I Ran The Iron Coral #3

Previous Sessions : 1, 2. 

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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.

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(note: sorry for the meandering tenses)

 

(1) Prepped this hook in advance. 

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

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

(4) Rolled echo #3: engines.

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

 

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

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

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

(9) Prompting encounter checks. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Ran The Iron Coral #2

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

 

Previous Sessions : 1.

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My friend M. played as... 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

 

They left.

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

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

 

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

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

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

After some time on the water...

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

The party sorted themselves out and proceeded into the depths.

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

I Ran The Iron Coral! (Again)

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

 

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

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

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

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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."

Lower Aigu - Bastion Borough

The rain drips down onto this rundown seaside borough near the edge of Bastion. Overcrowded tenements and sagging townhouses pressed together. Omnibuses and streetcars rattle indifferently past lively print-shops, pawnbrokers, pubs, cafes and boarded up counting houses. Fog comes creeping through the streets bringing a salty tinge along with it.

 

To the west along the algae choked canals is Upper Aigu with its white-plaster townhouses, botanical gardens, endless fêtes, and gossip rags. North, along the slum lined train tracks, to Trema with its sprawl of rail yards, abattoirs, chemical sheds, cock fights and night-time homicides. South, the sandy beach and rock-piled piers give way to busy Cedilla with its wharves, dry-docks, warehouses, sailors pubs, and never-ending riots. 

 

Councils ~

Being those of notability

The Society of Whisperers : regulate gossip, publishing, real-estate, and thief-taking.

The Goodly Fellowship of Poissonnières : regulate fishmongery, finance, marketplaces, and public displays of religion.

The Rooftop Republic : regulate students, criminals, street-sweepers, and abandoned properties.

Routes ~

The Green Canal : 

• Slow, turgid, choked with violently colored algae and laden barges. Travel takes twice as long as normal but is quite scenic. 
• The footpaths are faster but plagued by muggers, beggars, and artists.
  

The Tramway :

• Heralded by the menacing clamor of bells and yapping of pursuing dogs. Pedestrians best jump out of the way. Costs 1s to board. Fare-evaders earn the enmity of the Trolley-men's Union and its plainclothes enforcers.
  
• Every trip there's a 2 in 6 chance of an accident holding up traffic. Riders must wait or precede on foot.
  

 

Encounters ~

1-4: d8 Anti-Pelagic Militiamen - Armed with muskets and sabres, prominent badges.

1 : Tromping about singing rousing songs.

2 : Scrawling hateful anti-pelagic slogans on a wall.

3 : Hassling someone they think looks a bit too inhuman.

4 : Engaged in a running gunfight with an imaginary enemy to everyone else's distress.

 

5-8: d6 Ice Deliverymen - Burly, becheckered, lugging blocks of ice.

5: Chasing after something scampering, waving their ice-hooks.

6: Standing in a doorway, seducing a housewife.

7: Moving something mysterious, wrapped up in a tarp, from a house to their wagon.

8: Nearly coming to blows with some carters over a traffic jam.

 

9-11: d12 Latter-Day Abzuists - Chanting, swaying, costumes of kelp and driftwood, paper-mâché masks.

9: Fomenting a procession in the streets, some kind of festival.

10: Preaching to a disinterested crowd about the perfidious influence of solid land.

11: Fleeing from 2d6 angry Anti-Pelagic Militiamen.

 

12-14: d6 Caffeine-Addled Thugs - 3hp. Dex 15. Knives & cudgels (d6), chic outfits, stink of roast beans.

12: Smashing up a shopfront while passersby avert their eyes.

13: Squatting round a corpse, riffling through its pockets.

14: Heckling passersby from their seats outside a cafe; looking to start a fight.

15-16 : 1d4 Thief-Takers - 4hp. Truncheons (d6), rattles, plain-clothes, forbidden to speak above a whisper.

15: In hot pursuit of a petty thief.

16: Trying to extract the details of a crime from a reluctant citizen.

18-19 : Forlorn Puppeteer - Fit-up, clever hands.

18: Standing on a street corned, ignored but for a solitary child.

19: Arguing with a penniless actor about the finer points of theatre.

20: The Gullwise Man - Strange, sooty, wears a gullfeather in his derby hat.

20: Perched atop a pole, pier, or chimney, communing with the gulls who see all.

Locations ~

The Old Sea-Fort  

A little island connected to the borough by a spit of mud at low tide. Crumbling pillboxes and rusting artillery sit among the tussocks of pale grass. Giant concrete listening-phones plunge into the surf. Nowadays the Anti-Pelagic Militia occupies the fort. Paranoid humanists, they strut about with ear-phone hats on and muskets at ready, listening for signs of an invasion from the depths. Picnickers like to row out to the island on sunny days in spite of the scowling militiamen.

• Captain Obadiah Marmot : A fat, whiskered man buried under layered oilskins. Speaks with a phlegmatic cough and suffers from hydrophobia so intense he is able to walk on water. 
• Rumored to be the outcast scion of a shipping magnate. 
• Incorruptibly dedicated to the Anti-Pelagic cause. 
• Distrustful of anyone who looks sufficiently non-human.
  

 

Blanchard-Cope Pasteboard Factory  

Once a residential terrace; windows have been bricked up and tin roofed sheds and pulp vats now fill the backyards. Gulls endlessly circle overhead. One stubborn holdout, an aging retiree, lives on the top floor of one of the converted houses.

• Blanchard & Cope : Nearly identical, dressed in dull suits. Their business has been plagued by an infestation of little pasteboard creatures, grown out of various abandoned scraps. The creatures are getting more intelligent. Some workers have seen little pasteboard men committing acts of sabotage. The partners are desperate to eliminate the menace and have hired legions of so far unsuccessful exterminators.
  

 

 

Marsh Beach

A plethora of painted fishing boats pulled ashore on rubbish strewn sand. Eroded piers crowded with nets and baskets of fish, clams, lobsters, eurypterids, and mutated scallops. Once a marsh and garbage dump, here the sea laps at the cities-edge. Many of the fishermen attend the Church of the Latter-Day Abzu, a newer star cult located in a rickety, clapboard, algae covered warehouse cum church perched on stilts over the water. Hostilities abound with the Anti-Pelagic Militia. 

• Ptolemy Bosch : An old salt, grizzled and bearded, perpetually dressed in heavy oilskins. He is chief of the fishermen by dint of seniority. A cynic to the core, he dislikes the current "fad" (as he puts it) for the church. Increasingly his leadership is questioned. Passes information to Maynard Runt about catches before they're officially announced.
  
• High Priestess Lowbile : Buried underneath layers of ceremonial vestments, an ornate bronze mask hides fluttering gills. Is counting down the days till the stars align and her god rises from the deep to drown the world in a deluge. Happy to chat about over tea.
  

Lord Rochefort's Museum

A sagging old townhouse built atop a bridge straddling the green canal like a bowlegged man. For a 5s fee entreats may view Lord Rochefort's collection of rusting armour, dusty pottery, and strange taxidermied animals, as well as consult his extensive (if eclectic) library. On Tuesdays the Society of Whisperers (one of the boroughs leading councils) meets here for tea and business.

• Lord "Jackie" Rochefort : A man with a wispy grey beard tucked inside his smoking jacket and a sword-cane close at hand, stomping about in old cavalry boots. He easily works himself into a frenzy on the topics of: ancient civilizations, the youth, military endeavors, breeds of cheese. 
• Hires enterprising youngsters to hunt down artifacts.
• Ties to certain members of the Juniper Syndicate. Old friends.
  
• Caretaker of the Tattle-beast, a little bat-like creature which absorbs the thoughts of everyone in the radius of the neighborhood and whispers them to its owner.
  
• The Society of Whisperers is comprised of the boroughs well-to-do who concern themselves with collecting all gossip and rumours and keeping abreast of goings-on. Exclusive, you must own property to join their ranks. Wishes to remove the Tattle-beast from the aging Rochefort's care.
  

Brewer Row  

The muck-stained canal bank was once lined with distilleries, now picturesque cafes and coffeehouses squat in the shuttered buildings, each packed with artists, students, and petite-bourgeois types from dawn to dusk. One distillery has been completely leveled and replaced with an eerily silent construction site, but an advertisement plastered fence blocks any view of what's being built.

• The Musketeers of Brewer Row, a cutthroat gang of dilettante young thugs hopped up on caffeine, reign under the row's placid surface; extorting shopkeepers, smuggling rare blends, fighting for turf with the Juniper Syndicate. Nothing is too base for them.
  
• Blackjack Teeva : A flamboyant, charming young art student and captain of the Musketeers. She shares a flat with Hogarth Van Tripe.  
• Harbors a hatred for lamp-lighters, she is still searching for one among their number who burnt down her family home.
  

 

Speculative Fish Exchange  

A green painted wrought-iron arcade with a nautical motif. Between the stalls selling fish and bivalves are huge chalk and ticker boards around which cluster screaming mobs of brokers, traders, and fishmongers haggling over stocks. Built atop the exchange's roof among the gulls and pigeons is the shop of the boroughs most notorious fence.

• Maynard Runt : A plucky young orphan in a newly tailored suit and grease-stained flatcap who has risen from oyster-shucker to wealthiest fish-futures broker in the entire borough, with plans to rise yet higher still.
  
• Attended by "Mother & Father," two sluggish bodyguards (strong, snub-pistols).
  
• Looking to branch out of fish-futures and into other investments.
• Rumoured to keep valuable stock certificates in his old flatcap (a memento of his days as an urchin).

 

The Symposium  

The grand bathhouse has long been shuttered but its upper stories have been taken over by the "Rooftop Republic," a commune of starving artists, chimney-sweeps, and criminals who inhabit the boroughs many garrets and attics. A few knocked out walls and presto, a squat, forum, theater, and art expo all in one. In the lower stories among the old tile-work and furnaces, it is said there's a leaky steam-tunnel that connects to the Underground.

• Hogarth Van Tripe : President-elect of the republic, an easily bullied, harmless dope who spends more time fussing over his cravat than getting anything done. 
• Keeps getting re-elected because he'll do whatever everyone tells him to.
• Shares a flat with Blackjack Teeva.
• Younger brother of Howard Van Tripe.
  
• Deazel : A scurrilous man in a filthy top-hat with all the airs of a showman and manners of a thug. He collects a 10s toll per head of anyone who wants to use "his" door to the Underground.
  
• Utterly mercenary, a coward, but one who will plot revenge.
  
• A silver whistle hangs around his neck, if threatened Deazel will blow on it, summoning 1d6+1 quicksilver warriors to his aid.
  
• The Fantastic Phantasmo : A masked second-story man and part-time tout, he knows every inch of the boroughs rooftops and the many inhabitants thereof. Conducts himself like a prize-winning spaniel.
  

 

Gleam Alley  

A snaking alleyway lined with old brick tenements now disappearing beneath the facades of piled up gin-palaces, all a-glitter with mirrors, lamps, and flashy advertising. The bright lights distract from the drunks, violent brawls, and omnipresent smell of vomit.... ITS ALSO ... ?

• Gleam Alley is controlled by the shadowy Juniper Syndicate who have consolidated most of the borough's pubs and gin joints under their control. Those operating without cutting in the syndicate tend to vanish and turn up day's later with completely different personalities, all too willing to fork over a portion of profits. A gang-war simmers with the Musketeers of Coffee Row, whose addictive brews threaten to undercut the syndicate's monopoly on vice.

Onion Gate 

A sullen lump of ancient masonry decorated with carven alliums; lonely remnant of the city's walls. Traffic congeals around either end, channeled down the narrow street. During revolts its a favorite place to build a barricade, the rest of the time it is plagued with newsboys and costermongers hawking their wares to omnibuses full of visiting suburbanites and soldiers on leave. Several newspapers and print-shops keep their offices nearby, including the Diacritical Gazette who operate out of an ancient house perched right above the gate itself.

• The Brother (& Sister) Hood of Criers, Couriers and Newsies is an ad-hoc union run by the rather vicious children who compromise the majority of its allied professions. Ostensibly democratic, in practice the personal gang of various young demagogues. They hold sway over most of the boroughs urchins and are adepts in the arts of slander, public announcement, and quick getaways.
  

The Postal Branch 

A decaying old theater cum post office. Carriages full of mail-sacks and rushing messengers crowd the street out. Inside long backed-up queues stake out the front desk and rollerskating interns rush mail trolleys to sorting stations. The sub-basement is home to pawnshop that's still selling off the remnants of the old theater's costume and props.

• The Patented Automatic Sorting Engine : An immense and complicated machine of pneumatic tubes and turning gears that was installed to deal with manpower shortages, after the postmaster mysterious died the Engine started issuing orders and now practically runs the place. 
• Howard Van Tripe : Deputy postmaster, a nervous fidgety man, who has come to hate letters and machinery. Every rattle of a pneumatic tube presages the arrival of another of the Engine's dictates. Would love to dismantle it but fears retribution. Brother of Hogarth Van Tripe.
  

The Old Botanical Gardens 

Overshadowed for some years now by the New Botanical Gardens in Upper Aigu; the grounds have grown tangled and wild. Frequented only by drunks, neer'do'wells, puppeteers, and actors. The old saurian statues have been torn down and buried and the shabby old limestone caves, once an attraction have faded from relevance, frequented only by smugglers moving contraband liquor and fine beef through the Underground. Each month more illegally built housing encroaches on the edges of the gardens. 

• The Poor Fellow Thespians have long been without a theater and haunt the gardens, putting on ad-hoc productions for local families and sleeping under bridges. They are cunning and embittered.
  
• Do-Good-Upon-The-World Martha : The garden's sole remaining groundskeeper. Wild haired, she roams the park with a shotgun, sledgehammer, shovel, and satchel of crude bombs; waging a guerilla war on squatters and illegal developers. A sort of boogeyman for the neighborhood.
  

Gibson Icehouse Firm 

Formerly a minor prince's palace, the baroque wings and annexes have been converted into a massive refrigerated warehouse complex. A stream of barges unload ice ferried in from Deep Country onto the canal-side docks every hour of the day. The cellars are vast and rumours abound of strange things stored on ice down there. The firm employs hundreds of deliverymen in their distinctive black-checkered livery.

• Old Man Gibson : Has a taste for the Weird and pays well for odd items brought out of Deep Country and the Underground. Has a one sided rivalry with Rochefort who he views as an un-discerning hack.
  
• Sally Gibson : The old man's daughter, a businesswoman to the core, she disapproves of her father's hobbies and has been maneuvering for years to get him declared senile so she can take over the company.
  

Flind - My Edition

Flind

DEX 12, WIL 14, 5hp

- Flindbar (d6, make a Dex save or be disarmed)

• A well built people with feliform features, known for their keen smell and knowledge of herbs.
• Always carry a collection of various roots, remedies, teas, and pipestuff about them.
• Prefer to disarm and frighten assailants and enemies.

Although tending to avoid their own kind and travel alone, Flind are quite gregarious, especially when given a chance to discuss herblore. It is indeed rare to meet a Flind who doesn't at least have a passing knowledge of the subject (though there are certainly those who have other interests). 

Mezzodaemon - My Edition

Mezzodaemon

DEX 15, WIL 13, 8hp, Chitinous Exoskeleton (Armour 1).

- Jagged Claws (d6)

• Hoard magical tomes and artifacts which they employ and will barter for.
• Can create gates between various dimensions and planes of existence, 
• Jealously guard their true names, which would allow the possessor to command them.

Transdimensional travelers and inhabitants of the in-between places. Mezzodaemon's curate and carry with themselves personal collections of occult items. They are normally quite loathe to let go of an item but can be persuaded to trade. Often found grudgingly in the service of wizards and other sorts who have acquired the Mezzodaemon's true name.

Death Knight - My Edition

Death Knight

STR 15, DEX 15, 16hp, Armour 2.

- Wields an ancient Longsword (d8, can create gouts of cold flame for d4 blast dmg )

• Radiates a chilling cold that seems to drain the surrounds of all heat.
• Can command the weak willed to cower before it.
• In dire situations it can create a gate to its chosen place of respite.

A Death Knight is made by binding the spirit of an ignobly deceased warrior to their body and arms, it is thought to be a form of lichdom. The resulting being is one driven by shame for its half-remembered death. A Death Knight is not stupid, but its intense devotion to 'correcting' for its shame is often easily manipulatable. It will leap upon any opportunity to show courage and worthiness yet can never truly atone. For it does not even remember what it is atoning for. Merely that it must somehow.

The Good Doctor Amalia

Oh, glorious electricity! That which arcs and sparks from the living wires and descends from the heavens with all the fury of a god! If only for a moment one could achieve that transcendence.

At least that was the good doctor's plan. Unfortunately for her it worked. Mostly. The procedure burnt away her mortal flesh till all there was left was the electric traceries of a nervous system. But in the process the her suit melted and twisted to the whims of strange physics forever trapping her within.

She is thoroughly convinced that this is no fault of her own nor flaw in method. No it could only have been sabotage!

Currently the doctor wanders the streets seeking her imagined saboteur and chasing electrical phenomena in vain hope of freeing herself from this prison and becoming pure energy.

Doctor Amalia

3hp, Dex 14, Rubber Suit (armour 1), Lightning Gun (d10, blast)*

Heavy rubber suit, faint crackling of electricity inside.

    - Can be found attempting to murder whoever she has decided is the saboteur today

    - If her suit is damaged the rubber melts closing the gap.

    - Easily distracted with academic papers

* the blast tag applies to all surrounding who are not grounded or insulated

The Dead Shore

Betwixt Deep Country and Deep Water lies the Dead Shore. A long coastal region of mudflats and wide beaches, it is littered and piled with the decaying corpses of huge whales, strange squid, and all manner of sea creatures. 

Encounters

People to meet while traveling along the Dead Shore.

Excited Zoologists (1d6)

3hp, Assorted Sample Jars, Sketchbooks, Nets (d4, entangles)

Scientifically minded Bastiards out studying the sea life.

    - Enthusiastically cluster around new organisms

    - Will pay for creatures they haven't seen before

Herd Of Crabs

2hp, DEX 12, Armour 1, Pincers (d6, blast)

Crustaceans searching for a meal.

    - Won't bother you unless threatening or particularly tasty

    - Will take at least an hour for them all to pass

Lord Canard's Men (1d10+1 soldiers)

4hp, STR 13, Expensive Rifles (d8)

Thugs out on orders, looking for a particular oddity. 

    - Will confiscate anything particularly weird or interesting looking

    - Don't really want fight but need something to give to their boss

Bone Pickers (1d4)

3hp, Blubber Cutting Knives (d6)

Collecting fish and meaty bits.

    - Might try to haggle with the party for supplies

    - Know the area well

Clever Carcasse Squid

2hp, DEX 17, Sharp Nip (d4)

Actually a small blue-brown octopus.

    - Will steal shiny items and run off

    - Very smart and pretty friendly if mischievous

Flock Of Territorial Seagulls

6hp, Bitey (d6, blast)

Will harass you and steal food.

    - Fly out of the way of attacks

    - Confusing, chaotic, and loud

Carrion Town

Built around the carcass of a truly titanic whale which has been carved out to become the towns pub, market, and local meeting hall. Shanty huts and tents sprawl out to surround it. The bone pickers and gut collectors who roam the Dead Shore meet here to trade their goods.

The town is noted for its fermented whale meat. A delicacy in Bastion and a hated meal here.

The players as newcomers to the town are likely to be accosted by Micky Putt, a child around twelve years of age, who will offer to take them to the Wreck of the Psychi for salvaging purposes.

The Whale's Stomach Pub

Literally a whale's stomach. The most prominent and only pub on the Dead Shore. The bartender is a loud old fellow by the name of Punch Up Prester who lacks a leg but possesses a nasty right hook. The place smells of rot and strong spirits.

Punch Up Prester

5hp, DEX 8, Nasty Right Hook & Cane (d6)

Missing a leg, walks with a cane/thumping stick.

    - Cannot speak quietly no matter how hard he tries

    - Instantly won over by anyone who can prove themselves in a fight

Ms. Lilly's Soap Manufactory

A squat building constructed of cut timber dragged down from higher up the shore. Ms. Lilly and her employees spend their time rending down fish, seal, and whale fat into a foul smelling soap that they sell in Bastion for a pretty penny.

Lord Canard & His Men

A once wealthy Bastiard pursuing rumors of a powerful oddity. He and his gang of thugs have been harassing the residents of Carrion Town for months. They are currently encamped outside town.

Lord Canard

4hp, CHA 14, Dueling Pistols (d8+d8)

Dressed in a winged top hat.

    - In reality, he is unable to pay his thugs in full

    - Prefers false promises and betrayals as tactics

Big Nhi

6hp, STR 15, CHA 12, Gnarled Club (d6)

Wears sturdy trousers with her suspenders.

    - Oher thugs defer to her as unofficial leader

    - Quite cunning and well spoken

Convincing Chocolate Coins

An oddity possessed by Lord Canard. A CHA save is required of anyone within hearing range of the person eating one of these coins. If failed any lies about promised wealth and reward spoken by the eater will be believed. There are 3 coins left.

Blubber Ridge

A particular quirk of the currents and the coast's topography piles the carcasses in great numbers here. So many whales, seals, sharks, squid, and fish are deposited here as to form a foul-smelling landscape of rotting meat. Valleys and ridges and even caves are formed by the decaying masses. 

On occasion the area is rocked by violent explosions caused by the buildup of gases from decomposition. 

In addition to scavenging crabs, carcass squid, and bone pickers a massive elephant seal called Mean Arnold has made its home here. Travellers best be wary or be faced with an territorially 9000 lb seal spoiling for a fight.

Mean Arnold

8hp, STR 15, Armour 2, Body Slam (d8)

Massive scar across the chest.

    - Will fight anything and everything in sight

    - Has a sweet tooth for fermented whale meat

Wreck Of The Psychi

An ancient whaling schooner; run aground for several years. Only a few hours walk from Carrion Town but locals have been avoiding it as of late for it is reputed to be haunted. They are not entirely wrong. 

The Psychi was once captained by Emily Winder, a familiar name to any Bastiard. Indicted in a voice-stealing scandal, she fled Bastion aboard the schooner after an exciting series of events that resulted in at least two large explosions and one tram crash.

The Voice Stealing Phonograph

Center of the whole affair. If a victim's voice is recorded, turned into a disc and played, they lose their speech. Until a new disc is played the phonograph will reproduce any words whispered to it in that victim's exact voice and vernacular. It does not come with recording equipment.

Currently hidden in the captain's cabin next to Winder's corpse.

The culprit behind the reported hauntings is Micky Putt, an orphan who has hashed out a deal with the pod of Clever Carcass Squid living in the wreck. Micky hangs around Carrion Town looking for newcomers, then offers to lead them to the wreck for salvaging.

Upon arrival they promptly disappear and use the phonograph to scare the would be salvagers while the octopuses steal their valuables.

Micky Putt

2hp, STR 6, Stolen Knife (d6)

Surprisingly tidy and new clothes.

    - Acts as innocent and charmingly childish as possible

    - Can be fairly reasonable however, and willing to adapt

The Driftwood Tower

More of a pile than a tower, really. A tall, teetering edifice of old grey driftwood built above the tide on a rocky point. One can just barely make it out on the horizon from Carrion Town, a good day's journey away. 

Within, the tower is hollow all the way through but at the base a staircase winds down into the rock. Beneath is a small labyrinth of tunnels inhabited by a dying Machine held together by a patchwork of bone and seal leather.

The Machine will put intruders through traps and tribulations in a desperate attempt to drive them away. At the center of the labyrinth lies this oddity.

The Narwhal Horn (d8)

If broken, summons a Polyhorn Narwhal to the breaker's aid. They will demand tribute when done. If you pay it they will give you a new horn in return.

Thanks to Yochai Gal for helping edit the content!