard" who convinced it to move its lair with promises of loot and fat merchants to eat.

 

+++

Waldmann is an agent of von Damesburg. He is stout, cunning, and has a fiery red beard. Three well-armed lackeys ride with him. The troll was his plan. He will shadow the players, spying on them from a distance and making inquiries where they have passed through. If possible he will try to bribe them. Failing that, he will sabotage their plans--in indirect and plausibly deniable fashions. 

+++

See this post over on Underground Adventures for a play report.