An Encounter, Featuring Pregnancy

Havoc's post motivated me to dig up this old draft and finish it.

Encounter :

 

A heavily pregnant noblewoman, Pia, wrapped in blue robes and carrying a parasol. She is haughty and irritable; for a year now, she has delayed giving birth (through sheer willpower). Accompanying her is a small retinue of handmaids and servants, as well as her trusted advisor, the sorcerer Nebo. He is fat-faced and shaven-headed; obsequious and cunning; he carries a polished mahogany horoscope board along with sundry magical instruments. Secretly, he is the runaway king of an antique land. 

 

Together, Pia and Nebo are searching for the astrologically perfect time and place for Pia to give birth, that her child might grow into a world-conqueror. They will pay with old jewelry and silks for information about astrological phenomena, portents, and magically significant locations.

Lair of the Lamb - Play Report - Geas'ing Yourselves Free

It's been a while since I've run anything, been busy, so leading up to this session I spent far too long vacillating over what to run the game with, so, at the penultimate moment, I said fuck it and just went with the GLOG rules that come with the module—although we cut leveling, after some discussion, and just started the player characters with CON derived HP. This worked great. Turns out all you really need is something to roll for adjudicating some situations. Who would have thunk it. 

+++++++

Initial Characters :

• Millicent, a militant wetnurse.
• Otily, a handsome, but gloomy, scribe.
• Wendelfred, a philosopher.

Replacement Character :

• Naomi, a brutish, but serene, deserter.

+++++++

The last thing any of them remembered was being fed a warm, soporific draught. Otily wakes up naked, cotton-mouthed, bound in a sack. There is a clasp-knife in her hands, with which she cuts herself free, along with the other three prisoners struggling in the shallow stone bowl. As they all stand up, feeling around, they hear the door creak open and a huge, lumbering shape squeeze itself inside; fetid, heavy breathing; wet, slimy noises. Silently, they find the wall, and creep over to where they thought the door was. As they find the threshold, they hear a strangled scream and the sickening crunch of break bone. Stumbling out into the pitch black of a corridor, they smell a barnyard stench coming from the east.

Otily, being the only with a knife, decides to go back for the others, and Millicent follows her, while Wendelfred stays at the door. They manage to sneak over to one of the stone bowls easily enough, but just as they've freed someone, the Lamb takes notice. A bite from out of the dark removes a chunk of her arm (dropping her to 1 HP), but she and Millicent and the newly freed prisoner manage to scramble away and bolt out the door, which Wendelfred slams shut on the Lamb. It hits the door full force and squeals in pain, but the door holds. The next blow is heavy, however, and Wendelfred knows he can't keep it shut for long. They all dive into the room to the east, following the barnyard scent, with Millicent in the lead. She trips over a goat and into a pile of hay. Everyone goes to ground and listens to the Lamb snuffling and sniffing in the corridor. Groping, Wendelfred finds a wooden bowl on the floor and flings it out of the room; the Lamb pursues the sound, south and away.

Silence. Breathing easier, Wendelfred and Millicent (now in charge of Sam and Gert, the two others freed) search the room, while Otily slinks back into the room with the bowls to free the remaining prisoners. The group sorts itself out, quietly, amid the cold, damp stone. The goats' collars and bells are collected and muffled, the living goat brought along on a piece of twine, and Millicent tasks Sam and Gert with carrying one of the dead goats between them. They also collect scraps of burlap and twine from the bowl room. Then, heading south, the party comes to a junction, with light coming from the east, and a vinegar scent from further down the southern corridor. They choose to pursue light, and come out onto the landing.

The burning torch is seized, as is the fire-striker, while one of the new henchlings is delegated to carrying the tar-soaked chest. Wendelfred and his lackeys also take the time to pry the metal pole free, while Millicent soaks some of the burlap scraps in the leaking pitch in order to augment the already guttering torch.

Moving further east, in pursuit of a truely repulsive stench, they come out into a huge, vaulted room, dominated by a slimy, effluvia-slick pit at its center. Listening at the north door, they hear irregular splashing, which greatly tempts them, cotton-mouthed and dehydrated as they all are. But first, they circle round to check the south door. As they do, a croaking voice rises out of the pit, asking if anyone is there. Initially they are suspicious and don't answer, but as the voice pleads and begs, they change their minds. They learn that the woman is named Akina, and she has been living at the bottom of the pit and surviving by eating parasites off the Lamb and drinking vomit. They also learn that they are beneath the White Temple. Wendelfred, a philosopher, is thus able to supply some lore about Vandoh, the god the temple is dedicated to, leading to much speculation. They promise to free Akina later, when they have rope or some other means of getting her out. She is dejected, but hopeful. They also think to toss the dead goat they've been carrying into the pit for her to eat.

Opening the south door reveals a room full of piled bone pellets. They shrug, and circle counter-clockwise around the pit to the north door and Millicent (who has been leading, carrying the burning torch) opens it. The first thing they see is a slimy pool and a fountain of a fish with hands. Then they notice the huge, wallowing bulk within it. The Lamb emerges out of the water and for the first time they see the beast, illuminated by the flickering torchlight. It is huge, grotesque, resembling an obese cow, covered in nodules at its milk lines. From out of the fleshy coil where its head should be, a bloody horse skull peeks out and tastes the air.

At the same time as they see this, Millicent, who had just stepped over the threshold, collapses to the ground, flopping as she violently hallucinates drowning in heavy armour. Someone manages to snatch the torch and drag Millicent away; they retreat along the eastern edge of the pit as the Lamb squeezes through the doorway. But it hesitates on the edge of the torch light. Thinking fast, they glance into the room to the east, and upon determining it has exits, retreat into there. The Lamb crawls after them. They pass through crab mural room and into the abacus mural chamber, still dogged by the Lamb. Seeing the pole supporting the sagging ceiling, a plan is rapidly devised.

Wendelfred positions himself with his iron pole to batter the post down, while two of his henchlings (Naomi and Ithel) confuse the Lamb with ringing bells to either side. As the torch light recedes behind them, the Lamb enters, squeezing its way into the room, but hesitates at the onslaught of noise. Wendelfred hits the post. Once. Twice. Thrice. It gives way. Naomi makes it through the door first. Poor Ithel trips and falls. And Wendelfred leaps to safety just as the roof collapses in a chaos of masonry. Everyone—save poor, crushed Ithel—is alive, if dusty. They take a moment to breathe. They can hear the Lamb slowly digging itself free underneath the rubble. Then they explore the room, noting the moldy door to the east, the door to the west, and the cobweb filled crack on the south wall, from which comes afresh breeze.

They bash the moldy door in, and investigate the room beyond, but are turned off by the corpse-shaped fungus mound on the floor, and don't go any further. The western chamber proves more fruitful, revealing an unused torch, a crawlspace, and a stone sarcophagus. Wendelfred reads the inscription on it ("Shadrakul, who will not meet her apprentice in this life."), noting that it is written in Elegiac, the language of the greater undead and magicians. Upon opening the sarcophagus, they hear a mechanical noise, but find it empty, save for a seam along the bottom. First, they put their living goat in, and are pleased when they hear it bleat in alarm briefly, but then hear the tinkling of bells as it moves about somewhere below. Next, they convince one of Millicent's henchlings (Jody) to climb in, taking the torch with her. She reports back that she's fine, having landed on some soft rugs and that there's a skeleton in robes down there. They then contrive to turn the sarcophagus lid so the weight is pushing down the rim (surmising that that was how the mechanism worked) and manage to crack the bottom open enough that they rescue Jody with their iron pole and some climbing.

Wendelfred decides to climb down, landing on a pile of fancy rugs. There is indeed a a seated skeleton in robes, offering up a black iron spellbook and balancing a delicate crystal goblet on one knee. He takes the spellbook briefly leafs through its pages, barely grasping the arcane formula put down on the metal pages. Then, he reaches for the goblet. Something stirs within the skeleton's rib-cage; he grabs the goblet nonetheless. A skeletal serpent darts out and strikes, sinking its fangs into him. The poison floods Wendelfred's body and he collapses, dead.

Meanwhile, everyone else was busy using the sarcophagus lid to break open the tarry chest they'd been lugging around, and find a flask of oil and another torch inside. Eventually, one of Wendelfred's henchlings, Naomi (the new PC), decides to go down into the sarcophagus hole to see what became of him. She finds the goat munching on a corner of rug and the dead Wendelfred prostrate on the stony ground. From him, she retrieves the spellbook, and chains it around her waist. She also loots the skeleton for its black art-deco-esque robes, which she puts on.

After helping Naomi climb back out, the party investigates the crawlspace, sending Millicent through first. They discover it opens up onto the bone pellet room. One by one, everyone files through, and begins searching the pile for anything of value—save for Naomi, who sits down to run her fingers over the metal pages of her new spellbook and feel arcane secrets pushing at the edge of her mind.

Nearly an hour passes. With all their rooting around, they turned up a silver bracer styled like veins, and a mysterious vial of black fluid. From the whispering words of the iron tome, Naomi has gleaned the secret of casting fear (and one magic die to cast it with).

The party decides to sneak out of the bone pile room and around the edge of the pit, heading westward to the landing. Their plan is to seek out the vinegar smell, because it would be something to drink, hopefully. Stopping at the landing, however, they decide to explore the corridor southward. From a closet along the passage, they loot a broom, small hammer, and gong. Then they investigate a chamber which is dominated by a fish with hands holding stone discs with numbers on them; a tumbler lock. There is also an acrid, milky pool of liquid—prodding it with the broom sizzles and burns the straw.

Shrugging, they head back north, but as they come out onto the landing, they see the Lamb squeezing its way out of the eastern corridor. It does not seem deterred by their torchlight any longer. Panic. Naomi steps forward, feeling the formula come unbidden into her mind, and word fear rings out like a tolling bell. The Lamb writhes, squeals, and calls out "father!" before turning and fleeing. Disturbed, the party makes haste westward. They re-explore the bowl and goat room, but don't discover anything new. Then, while passing the junction, they meet the Lamb once more. Again, Naomi casts fear, this time with even greater effect, but she can feel the magic has sapped her of strength (no more MD for the day). She uses the Lamb's ongoing terror of her to pin it in the northward passage, while her companions hasten southward following the scent of vinegar.

They find two rooms. The eastern room behind a locked door, which one of Naomi's henchlings, Theobold, begins to break down. Everyone else crowds into the western chamber, where they find two stone troughs—one is filled with vinegar, in which bobs a wine bottle. Quickly and greedily they drink it up, ignoring the burning sensation, happy to have any kind of refreshment (vinegar has electrolytes; the -4 modifier for dehydration is at last banished). They also fill the wine bottle for Naomi and Theobold, then bustle over to the now opened eastern room.

Inside, they find a table with a weird fruit on it, a wooden chest, and an iron and lead chest bolted to the floor and wrapped with linchpinned chains. The wooden chest contains some sort of masked helmet with a pipe that slots into it, purple powder, and a torch. They grab the whole chest to carry, and toss some excess items inside it. Then Otily goes to open the iron and lead chest, and gets a splitting headache as she removes the first linchpin. A nosebleed follows the second linchpin. She decides to put on the masked helmet and light the pipe, thinking it is some sort of defensive measure pair with the iron chest. The smoke makes her drowsy. She finally opens the iron and lead chest, and what looks like a deformed elephant's skull shoots up into the air. She—and the others standing round—watch as parts of their skin violently sloughs off and spirals through the air to begin wrapping around the floating skull. Rapidly, the demon head reconstitutes itself, bellows out "I, Davok, am free at last!" and then geases Otily to carry him out of the dungeon, and drops into her arms.

Everyone runs north, reuniting with Naomi just as her torch gutters out. The Lamb is lurking somewhere in the darkness. They take the junction eastward, booking it as fast as they can, pausing only to briefly ask if Davok can blow open the locked door on the landing (to which it grumbles something about being tired). Finally, they make it back to the bone pile room and hastily crawl one by one back into the safety of the sarcophagus chamber, where they catch their breath.

Someone passes the bottle of vinegar to Naomi, who slakes her gnawing thirst. They take stock. The room is fairly safe all things considered. And they are dead tired after however many hours creeping and running through the dungeon. It is decided that they will all sleep together in the safety of the sarcophagus hole (while leaving some people above to keep watch). First though, they spend some time making a rope out of the carpets, with Otily cutting strips with her knife, and everyone else tying then together. Naomi reads her spellbook. The living goat (still down the hole) is hastily butchered and eaten, the hot blood further quenching their thirst. Eventually, they sleep, and a night (or possibly day?) passes in the damp, cold dungeon.

They wake, less tired, if still aching and sore, and variously wounded. Climbing out of the sarcophagus hole and heading into the room with the city under water mural, they consider the crack running along the south wall. Millicent takes the lead and begins burning cobwebs away, causing a flood of little red spiders to wash over her. She makes it all the way to the far end of the crevasse, glimpsing daylight from a small, fist sized hole, and hearing the shouts of a chicken vendor, before one bites her. The party drags her out as she wheezes and coughs mutely.

They confer. Chipping away at the hole with the iron pole is considered, but it would take far too long. Then Otily has an idea: she lifts up the demon-head and entreats with it, trying to convince it to geas the chicken vendor so that he will go forth and hire some labourers to widen the crack. Davok grumbles, but remarkably, agrees. So, Otily squeezes her way into the crevice and holds the demon-head up to the hole, so that it can call out, imperiously commanding the chicken vendor and promising him rich rewards. Overcome, the vendor cries "of course master!" and dashes off to fetch labourers. By the time Millicent's wheezing fit has worn off, he has returned and the party hears the sound of picks breaking stone. Bit by bit, the hole widens. And then, all of a sudden, it's big enough to pass through. With delirious cries of joy, they clamber out into the sunlight, blinking and squinting.

They find themselves on the edge of the market square, beneath the walls of the White Temple, behind a line of stalls (somewhat hiding them from the bustle of people). The labourers standing around with their picks and prybars look on them with wonder, while the chicken vendor looks expectant.

But it's not over yet. Naomi and Otily and Millicent agree, they need to go back in for Akina, who is still down in the pit. A few of the henchlings have already slipped away, and the others are hesitant to go back in the dungeon, so they rally the labourers and go charging inside, taking the coil of carpet-strip rope with them. Through the sarcophagus chamber, along the crawlspace, and out into the bone pile room. They pause here, and peek out the cracked door into the chamber with the pit, to check for the Lamb, and found it empty. Skulking out, they call to Akina and lower their makeshift rope into the pit. She clambers out; a bedraggled, wizened, filth covered woman looking desperately happy. Hastily, they beat a retreat they way they came, with a quick detour by Otily to grab the skull of the robed skeleton in the sarcophagus hole. At long last, they escape the dungeon.

Back in the bright sunlight of the market square—the White Temple gleaming in the sun, the crowds loud and bustling, the colours brilliant—they note a merchant conferring with the guard at the temple gate, pointing toward them. Some shirts and cloaks are procured from the labourers. Otily, carrying the demon-head, scurries off, pursued by the chicken vendor eager for his reward, and the labourers demanding their pay. Naomi follows, with her spellbook and skull, trailed by Theobold, still carrying the iron pole. But Millicent lingers, then decides to march over (trailed by Sam and Gert, as well as Akina, who stuck around), to harangue the confused temple guard, before also making off into the crowd.

They meet up again in a quiet courtyard, amid the city's bustle. The chicken vendor was paid off with the silver bracer. Akina tries to give Millicent a ruby ring that must be worth a fortune, and they comfort the poor woman. Meanwhile, Noami and Otily sit on opposite sides of a fountain and interrogate their respective patrons' heads. The necromancer's skull is pleased to finally have an apprentice to teach the secrets of the quiet world too. While, Davok is just happy to finally be freed after a century of confinement, and begrudging offers to take Otily on as his warlock, for her reward. They also learn, from the demon-head, some facts about the Lamb (such as that it is the child of Vandoh) and the dungeon. The sun shines down on them, wonderful and warm.

+++++++

Deaths :

• Unknown (eaten by Lamb)
• Ithel (crushed by collapsing ceiling)
• Wendelfred (poisoned by skeletal snake)
• Goat (eaten by party)

Favorite Quote :

• "We have been set up in such a gameic environment, it is terrifying to inhabit."

Favorite Proposal :

• Since Millicent's a wetnurse and everyone is thirsty, a potential solution presents itself, à la Grapes of Wrath.

Speculations :

• This is all some sort of trial or tribulation.
• The Lamb fears bells, which is why the goats were unmolested.
• The code to the tumblers was in the abacus mural in the room they collapsed.
• The Lamb has been trained to expect something when illuminated.
• Shadrakul, the necromancer, was the Lamb's father.

Some Perverts And Magic Items

Yah, yippee, I'm participating. 

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A woman dressed all in brilliant red. She has the ability to swap bodies (at her choosing) with whoever she fucks. She only does this consensually. Wants to "try out" different bodies. Does her best to keep them in good condition for the next inhabitant. 

 

Waterlogged, salt-scoured sailor. Whatever vessel she crews upon invariable wrecks itself, but she always survives. She finds shipwrecks deeply, sexually arousing, but feels conflicted about the loss of life. Has barely dodged being lynched more than once. Possibly some kind of elaborate sexual roleplay on the part of an ocean goddess. 

 

Questing knight who had his dick and balls stolen by a witch as punishment for failing to satisfy her in bed. Deeply embarrassed about the whole thing. Trying to learn to be a better lover; he must satiate a hundred and ten partners before she'll give it back. 

 

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1. Mummified sorcerer's penis in a pouch strung on a string. The wearer impregnates whoever they sleep with, without fail, irrespective of sex, infertility, etc. 

 

2. Amulet of green jasper inscribed with a radiant serpent. Prevents illness and upset stomach, no matter what edible substance the wearer eats, unless the amulet is removed before the wearer has finished digesting and excreting the meal. 

3. A bronze phallus on a cord which, when hung over an entryway, prevents malicious spirits, demons, etc. from crossing the threshold. 

 

4. Lapus lazuli gem shaped into a scallop shell, set in gold, with a small golden goddess figure embedded. The amulet, when worn, makes the wearer appear more graceful and charming to those of lower status, but more uncouth and disgusting to those of higher status. 

 

5. Figure of a small, crouched man which, when kept in the pocket or hung over a lintel, will cry out should a thief cross the boundary. 

 

6. Hematite amulet, etched with the design of locked pot, which halts menstruation in the wearer. 

Lair of the Lamb - Play Report - Two Runs

A while ago, I ran Lair of the Lamb for my girlfriend. She was unlucky and died very quickly with no other freed characters to act as backup. So, impromptu, we decided to play again from the top, adding in a slight time loop feel. Unfortunately, we had to call it quits before the second run really wrapped up.

 

RUN #1

 

The Herbalist wakes up, burlap pressing against her face, cuts her self free, and finds herself in a pitch black room, in some kind of basin, with other groaning, human forms in sacks. She creeps over to the wall, then, as she hears some huge snuffling creature approaching, hides back among the sacks. Unfortunately, the creature goes straight for her basin. She is showered in blood as it messily bites into one of the wriggling sacks. She tries to quietly flee, but catches its attention. It begins to slowly lumber after her while she follows the wall out of the room, into a corridor, down it, than down another corridor—pursuing a glimmer of light. In the landing, she quickly examines the chest that smells of tar, realizes she can't open it, briefly considers taking it with her, then dashes down the south corridor smacking her parched lips together. She can hear the creature in the distance. She passes a closet and comes out into a room with a fish-statue holding tumblers, a lever, a recessed door, and a milky puddle. She tries sipping from the puddle but burns her lips—acid! Then, the creatures bulk fills the corridor above her. Frantically, she pulls the lever. There is an awful grinding noise, then psssht a shower of acid falls upon her. She collapses to the ground, her skin boiling off, and we fade to black as the blurry form of the creature moves into frame.

 

RUN #2

 

The Herbalist jerks awake, burlap pressing against her face and the phantom pain of her boiling skin rapidly fading. She cuts herself free and quickly scrambles over to the wall and presses herself against it. Moments later, she hears the bulk of the creature squeezing itself into the room. She slips out into the corridor and ignores the strangled scream and crunching noises behind her. She creeps south, following the scent of vinegar, and finds two doors—one locked. The other, unlocked door leads into a room. Groping around, she finds two stone troughs: one half-full with vinegar, the other dry and smelling of stale milk. She also finds an empty bottle, which she fills with vinegar. After pouring a few drops into the dry trough and nothing happening, she creeps back out and up the corridor. Then, following the light, she enters the landing. She takes the south corridor to the fish-statue room and tries pouring some vinegar into the milky acid pool, but nothing happens. Then she tries the closet and finds a broom, hammer, and gong. At first she goes to take the broom, but thinks better, and instead grabs the torch from beside the landing's metal doors. With this, she follows a horrid stench eastward and comes out into a large room with a fetid pit at its center. She skirts it, heading towards a door in the south wall, and hears a faint voice asking if anyone is there from the depths of the pit. The Herbalist ignores the voice and slips into the room south. It is heaped with hundreds of bone pellets, from which glisten fragments of metal and scraps of cloth. She exits, creeping again around the pit's rim, and heads east into a room with an elaborate crab mural. Then south, into a room with a sagging sealing held up with a pole. Carefully, she passes through, and into the room to the south, which has a corridor west, a door east, and a huge crack on the south wall—splitting a mural of a city in two—from which a breeze is blowing... 

Violence - Prohibition Era Skirmish

(This is from a while back, last year I think, thought I'd post it since it was mostly done).

St. Louis, 1929. 

Dusk. The glow of the city in the sky. A railroad bridge looms over a little riverside cemetery; fireflies darting between the gravestones. Higher up: the road. Lower down: reeds, mud, and the Mississippi's turgid waters. A car is parked on the slope,

Three racketeers stand in and around a shallow grave, freshly dug up: Camille, a butch lesbian type, stands with her hands on her hips looking down on the sweating, pudgy Vince, while Tommy, his hair slicked back, chews on a toothpick and leans against a headstone. Wood splinters as Vince pries open the coffin, revealing nestled bottles of liquor. Before they can take satisfaction in the unearthed cache, headlights flick on, drowning them in light.

Up on the road, a car has pulled up, facing down at them. They hear the slam of car doors. And shadows move across the bright headlights. A voice—Dutch accented—rings out and they immediately know who it is. Their nemesis: De Graaf. 

He's standing up on the verge, looking down into the graveyard, his right hand man Nico standing beside him, a sawed-off BAR resting on his shoulder. Two more goons flank them: Lenny and Howard. 

Camille began walking toward the car, hands raised, presenting a sympathetic figure. Tommy edges towards the cover of a thick clump of headstones. Vince, still standing waist deep in the grave, slides his revolver out of its holster. 

Vince fires, Camille and Tommy both dive, Nico lets out a wild shot from the BAR only to grunt and go stumbling back—catching Vince's slug in the shoulder. Howard and Lenny go running left and right respectively, while De Graaf goes to earth. 

(intermediate details lost to history, seems like everyone's taking potshots and Camille creeps up to the gang's car; trying to get a shotgun maybe?)

Camille pulls the back door open, using it for cover, while yanking open the passenger side door. De Graaf fires, shattering the back door's window, but the bullets merely fly over the crouched Camille's head. 

(details also lost)

Suddenly the BAR opens up and chews through the back door, perforating Camille with slugs. She goes down, slumped half over the passenger side seat. 

(further missing details; the rival gagsters were advancing or had split int two groups I think; definetly one or two were downed)

The BAR opens up again, turning the top of the gravestone to stone splinters and downing Tommy who was hid behind.  

 

Vince cowers in the grave, the bottles clinking under his feet. He hears the crunch of footsteps and the rustle of grass as (presumably) De Graaf and Nico approach. The two stop at the car, examining Camille's body. She's alive, just barely, but they don't realize it. They move on, edging closer to the grave.

Stooping, Vince reaches down, grabs a bottle, and with an underhand throw lobs it into the river. Gunshots ring out at the plop. As the last echo dies, Vince twists around, popping out of the grave and firing at either Nico or De Graaf—he's not sure which. It turns out to be De Graaf, but the shot goes wide, clipping a fragment of the Dutchman's jacket. Both De Graaf and Nico open up, the first's shots going wide and spitting up dirt, but the second hitting Vince dead on. 

He's not dead though, not quite, and can only look up dazed as the two mobsters stand on the lip of the grave. He has just enough time to notice Nico is cradling the BAR in one arm, favoring his uninjured shoulder, before they point their guns down, and finish him off.

Sirens in the distance. De Graaf and his men beat a hasty retreat, pile into their car, and are off. Later: policemen with flashlights combing through the graveyard. Camille and Tommy whisked away in a police ambulance; one with several slugs in her chest and the other with a nasty head wound. 

A few days later De Graaf throws down his newspaper in disgust upon reading TWO GANGSTERS IN HOSPITAL AFTER GRAVEYARD GUNFIGHT.

+++++

We didn't end up using the suppression rules, which we should have as they would have been useful. As well, there was a couple times when dis/advantage should have been invoked (Nico's shoulder injury, the bright headlights, etc). Furthermore, we didn't roll for each bullet as an Injury Check—mostly we forgot to, but also it would have slowed things down measurably. Without that however, I think that players survived being down with a bit more regularity than if we were counting each bullet as an Injury received. 

 

One thing that was a bit muddled was calling the number of bullets fired. We tried to mainly do this before rolling but sometimes did so after. I think that it would work best if you treat it as a gut/impulse choice. I.e. "I fire of three shots at him!" At least insofar as flow is concerned (since obviously ammunition tracking is an issue as well). 

 

The BAR definitely chewed people up, what with its ability to really commit to firing off multiple shots (a 20 round magazine) and the +4 to Injury Checks for being rifle caliber. 

A small thought. The +1 for each additional shot does not read that cleanly. When running I might just make it a +1 for 1 shot and then an additional +1 for every shot after to a max of six. This would make the target de facto 15, which is fine I think—25% chance to hit as a default—and it just makes everything read more intuitively.

Three Occult Mercenaries

BOTTOMLESS :

Leering lips. Shaggy hair. A pair of dark sunglasses, tight jeans, and a milsurp jacket. He stinks of liquor. With a dainty, two-finger grip he pulls a new bottle out of the well-stocked refrigerator buried in his bigger-on-the-inside duffel bag. There is an M1911 tucked in the small of his back. His right pant pocket holds a wadded up copy of an archaeological research paper on the Italic bacchanalia.  

The face. Oddly eloquent, even when inebriated (which he always is). Knows a touch of dipsomancy, but mostly relies on his pistol. Equipment—like Razorback's GPMG—gets stored in his magic duffel bag when the trio needs to operate covertly.   

RAZORBACK : 

Shaved head. Broken nose. Rolling shoulders and a glimpse of spreading, mechanorganic tubes beneath his white tanktop. He snorts like a bull and grips the barrel of his Rheinmetall MG 3, the ammunition belt shifting in his lap. The program which implanted the symbiote in his back was cancelled before they worked out the emotional regulation issues. Now, he and it coexist uneasily, dreaming each-other's dreams; a melange of mutual bloodlust. 

The heavy. He goes where the other two point and doesn't think very hard about it. The symbiote has given him boosted reflexes, strength, and inhuman regenerative abilities. He can tank anything short of an anti-material round, given enough time to knit his flesh back together. 

WORMBOY :

Gaunt features. Lank black hair. Drab clothing, perpetually mudstained. His mouth opens and closes like a fish. At his side, a messenger bag filled with skinny mason jars. They contain his brood; a dozen wet, wriggling larva. When released, they seek out the nearest living organism and attempt to wriggle down its throat. 

The brains. Doesn't talk much, but the other two do what he says. He always has the situation scouted out and assets per-suborned. Whatever his larva enter, he can puppet, though each new body adds to his disorientation. 

An Offering For The Goat-Mother - Play Report

Per Weird Writers "Just Run It" advice, I decided to run a little horror-investigation scenario I had written up a while back.  

CW: abuse, suicide

WW played as Alice Kent.

Loadout : Phone, wired earbuds, meds, laptop, change of clothes, pepper spray, printed photo of Cheryl (her missing girlfriend), a Leica brand camera, and spare film
Skills : Photography, Homosexual Underground, Botany, Urban Exploration

Cheryl Wayland—Alice's girlfriend—went up north to visit her family for the first time in three years after much cajoling on their part. That was almost a month ago, and Alice hasn't heard from her since.

SATURDAY. After a four hour drive up from the southern, more urban part of the state, Alice found herself driving past a sign for LAUREN, MI; Pop. 755, "Elk Hunting Capital of the Midwest" and a big statue of an elk.

The town was little more than a main street hemmed in by pine forest. A diner, a handful of bars, a gas station, garage, two motels, a hardware store, and a big building emblazoned with WAYLAND SPORTING GOODS on the side.

Tired, Alice pulled into the parking lot of one of the motels and checked in. As well, she showed the receptionist the photo and asked if she'd seen Cheryl recently. The response was cagey. No the receptionist hadn't seen the Wayland's daughter. But Alice was able to get the family's address.

She left some of her belongings in the motel room, then drove out to the Wayland's house on the edge of town. The place looked to have once been a farm, though not any longer, with a sagging barn and big house built in the last century if not earlier. Alice parked on the verge and crossed through the gate, walking up the long driveway, to the house where a new truck and car were parked.

Peering inside, she didn't notice anything interesting in either, and so walked up to the house itself to try and look in the front windows. She'd just caught a glimpse of a living room when an "ahem" turned her head. A middle-aged woman in a floral print dress and apron ("tradwife chic") was standing on the porch, looking down at Alice with a suspicious expression.

Alice introduced herself and explained she was a good friend of Cheryl's and was looking for her. The woman's face twisted into something like worry and she asked if Cheryl was alright. Alice explained that the last she heard she was here with her family and things were going well but then there had been nothing but radio silence since then.

Oh but she left weeks ago! We had a big fight and she stormed out and, well, she doesn't ever call us (this last part said with a note of accusation). Alice nodded along. A boy shouted for mom from inside the house. Just one minute Arthur Jr! Well, if you hear from her please call us... With that Patricia Wayland (Cheryl's mother) closed the door.

Alice pretended to leave, but in fact sidled up against the house to try and eavesdrop. She saw Patricia twitch the curtain aside to look out on the driveway (luckily not noticing Alice pressed up against the clapboard) and then heard muttered conversation between Patricia and a gruff voice, mentioning her name, Cheryl, and expressing concern. Alice decided to slip away and walk back to her car.

Getting in, she didn't yet start the engine but sat and watched the house for a while, pretending to mess with her phone (terrible signal out in the backwoods). All was still, nothing stirring. Eventually, a police car with the words LAUREN COUNTY SHERIFF on the side came round the bend and slowly drove past. Alice took this as a sign and left, driving back to the motel where she parked.

Hungry (it being mid-afternoon) she walked over to the diner, a place which looked like a time capsule of the 50s. Inside there were one or two patrons and a waitress—her name tag said Mindy—serving them while someone else worked a grill in the back. Alice ordered an egg, toast, and coffee and as she was being served showed the waitress the photograph.

Oh my gosh. You know Cheryl? We used to be best friends in high school.

Mindy, it turned out, well, used to be best friends with Cheryl—"even if she did become a lesbo." Was she really missing? I thought she was still at her family's. Yeah they had a fight, Cheryl had come into the diner crying afterward but her mother had come and convinced her to come back.

Alice managed to convince Mindy to meet with her after Mindy's shift finished in two hours. Then she finished her meal and headed out.

At the gas station, she poked the young clerk a little. He vaguely remembered Mindy from high school, couldn't remember having seen her since but hey did you remember what car she drove? I always remember cars. And in fact he did remember seeing Cheryl's car a few weeks back and it being towed later on. When asked where car's got towed to in Lauren he laughed and hiked a thumb at the garage next door. Only one place miss.

The garage, unfortunately, was closed (it being a Saturday). She skulked around and looked into the fenced off lot. There were several cars, in varying conditions, and few under tarps. Not immediately seeing Cheryl's, she tried calling the number on the garage's sign, to get some one to let her in, but got an automated message asking her to call back later.

Moving on, she walked down to the hardware store and, after some fake browsing, showed the old clerk a photo of Cheryl. He definetly recognized the photo but said he didn't. As she was leaving she saw him picking up a phone and dialing it.

At Wayland Sporting Goods, which was open and the busiest place she had yet been to in Lauren, she found a clerk and went about purchasing a handgun. After seeing her hesitancy about waiting for an ID check, the clerk offered a shady deal to get her one now, which she went through with.

She'd killed enough time by then and walked back towards the motel, espying Mindy leaving the diner as did, and caught up with the latter. After some cajoling, she managed to convince Mindy to come along with her and stake out the Wayland's place. They packed into to Alice's battered white sedan and drove off.

They parked on the edge of a road a ways away and then walked through the woods till they came to the fence/treeline of the Wayland's Place and hunkered down to watch. The evening wore on and nothing much happened. Eventually, they saw a man—Mindy identified him as Arthur Wayland—come out of the house, get in the truck, and drive off. A while after that, around dinnertime, they watched Patricia Wayland come out of the house carrying a big crock pot. She walked across the yard and over to the barn and to a cellar door opened it, and disappeared inside. After a while she came back out with the crock pot and went back to the house.

I think they're keeping Cheryl in there.

What? Mindy was incredulous. Why would they do that. But Alice had already gotten up and was creeping her way out of the woods and across the wide expanse of mowed lawn.

The house's windows watched her like blind eyes and she was acutely aware that any moment someone could look up and out and see her, but she made it safe to the barn and around the backside to the cellar door (which was out of view of both house and driveway). Said door was locked shut with a big padlock and chain.

Unsure what to do at first, she decided to creep around and slip inside the barn. Within, she found some rakes, shovels, deflated inner tubes, tools. Searching the last, she turned up a hacksaw and crept back outside with it and back around to the cellar door. She started sawing.

It was loud and tiring. Within minutes her arms ached. She had gotten two-thirds of the way through when she heard the sound of a car on gravel, coming up the drive. Stopping, she sidled over to the corner of the barn and peeked out. Coming up the driveway was Arthur Wayland's truck followed by the sheriff's car.

She watched five men in total get out of the two vehicles and go inside the house. After a few minutes of silence, Alice returned to the door and began sawing again. She had just finished, the chain falling to the ground, when she heard the slam of a screen door and voices. Again to the corner and peeking out. The men were now dressed in white robes and followed by Patricia. They were walking right toward the barn.

Quickly, Alice ran to the cellar door, opened it, descended the steps, and gently closed it again. She was in darkness and spent a moment fishing out her phone and turning on its flashlight.

Strange carven figures—deer and beasts of the forest—leapt out at her. Then she heard the rustle of cloth and swept her phone light around. In the back corner was an insensate figure in dirty clothes, leashed to the wall with a dog collar. Alice hurried over. It was Cheryl.

There was a dull, glassy look in Cheryl's eyes and she didn't really respond to movement. Some dirty plates sat on the floor nearby.

Alarmed voices from the doors above. Alice quickly shut her phone light off and darted to the other side of the room. The doors were wrenched open, letting in the fading twilight, then silence. No movement. Alice slipped out her handgun.

Down the stairs came the sheriff, his gun out, squinting in the light. Behind him another man. Alice waited a beat, then, aiming at the sheriff, pulled the trigger. The bark of the gun surprised her and the shot went astray. In a snap the sheriff had twisted and shot back at her but missed. She fired again and the sheriff dove for cover while the second man did the same. Quickly, she spun and shot at where the sheriff dived and heard him yelp. She shot again, this time greeted with a meaty thud. Alice ran to where he had fallen in the shadows of the cellar, but as she did the second man came barreling into her and they both hit the wall hard. She kneed him in the groin and he keeled over moaning. On her hands and knees she scrambled over to the sheriff—he was dead, shot twice in the chest—and grabbed his handgun, discarding her own (now empty).

She spun and aimed at the doorway, but there was only silence from up the steps. A minute passed. Two. She crept over and unhooked the leash from the wall and hauled Cheryl to her feet, putting her in front of her. Cheryl stumbled along, mutely. Up the stairs, one step at a time, and then out into the fading daylight.

Someone cried out "Don't shoot, we need her!" To either side of the cellar door: Patricia Wayland, Arthur Wayland (with a hunting rifle), and the hardware store man (holding Arthur back).

Alice demanded to know what was going on. Arthur said it was none of her goddamn business. Carefully, Alice began backing away keeping Cheryl close to her. The Wayland's followed, dogging her. They contained like this around the edge of the barn and half way across the property. Again Alice demanded to know what was happening. Arthur just told her that she'd killed the sheriff and the state police would hunt her down like that. The hardware man rambled something about god needing Cheryl to save them all.

Alice made a decision. She put her gun to Cheryl's temple and pulled the trigger. A blossom of blood and Cheryl's body fell to the grass. Arthur Wayland bellowed in rage and another shot rang out. This time Alice fell, the wind knocked out of her as she hit the turf. It had gone through her shoulder. A long stretched out moment. She managed to look up and see and the Wayland's advancing, Arthur working the bolt of his rifle. Raising her pistol, she fired and caught him in the leg. He fell to one knee cursing and the hardware man grabbed a hold of him. Again she fired and Arthur toppled, shot through the chest. Patricia screamed and the hardware man took off running.

Patricia Wayland ran to her husband, grabbing at his body, and screamed slurs and abuse at Alice. One last time, Alice demanded to know what was happening. Patricia, screamed some more, then began ranting about deer, god's chosen prey, the things in the dark of the woods, her daughter being corrupted, etc. Alice, from the ground, raised the gun again and shot her too.

Silence.

The squeal of a car pulling out and hurtling away down the road.

Mindy running out from the tree line, hand over her mouth. Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god. Alice handed her the car keys and told her to go.

Silence.

She checked to make sure she had a bullet for herself.

Silence.

It was dark now and oddly peaceful. The woods alive with animal song. Alice couldn't quite say how long it had been. She stared up at the stars above. They seemed to be blurring, twisting in on themselves and performing a strange dance. She couldn't tell if it was the bloodless or something else. Out from the tree line stepped tall, shaggy shapes with thin limbs. They were as tall as the pines. One by one they came—a closing circle. Till they stood nearly over her and Cheryl like a ring of standing stones. Then there was a pressure like the pressure of a storm rolling in and the stars disappeared, blotted out by some black descending form and for the briefest moment she felt its alien scrutiny. Then it passed. The tall things turned and left. In the distance a police siren could be heard. Quietly, Alice slipped from consciousness. She would not wake up.

+++

Notes :
The main issue with things was that Alice, a pregen character I had thrown together about ten minutes before play, and her skill set were a bit ill-suited for the scenario. Likewise, there weren't enough threads or leads for WW to pursue to learn more about the cult or interact with the locals. But other than that, it was a good time.   

I Ran The Ultraviolet Grasslands! - Session One

 

Another duet game played with M., this time taking a break from the Iron Coral for some caravaneering.  

The Cast : 

The Decapolitina Twins, Ala and Juan, both yellowlander climate migrants, driven by dreams of machine demons and internal abnormalities.

Origano, a wine vampire priest with inebriated hypnosis powers, indebted to Juan and pursued by loving enemies (his former coven?). 

It was early morning in the Violet City and the party found themselves in a palatial chamber, sitting upon an uncomfortably plush couch. Before them was a dais beneath a skylight (through which they could hear the market bustle and distantly see the citadel) and lounging on a cushion, attended by glassy-eyed servants, sat Brighteyes one of the city's mercantilist cat-lords and current owner of the party's rather large debt.

 

Of the three, Juan was standing, pacing up and down the couch, acutely aware of the burly enforcers guarding the door. 

 

Brighteyes explained with care that while she could simply have their knees broken, she'd much rather put healthy hands to good use. As such, she had a little task for them. See, her idiot nephew, Twinkles, had gotten it into his head that he wanted to take a tour of the far grasslands and make a study of the strange fauna; an aspiring natural-philosopher. What she wanted the party to do then, was to be his escort and keep him safe. To that end, she had prepared mounts and supplies. 

Having little choice in the matter, the party agreed wholeheartedly and one of the cat-lord's lackeys led them out of the manor and down the Violet City's twisting, cobbled streets to a large caravanserai (owned by Brighteyes of course) just beneath the city walls. 

There they acquainted themselves with their caravan: four mules, a horse (for the nephew), seven sacks cheap supplies, a vet kit, and an adventure kitchen. The party also invested in three cat-rifles and a laboratory kit. 

Having looked over their little caravan, they set out to find Twinkles, using the address Brighteyes's manservant gave them. 

Shortly, on a little alleyway off the Rue des Pattes they found the Grinning Moon Bordello. They entered with awkward nods to the half-naked entertainers; "We're looking for the pussy.' and found the madame who waved them outside into a little walled garden in the back, There they found Twinkles, a suave black cat, in the lap of his manservant Bertram, studying a pair of insects on a rock. A scantly clad woman reclined next to them, looking bored. 

The cat talked (telepathically) liked a British playboy, albeit of an intellectual bent. There was a brief argument over eating luncheon or setting out now—which Juan favored—settled by Twinkles insistence that they eat lunch and set out the next morning. Then they collected the cat's bags and ate at a little cafe overlooking the sea. 

That night they slept in the caravanserai and left early, passing through the morning mists past cat coffee plantations and little freeholds. By the end of the day even these began to dwindle away, replaced by tall grass and isolated copses. 

 

For a week they travelled along a rough, but well used track the land gradually flattening out; a sea of yellowish grass. Somewhere along the way Ala turned her ankle, but eventually they made it to the Low Road and the High—an ancient viaduct from the Long Ago thrust up out of the steppe. 

 

On the Low Road they overtook a Rainbowlander caravan, hundreds strong and piled with silks and fruits, heading for the Porcelain Citadel. The party joined in with them and spent the next week in the caravan's boisterous company. They variously picked up rumours of a lost gate and tried to convince the caravaneers to gift them some food (Ala and Juan were splitting a sack between them; +1 fatigue for both) but the Rainbowlanders had made this trip before and knew how punishing the steppe could be. The merchant-owners, strutting about with their ledges, kept a careful tally of supplies and wouldn't part with a morsel; though the party received a few kindly scraps.

At the weeks end as they approached the Porcelain Citadel they passed shambling human-like forms and the other caravaneers whispered about the Porcelain Prince's used up polybodies and profligate tastes. Passing through the ring of defensive golems, they came at last under the white bulk of the citadel. 

Twinkles immediately shacked up in a second-floor suite in the caravanserai, leaving the party to squat with their animals in an empty  in an empty shack among the scrappy, unaffiliated outlanders who haunt the Lowest Line. For several days they sold themselves to the orchards, picking cherenkov cherries just to pay for food. All the while they listened to the raucous noise of drinking and song from the Two Serais and watched the distant, duplicated forms of the Porcelain Princes walking about their manors.

 

Eventually, Twinkles came back round, satisfyingly tired and having seen the sights to his content. Bertram, the manservant, was sporting a shiny new ceramic prosthetic; very chic. At this point the party was muttering and plotting—the cat was going to have to go. They convinced him, with tales of strange vomish mechanisms ("Really, I've heard that they're not nearly as a violent as people claim.") to head into the deep steppe on the Trail of Vomish Dreams.

 

After finagling funds for supplies out of the cat, they plunge into the grasslands. A week travelling deep into tall, yellow grass through thick haze, beset by swarms of biomechanical locusts. Once, they came across the spoor of some huge biomech beast, which they spent an extra day avoiding.  

They'd heard rumours, back at the Porcelain Citadel, of a rusting metal obelisk, toppled on its side and covered in strange glyphs. Twinkles was, predictably, excited by this concept and so they spent three days following game trails and odd markers till they found the iron monument. 

Bertram begin copying down the glyphs in Twinkles's journal, at the latter's direction, while the party set up camp. As the sun set—a red fiery glow over the steppe—biomech prairie dog-crabs begin to appear out of their burrows to dance an eerie ritual around the obelisk. The parry watched their bioluminescent antenna swaying in unison from a safe distance around their campfire. 

Later that night, the moon high in the sky and washing the world in silver, Juan and Origano rose from their sleep rolls and crept over towards the cat and its servant, with garrote-lengths of cord in hand.

Origano slowly wrapped his garrote around Bertram at the same time Juan made a lunge for Twinkles. Chaos! Bertram groans and paws at his neck as the life is slowly strangled out of him while Twinkles leaps away, telepathically bludgeoning Juan, and disappeared into the tall grass. The harsh but distant call of a biomechanical beast howled through the night.

With one last shudder, Bertram expired. Quickly the party broke camp. From Bertram's corpse they retrieved a heavy purse (over $800), a holdout pistol, and the cat's journal. Then they dragged the body a ways away and hide it in the grass.

 

With Ala riding and Juan and Origano guiding the mules they spent a week trudging in silence, heading southeast toward the Grass Colossus, dodging roving beasts the while. Eventually they crested the green capped ridge surrounding the vale and walked down into it towards the colossus, rising from its mound.

 

As they passed through the outer fences and into the teeming nomad tent city which surrounds the Colossus, they met a band of drunk, broke journeymen with whom they made camp. Their incongruous joviality seemed to break the silent spell which had hung over the party, and they plunged into the tent city with refreshed spirits. 

With much haggling and a confusion of languages—none of them had ever heard such outlandish permutations of the trade tongue—they managed to buy another weeks rations, plus two sacks extra, in yogurt, cheeses, and jerky. Then, contemplating the heavy purse of Rainbowlander currency, they decided to buy two more horses for their caravan.

The only nomad willing to take their foreign currency was Draganogac, one of the judges of the Colossus who mediated disputes, and a rich man besides. He gave them two fine steppe-horses for their money and reminded them that the judge's would always pay good mead and salt for vomish trophies.

The talk of the tent city was that the next night, the Colossus would dance! Already there was an air of festivity, with new nomad clans arriving by the hour and drink and song loud to be heard. The party decide to stay for the ritual and the next day watched a wicker wagon wheeled toward the Colossus with a shivering, wretched man inside—an adulterer condemned by the judges—fed beef and spices by force.

That night, torches and bonfires flared and the drink was hot. Around the Colossus the priests and magicworkers took their places. Then began the dances. The party, beside their journeymen friends, watched in awe as the sacrifice was lifted—bound and gagged—into the burnt heart of the Colossus. And the it was alight! The flames of the bonfires seemed to burn higher and the priests danced more frenetically, drumming and chanting.

With a shudder, the Colossus moved! Burning bright with the living flames at its heart it began to dance a stomping dance.

The nomads cheered, and laughed, and cried. And then, as the Colossus's dance grew more energetic, they one by one began disappearing into their tents. The Colossus began to dance more wildly, stepping down off its mound. The party deemed it prudent to also take shelter and hid away in their tent. The night passed uneasily, with the sound of rustling, dancing grass, the gutter of flames, and the occasional screams of terror.

The next morning, half tent city was already gone. Detritus from the festivities was everywhere and the fire pits still smoked. The Colossus stood once more upon its mound, but its chest was blackened and its hands bloody. Shivering in awe, the party quickly broke camp and trekked up and out of the vale and away towards the South-Facing Passage...

 

+++

 

This was essentially one long introduction and setup session, despite the caravan getting five weeks deep into the Ultraviolet Grasslands.  

The initial setup was a bit janky, M. spent a lot of time looking to the cat-lord for direction as to what the party was doing (something M. brought up herself at the end of session). The betrayal, murder, and escape ended up nicely setting up a proper game with the players fleeing deeper into the grasslands, etc. M. said she was looking forward to more freely being able to riff off the setting and characters. 

There was also some jank with the resolution system (a modified version of Was It Likely's Impact) I was using. Some misapplication, forgetting to use it, etc, but by the end we'd ironed it out and are looking forward to the "and then" energy it brings to the table. Specifically, we worked out that it works best just straight up rolling on the impact table and forcing the player to spend HP (in this case renamed to Luck) to avoid/alter. Creating a sort of cascading chain of consequences. 

I had a bit of trouble at times running straight from the book (for example: there aren't rumour tables for every location) but I think I will have honed my method by the next time. At the Porcelain Citadel in particular, I didn't dangle enough hooks out. M. was a little aimless as to what to do. Hopefully the party, now sheared from their escort mission, will get more dynamic and we'll be better able to explore the characters. 

 

We're talking about giving the party some more tools for interacting with the world and maybe some more adjective traits. The necessary texture, for building decisions and descriptions. Also we might make XP from discoveries and carousing feedback into recovering Luck.

 

Five Investigators

Pauline L. Wozniak :

Frumpy sweaters and a pair of glasses like bottle caps. Keeps a loaded revolver in her purse; likes to finger it on the bus while watching the other passengers get on and off.

 

Howard Loose :

A dirty man in an ill-fitting grey suit. Fiddles endlessly with a cigarette while smoothing back his lank hair. Fat lips smack over words. Keeps a dozen fake IDs in his wallet, including an FBI badge.

 

Gabrielle Alimilla Pilar :

Jangling charms and a ratty denim jacket adorned with patches. Bites her nails raw; fingers covered in band-aids. Descended from an ancient Basque sorceress (so she claims).

 

Carl Boxwood :

Wire-frame glasses, greasy apron, and a dog-eared sci-fi paperback. Pursued  by the insidious smell of fried fish. A facade of incredulity hides naked curiosity.

 

Joey Burgess :

Bald, bearded, head like a battered thumb. Ex-marine. Keeps a collection of unguents, ointments, powders, proteins, and potions in his hefty duffel bag. Refuses to drink fluoridated water. 

+++

 

Art by Ollie Jones. 

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.