Above the Brokejaw range are the Nertmen, and their mist-choked forests of auld. These men of iron and fur stalk not the paths tread by those who are more often not, evidence of their passing fleeting and separated by great voids.
Tales of villages dissipating into nothing upon return visits are not the excuses of poor navigators - those who built them impart their nature upon them - the Vanishing People. To fight them is to find yourself swinging at nothing, fickle phantoms merging with the mists. To trade with them is to throw coins down a well - fantastical goods vanishing into nothing in the back of wagons. And so they are left to their mysterious devices in the mist.
Nertmen priests ambiguously link them to ancestors, winter, time and stone-working.
Monday, 13 July 2015
Thursday, 9 July 2015
Who Eats Most?
The admirals and diplomats eat the most. Quality is not an issue with ghouls, but quantity is essential. The hunger is never sated, but the more you eat, the more rational you become. Those at the top, those who make the decisions are fed regularly. They are still utterly insane from the hunger, a howling which will not cease. Endless.
The captains and the Wardens - tasked with caring for the Restless - are the next step below, still retaining an edge of the feral ferocity associated with the wild Ghouls not incorporated into the Hungry Empire. To interfere with a Warden is one of the only crimes in the Empire.
The sailors do well from their flesh-piracy, although many captains allow the Ghoulish fear of water to maintain their focus rather regular feeding. The soldiers of the Empire are allowed to eat of the enemy dead as their pay, leading to a strange rhythm of minimalistic assaults lacking all strategy before organised, well-executed maneuvers as befitting a professional army.
The Restless are those driven to near catatonia by the lack of meat. Most the Empire's territory is taken up by these figures, sitting beneath the sun, shaded by their hats. Visitors have compared the effect to a field of flowers with dead, twitching stems, swaying in the wind and beaten remorselessly by the sunlight. As needed, sections of the Restless are rounded up and fed to a state suiting their new station.
A Note on Culture ~ Sir Terrence of Floyd
A most puzzling export of the Hungry Empire is their art and literature- truly stunning works produced by dead minds animated by a single force. This force taints all of their works, although many of the more skilled are able to cloak this terrible urge under layers of abstraction. Some of the more fashionable readers and nobles of the Nilfenberg Empire clamour for genuine articles of Ghoulish art and writing, something obviously restricted by the Church. Something about this all encompassing passion speaks to the living as much as the dead, although the scandalous knowledge of what must be bartered to obtain it no doubt thrills the jaded nobility.
The captains and the Wardens - tasked with caring for the Restless - are the next step below, still retaining an edge of the feral ferocity associated with the wild Ghouls not incorporated into the Hungry Empire. To interfere with a Warden is one of the only crimes in the Empire.
The sailors do well from their flesh-piracy, although many captains allow the Ghoulish fear of water to maintain their focus rather regular feeding. The soldiers of the Empire are allowed to eat of the enemy dead as their pay, leading to a strange rhythm of minimalistic assaults lacking all strategy before organised, well-executed maneuvers as befitting a professional army.
The Restless are those driven to near catatonia by the lack of meat. Most the Empire's territory is taken up by these figures, sitting beneath the sun, shaded by their hats. Visitors have compared the effect to a field of flowers with dead, twitching stems, swaying in the wind and beaten remorselessly by the sunlight. As needed, sections of the Restless are rounded up and fed to a state suiting their new station.
A Note on Culture ~ Sir Terrence of Floyd
A most puzzling export of the Hungry Empire is their art and literature- truly stunning works produced by dead minds animated by a single force. This force taints all of their works, although many of the more skilled are able to cloak this terrible urge under layers of abstraction. Some of the more fashionable readers and nobles of the Nilfenberg Empire clamour for genuine articles of Ghoulish art and writing, something obviously restricted by the Church. Something about this all encompassing passion speaks to the living as much as the dead, although the scandalous knowledge of what must be bartered to obtain it no doubt thrills the jaded nobility.
Monday, 15 June 2015
Stitcher - Graftmaster Supreme
The Stitcher is a rogue barber-surgeon willing to use a dash of magic to 'improve' his patients. Banned in most places, incredibly useful for those at risk of limb loss. The issue with these replacements is the risk of picking up elements of the previous holder.
Progression as Magic User, with the addition of a First Aid skill which progresses like that of a halfing.
Things a Stitcher can Do
- Pickle wizard brains. A wizard brain takes days equal to the MUs level to prepare, and when done can be eaten by a magic user to gain knowledge of any spells stored within. Save Vs Poison (at a penalty equal to the brain's MU level) or else you've got another wizard riding in your skull, yelling at you most likely.
- Temporary grafts. Attach temporary additional limbs/organs or give them a leg to walk back to town. Takes 30 minutes. These last d4 hours, and give a -4 to the corruption roll. (explained below)
- Permanent grafts. As above, but permanent.
Grafts and Grafting
You can only support grafts equal to your constitution modifier +2, unless you're replacing something with an example from your own species. Eye for an eye.
Grafting takes a day, with another day for recovering and getting used to the additional body parts. When the craft is complete, the graftee must roll under constitution + grafter level or else try again with a new body part. A good, clean place for surgery gives -2 to the roll, and exceptionally dirty places +2.
After the graft is complete, make a Corruption roll, modified as below.
Progression as Magic User, with the addition of a First Aid skill which progresses like that of a halfing.
Things a Stitcher can Do
- Pickle wizard brains. A wizard brain takes days equal to the MUs level to prepare, and when done can be eaten by a magic user to gain knowledge of any spells stored within. Save Vs Poison (at a penalty equal to the brain's MU level) or else you've got another wizard riding in your skull, yelling at you most likely.
- Temporary grafts. Attach temporary additional limbs/organs or give them a leg to walk back to town. Takes 30 minutes. These last d4 hours, and give a -4 to the corruption roll. (explained below)
- Permanent grafts. As above, but permanent.
Grafts and Grafting
You can only support grafts equal to your constitution modifier +2, unless you're replacing something with an example from your own species. Eye for an eye.
Grafting takes a day, with another day for recovering and getting used to the additional body parts. When the craft is complete, the graftee must roll under constitution + grafter level or else try again with a new body part. A good, clean place for surgery gives -2 to the roll, and exceptionally dirty places +2.
After the graft is complete, make a Corruption roll, modified as below.
Situation
|
Modifier
|
Replacing a lost part
|
+0
|
Replacing an existing part
|
+2
|
Additional part
|
+4
|
Fingers / Toes
|
+0
|
Hands / Feet
|
+1
|
Arms / Legs
|
+2
|
Ears
|
+1
|
Eyes
|
+2
|
Genitals
|
+2
|
Internals
|
+4
|
Brains
|
+5
|
Same Species
|
-1
|
Natural Creature (Animals etc.)
|
0
|
Magical Creature (Unicorn, dragon etc.)
|
+2
|
Unnatural Create (Aberrations, created things etc.)
|
+4
|
Outsiders (Devils, demons, angels and worse)
|
+6
|
The Corruption roll determines how much the replacement is going to effect you in unintended ways, and is made on a d20.
Roll
|
Severity
|
>0
|
Absolutely nothing happens. Perfect surgery. Good job, doc!
|
1-5
|
Some minor changes. Nothing noticeable.
|
6-10
|
Manageable changes. Friends and family will notice.
|
11-15
|
Moderate changes. You've become someone similar, but different.
|
16-20
|
Significant changes. You (might) look the same, but something is
wrong.
|
21-25
|
Huge changes. You’re more different than the same.
|
26+
|
A New You. The old you is dead. Long live the new you.
|
The changes wrought depend on the source of the transplant. Example - Goblin Eyes.
At a minor level, you like steak a bit rarer than before.
Moving up slightly, you start getting urges to skulk or steal things. Nothing too serious.
Or perhaps you were less lucky. You can't resist picking up things now, and have a big thing for raw meat. The light hurts your eyes too.
You just don't feel right these days. The sun is too bright, the humans are too loud - wait, you did it again. Oh dear.
You keep trying to fit into spaces too small, you can't stand light and hate cooked food. You sometimes think in Goblin, although you don't understand it.
You're actually a big Goblin. The biggest Goblin. Travelling with humans is a lark.You love stealing, raw meat, torture and hatehatehate the sun.
Corruption effects within the same species would be more about taking on elements of the donors personality.
Of course, any natural benefits of the new body part are also inferred. Darkvision, increased strength, you name it. You should get used to bribing the GM or being able to bullshit about the anatomy of the things you're cutting up and splicing onto yourself/your patients.
Saturday, 13 June 2015
The Beauty of Bastards - Sandboxes to Burn
Two of my campaigns are founded upon a single commandment - get rich or die trying. This had led to both games being the chronicles of a team of utter bastards wreaking merry havoc across the land (see the early LotFP write-ups for the origin of the Six Bastards), and I honestly find it to be the most satisfying thing to DM. The principle motivator of money explains the group sticking together, and lets you realistically plan what they're going to do. What with this being a role-playing game, things are guaranteed to get interesting when the characters are choosing between riches and non-monetary gains.
The mindset of trying to take the world for a ride also means the players are going to examine everything for potential gain, both within dungeons and within settlements, leading to some fun world building and some excellent (and not so excellent) plans, including dungeoneering for political funding, organised smear campaigns against noble houses and the blackmail of armed forces. A well-thought out sandbox with interesting scenarios for the players to get embedded in works wonderfully, especially when they cause things to backfire on themselves.
The only potential issue is ensuring players aren't too eager to betray each other - so far, it's mostly been the shared knowledge of atrocities and honour amongst thieves. Running LotFP, alignment isn't an issue for this sort of play.
The mindset of trying to take the world for a ride also means the players are going to examine everything for potential gain, both within dungeons and within settlements, leading to some fun world building and some excellent (and not so excellent) plans, including dungeoneering for political funding, organised smear campaigns against noble houses and the blackmail of armed forces. A well-thought out sandbox with interesting scenarios for the players to get embedded in works wonderfully, especially when they cause things to backfire on themselves.
The only potential issue is ensuring players aren't too eager to betray each other - so far, it's mostly been the shared knowledge of atrocities and honour amongst thieves. Running LotFP, alignment isn't an issue for this sort of play.
Sunday, 24 May 2015
Social Weave
The inner forest hides it, and it embraces the unique nature of the place. The members scuttle, passing messages along web-networks which act as telegrams, subtle vibrations giving a constant updates to the Weave. To an outsider, the monolithic system of these gigantic social spiders is sealed tight, impossible to penetrate.
Families will share central web-complexes like the noble houses of the aristocracy, with the young scions ranging far in their hunts. All families are connected to the Line, a length of web connecting all within the Weave's domain, used to pass messages along in the form of subtle vibrations. Hidden meanings and codes are common, as anyone could be listening in.
Most members are bound in a web unyielding as those they weave. The most common bond is child to parent - great broods of children carrying out the bidding of their mother. The females outnumber the males greatly, and the fathers are not directly involved with the children, although they decide how the Weave develops and grows.
The second bond is that of the client. Like the system of ancient Rome, a favour performed is to be paid back when owed desires it. And so most of the population is double-bound between their mother and their duties as a client. What these favours are is incomprehensible to bipeds, the alien arachnid mind operating in differing patterns.
Occasionally, an outcast of the Weave will capture a Magic User with the ability to speak tongues. The patient, alien mind of the spider will listen to the desperate promises of tutelage. These mage-spiders are terrible, their eight-legged patience perfect for arcane study. These few are welcomed back to the Weave, and have begun teaching others, a powerful favour indeed.
 |
| Spider's Spellbooks are hidden amongst the endless webs. |
Saturday, 23 May 2015
Thursday, 21 May 2015
Phagelands
Not geography but an infection, coursing through the landscape. A patch of plague, where parasite-trees claw the sky atop tumour-hills. Infected valleys weep the earth's pus. Yet the Phagelands do not stagnate - competition is rife amongst the many diseases and disorders present, and therein lies it's deadly lure. The huge, complex hierarchies of infections and parasites have led to twisted cures which literally eat other diseases, leaving the host comparatively unharmed - after all, nothing normal lives in the Phagelands.
The plaguescape does have its migratory inhabitants - trains of lepers accompanied by a litany of death-rattles, those driven to desperation by biological ruin hunting across the dying land for the cure to what ails. Diseases are adaptable however, and take their toll on the desperate as they change to infect their new hosts.
The Phagelands move, drifting across the landscape. Though the size varies, it is always at least a days travel wide. Animals flee and plants die as it blindly slides across the lands, unperturbed by obstacles. Cities have been devastated simply through loss of cropland, let alone the nightmarish infestation of direct contact. It has lurked beneath the sea for centuries before, eventually emerging onto land once more, beset with new infections and maladies.
Those who have the misfortune to dwell long in drifting disaster speak in hushed whispers of the Walking Plagues, who have developed an alien intelligence and stalk their dying environs. No healthy human has seen one, and can you trust one who chooses to live in such a place?
The plaguescape does have its migratory inhabitants - trains of lepers accompanied by a litany of death-rattles, those driven to desperation by biological ruin hunting across the dying land for the cure to what ails. Diseases are adaptable however, and take their toll on the desperate as they change to infect their new hosts.
The Phagelands move, drifting across the landscape. Though the size varies, it is always at least a days travel wide. Animals flee and plants die as it blindly slides across the lands, unperturbed by obstacles. Cities have been devastated simply through loss of cropland, let alone the nightmarish infestation of direct contact. It has lurked beneath the sea for centuries before, eventually emerging onto land once more, beset with new infections and maladies.
Those who have the misfortune to dwell long in drifting disaster speak in hushed whispers of the Walking Plagues, who have developed an alien intelligence and stalk their dying environs. No healthy human has seen one, and can you trust one who chooses to live in such a place?
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