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.

 

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! (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.

The Giant's Forge

A small, three page module describing the fortress-home of a giantish master smith, his children, and their slaves. All ready to run. 

 

"Bromsag. Beard like billowing steel wool, beady red rimmed eyes, a bald pate. He plunges his massive, calloused hands directly into the flames and delicately folds metal like paper. A perfectionist. He boasts of learning from the hekatoncheires themselves and can weave enchantments into his metalwork. When not working he drinks heavily and curses his lazy children or dotes upon his four pet salamanders."

 

It can be found here. 

Morrow Project - Liberation At Riverton, A Review

My first meeting with the Morrow Project came in the guise of Different Worlds Magazine, Issue 33 which I inherited along with two issues of Dragon, a copy of the AD&D 1e Players Handbook, Moldvay Basic Set, and a handful of modules. The meeting was brief. A short module featuring a plague carrying biker gang along with some Q&A of the authors. But it wormed the game into my brain and eventually I scrounged pdf's for it out of the corners of the internet and read through them. 

And I was charmed. Its an old, idiosyncratic game but interesting in its presentation of details and has some surprisingly well made modules. So as I reread the Morrow Project's books I will be reviewing them, in hopes that this might introduce other folks to the game. 

Now the obvious place to start would be the actual ruleset. But I shall do however I please, and instead we're starting with the very first module, "R001 Liberation At Riverton." 

The Premise 

Players are team members of the "Morrow Project" (a secret enterprise to assist in rebuilding civilization after nuclear war) cryogenically frozen to wait out the imminent apocalypse which indeed, comes and goes. They wake up 150 years later in a 'bolthole' with supplies, armaments, and amphibious assault vehicle. Their mission is vague "fulfill the project's goals: help people, and make contact with prime base and other teams."

The players awaken in the vicinity of 'Riverton' a town of unnamed location*, near a National Guard training camp which was nuked during the war, although the nuke fell south of target. The town was subsequently razed in the war's immediate aftermath during fighting with refugees and marauders. Present day the town has been reduced to numerous isolated farmsteads and a small "town" in the southeast of the old ruins proper. 

Ruling over the locals are the 'Imps' (derived from MP, the contraction of Military Police), remnants of the National Guard unit who had been stationed at the nearby camp. Over the years supplemented and supplanted by recruited vagabonds. They have a stockpile of military equipment, including small arms, mortars, jeeps, three trucks, and three tanks. The Imps spend their time roving about confiscating supplies and terrorizing the locals who are resigned to their fate. 

Into this enter the players.

* The town of Riverton and the national guard camp are in fact, blatant serial number filed off versions of Grayling, Michigan and the nearby Camp Grayling. The regional map itself is an almost 1 to 1 reproduction of the local area (just compare the two on google maps).

Layout & Art

The module is very much a product of its time, and quite home made to boot. Information comes variously in dense, hard to scan blocks or in easy to read, broken up sections. Of spelling errors there are numerous. Nonetheless there's a clear amount of effort put into it, and its certainly far from the worst layout I've seen! It does its job (not to mention the printing quality and subsequent scan quality of the pdf I'm using are partially to blame for bad readability). The section describing the Imp camp is well laid out in particular.

The art meanwhile is sparse and also of homemade quality, nothing to write home about but fun in that charming early RPG game way. The maps provided for both the camp and town are a tad hard to read, but do their job. The keying is adequate, but given the size of many of the maps, as well as the blank space, on the page it might've been more useful to just write out building and room names rather than muck about with numbering/lettering.

The regional map feels superfluous, and does not provide all that much usable information. No particular farms are shown, nor an outline of the local ruins. And given the discrete nature of the module's few points of interest, it's fairly easy to run it as a theater of the mind pointcrawl. That said, it is still useful to know the relative positions of the town to the camp, the local lakes, and the old roadways running throughout. And I cannot fault the module too much for this map, given that it is typical of many other rpgs of the time (not to mention that point crawls didn't exist as a concept yet :P). 

Farmers & Townies 

The locals get a big, rambling, multi-paragraph long write up. They are a simple, isolationist lot, largely defined by their fear of the Imps*. While the write up is long, hard to scan, and repetitive in places, it does provide a good sense of their character and provides actionable information for how they'll react to both players and player actions.

Of the locals, the townies (who live in the small, mapped out 'town' beside the overgrown ruins) get the most description and their meaningfully differentiated from the farmers in their attitudes towards the Imps. Not true factional difference, but difference none the less. A blacksmith and his son (who salvage metal from the ruins), an innkeeper and his family, a "store" (run by wandering horse traders whose stock was stolen by the Imps several years ago), a doctor (former wandering "emdee"), and two farming families. In addition there's a ruined farmstead, the family mysteriously poisoned after refuting the Imps. 

The secret of the farmstead is later revealed to be radiation poisoning from a "blue undead" one of the Morrow Projects few fantastical elements. A sort of radioactive zombie-ghoul, that the Imps keep in an old munitions bunker.

All together the module provides several npc's, hooks or at least interesting details for most, and provides an interesting problem for the players in that most of the locals are cowed by the Imps and too scared to take any action. Much of a play through might be sussing out the willingness of various townies and farmers to fight, or convincing the others. 

*An important note. There’s several (at least four cases I think) of implied and pretty-much-just-outright-stated sexual assault in the module. None directly “shown” but aftermath and history of it springing from the Imp’s abuses are prevalent. 

The Imps

These fellows get a large chunk of writeup. Most of which is dedicated to describing their compound and equipment.

Most of the Imps we learn are thugs recruited from wandering brigands and are a foul, brutish lot with simple discipline, of which, quote "there are no good ones." They're the nasty bad guys to beat up essentially. However they are neither a unthinking horde nor are they without internal divisions! A detailed breakdown is given of how the Imps structure themselves (in a corrupted form of US army structuring)* and a write up of their officers. 

The officers are divided up into four "nco's" (sargents essentially) and two "co's" (lieutenants all) all overseen by a simmering gout stricken "captain." Each is fairly well written up in terms of personality, and plenty of hints are given at how eager each is to go at each others throats. 

Of equipment both weapons and misc. gear is described well, with information as to how exactly the Imps use each. Giving a complete picture of their tactics. Though the information is bit spread out and could be condensed into a 'battle plan' section. All the equipment in working order feels a bit extensive, but 150 years is a short enough time that I can buy it since its been taken care of consistently and is described with signs of use, wear, and inhabitance. 

Of this I must also level my biggest criticism. That the Morrow Project suffers from an inordinate love for military gear, devoting altogether too much time to statting up the specifics of particular guns (though mercifully confined to the appendix for the most part) and vehicles leading the system and its adventures to flag in other areas. I find that the cultures of the post apocalyptic world aren't explored nearly as much as I would like. 

Next comes the camp map and keying. All of which is goodly done, with many little details that add to the previously mentioned tactics, or simply provide implications and inspiration. 

* While structure is described, exact numbers for each element (squad, platoon, etc) are not given. I would guess that the writers assumed the reader would be familiar with the terms.  

Closing 

The module finishes up with a rough outline of how play should go. While it does feature players auto-colliding with a recently pillaged farmstead, as a means to introduce them to the situation (and likely push them into aligning with the locals forthwith), it is largely open ended. More of a guideline for how the situation might play out unaltered upon player's introduction, than any kind of railroad. 

Taking it alltogather, I would say that....

The modules strengths lie in its sandbox design that presents an immediate situation for the players to involve themselves in (granted, a very black and white one, but an immediate conflict none the less). With both a small social web to navigate and a dangerous and powerful opponent of whom the means of defeating is left open ended.

The modules flaws lie in the lack of stronger factions (though that is a halfhearted criticism since most of the npcs can be easily fleshed out into more dynamic factions from their description) and various small details of layout, system, and style which make it clunky to work with, but are far from sinking it as an adventure.  

It works well either as a one shot hack and slash, shoot em up, or as an introduction into the post apocalyptic world for the players. However in the latter case some good hooks, implied or stated, to the broader world will have to be contrived by the referee. 

***

All together a solid little module, and a strong start to this review series. 

Random Thoughts 

Where are the Imps making or getting the alcohol to fuel their vehicles? 

An easy way to tie Riverton into a broader region would be to have the Imps trade with a nearby distillery or perhaps have oil fields (there are small oil fields near Grayling in real life) to fuel their vehicles. 

The real Grayling sits right on the I75 Highway that cuts up the whole of Michigan and down down into the southern states, while likely in no great repair, it could be a connecting route for traders and their ilk. Of course the Imps are likely holding trade up with taxes and tariffs. 

Unicorn Meat - Review

Dan D (of the venerable blag, Throne Of Salt) has recently released Unicorn Meat an adventure about a rundown unicorn farm in the backwoods taken over by ex-indentured, feral young girls, and other horrible thing. And it is fantastic.  

***

The safety section <3

***

There is a very deep sense of….. coziness? Is not the right word, humanity perhaps. Familiarity? Closeness? Despite the horrid situation. The characters in the module carry a large part of this. So does the setting, something about the muggy backwoods crawling with terrible monsters rings a note within. It all feels horrible in a deeply human and sympathetic way as well as alien and terrible.

The vaguely late 19th century setting also interplays quite well with the aforementioned familiarity (I do not think the module would work as well reskinned for a more medieval time period, its really well-knit (you could make it work definitely, just not as well))

***

Im not really sure why the muggy backwoods with Appalachian folklore mixed with root magic borrowings speaks so deeply to my soul and feels so... familiar, given how removed my childhood is from such contexts. But damn does it have Vibes. 

***

Layout is clean, simple, and flows like butter. The pdf is nicely hyperlinked. Text is broken up and spaced out, you're never focusing on more than a paragraph's worth of text at a time. Terms and names are bolded. Makes for easy skimming.

Visually, the illustrations really tie up the whole module in a bow. The npc portraits ooze personality (and make for handy little play aids). Theres just enough illustrations in total to nail down the vibes in your head without prescribing or limiting your own portrayal of the farm. 

There's some moments of more flavorful layout (like some <Redacted> black bars) however they don’t interfere with readability or usability at all, which is excellent. 

***

The tables for character creation are excellent and just beg to be used in rolling up a party of carvergirls 

***

Hits this blend of folkloric and not-exactly science, but more ‘sciency’, horror. Mutations and witchballs. Old folk magic pulled up from Appalachia and the swamps blended with ‘this is not a place of honor’ monoliths of a long dead culture. 

***

Oddly strong tonal similarities to Deep Carbon Observatory, would pair excellently with each other.

***

There's also still a lot of mystery and open-endedness to the module, not everything is fully explained. Like what exactly the beast-below is, or why there's a bunch of seemingly metallic but actually crammed with meat technologies. It's artfully done, enough to keep nagging at the mind, and keep it mysterious, but never a roadblock to play.

There's a segment on legends, nothing immediately relevant to play but which drives home the mood, and fleshes the carvergirl’s culture out for anyone running them.  

***

Unicorn poop can be smoked to make you high (also all the other skinning unicorns for parts).

***

Minor point, the beginning of the caves section describes travel as taking 1d4 hours between locations and this makes sense for a portion of it (the tangled caves under the swamp) but not other parts like the pit.

***

Instantly infatuated with all the npcs. There's a lot of humanity, both sympathetic and cruel, crammed into them. I'm reminded of the better kinds of post-apocalyptic media, where everyones broken in some way, even the awful one’s, and the humanity of it strikes a cord. Everyone’s fucked up, but its clear that its this polluted place and the evils done there that's done it

Near the start of the module there's a list of “things to remember”, in that these two are the first ‘you know these people, everyone has a name” and “everyone has friends, everyone has enemies”. Which drives home some of the modules underlying tone. Things are fucked up but everyones people.

(This also makes the monsters stand out even more, their proper weird and messed up).

Oh and also very simple, and yet excellently done factionalism.

***

Art by Rowan A.

Pugs and Birdie are my favorites I think, all the characters are amazing but these two are my favorites. Something about their demeanors makes my heart go out to them. 

***

Everything about the nightwatch, their tree, and the witching hour. Proper folk-magic (and horror) vibes that meshes fantastically with everything else. I feel like there could be a bit more allusion to the witching hours existence in other parts of the module, but gosh is it good.

***

The descriptions through the module are extra evocative, and minimalist in just the right way. Tiles described as teeth is one of my favorite bits. 

***

Random generation of a hunting expedition via drawing from a deck of cards is mwah, very simple, easy to use, and a fun and different way of doing random gen. Kinda makes the generation feel more oracular and less mechanical as it might if you were just rolling on tables. 

***

A little thing, but a solid chunk of the npc portraits are smiling, it's not necessarily a happy (or well… normal happy) smile, but a goodly lot of them are smiling in some way, something which says a lot about the tone I think.

***

I'm not sure how I would run this module with adult player characters. It can definitely be done, feels a bit tricksy to navigate, gotta hit the right tone for interact with feral children trying to knife you. Carvergirl games definitely would run more naturally. Im eager to her the play reports eventually roll in. 

***

“At least it’s not a hippo”

***

White-Eyes plan is just really good, the kind of thing where players end up torn on weither to stop it, join it, or what. Deeply sympathetic and also clearly about to unleash some chaos. Also just excellent as conceptual weird-ass magic-science (I adore the description comparing the Theocarnequs to the Beast as a god to a leper).

***

All the other stuff I didn't remember to include or couldn't properly express while writing this.

***

This hasn't really been a very coherent post, ramblings mostly, cause its just a damn fantastic adventure. I'm defiantly going to spring for a physical copy eventually. 

The time is neigh! You too should go out and get Unicorn Meat. 

The Wizards Capsule - Pocket Module

Getcher' weird minimalist module Eight whole pages! Get it right here while its hot! Easily insertable into a game on the fly or in a random table! Featuring weird wizard shit! Extra-dimensional possessions! Sabotage! Bickering familiars! 

You can find it here.