Six Lions in Wermspittle

I am not afraid of an army of lions led by a sheep; I am afraid of an army of sheep led by a lion.

Alexander the Great

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There once were lions that prowled the mountainous regions to the West and South of Wermspittle. For a while it was fashionable to hunt the magnificent beasts, at least until there were too few lions and far too many hunters out in those wooded hills and the hunters turned their gonnes and spears against one another...

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1. Proud Zalik. Horribly scarred across his flanks, his left paw mangled by a hunter's trap, Zalik has outlasted and outwitted everyone who has ever pursued him. He is a survivor. Clever and ruthless, he has learned how to observe those who would hunt him and to learn their weaknesses, which he then exploits to destroy them.
   

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   Proud Zalik (unique) [Huge, Adult, Male Mountain Lion; AL N, MV 180' (60'), AC 4, HD 10, #AT 3, DG 2d4/2d4/4d4, SV F10, ML 12 (fearless), Special: Zalik not only does not play fair, he uses ESP and Clairvoyance to observe his would-be hunters. All creatures under 3HD must make a Save or suffer the effects of a Cause Fear spell when Zalik roars. If confronted with Black Smoke, Zalik will make a hasty strategic withdrawal, but will make a point of killing whomever dared use it on him.]

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2. Ridolphe. Brass has made this old lion immortal. Expertly cast as the very last piece produced by Fernand Mankaullier in his grand studio, there is an almost elemental sense of majesty contained within the sleek lines and dramatic features of this restless, untamed statue. They say it prowls the old studio grounds still...
   

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   Ridoplphe (unique) [Huge, Adult, Male Brass Lion; AL N, MV 240' (80'), AC 0, HD 12, #AT 2/1/1 (Claws/Bite/Roar), DG 4d8*/3d10/3d6+Fear, SV F10, ML 12 (fearless), Special: Ridolphe moves fast for a beast weighing well over a ton. His body is cast from a proprietary form of brass known only to Mankaullier and his three apprentices.*If Ridolphe scores a natural 20 to hit, he does an additional 4d8 damage by raking his target with his hind claws. Hold, Sleep, Charm only last for 1d4 rounds before he shakes off the effects. Ridolphe's spirit is bound to an Opal mounted on his brow, destroying the Opal (90 hit points) frees his spirit and renders the brass form inert. If the Opal is not destroyed, the brass body will flow back into its original form in 1d4 hours, however it only regains 10 hit points per day and must completely heal before Ridolphe can become animate again.]

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3. Yzgridt. An ivory amulet carved to represent a crouching lioness. It is very, very old and so is the spirit that resides within it...
   

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   Yzgridt (unique) [Huge, Adult, Female Geist Lion; AL N, MV 180' (60'), AC 4, HD 6, #AT 3, DG 2d4/2d4/3d4, SV F6, ML 12 (fearless), Special: Yzgridt may be called forth three more times before the old amulet finally shatters into dust and fragments. She radiates an aura that combines Protection From Evil, Protection From Normal Missiles, and Remove Fear in a 20' radius for the duration of her manifestation.]

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4. Vossitelle. She was brought to this place by a group of hunters who supplied rare beasts to the exotic menageries and zoological gardens of the rich and powerful. Her distinctive speckled markings along her haunches made her a rare find and helped fetch her captors a hefty price. After the bombings, the riots and chaos, Vossitelle found herself surrounded by a host of Neomorphs, exotic animals and sheep...a flock of strangely cunning and carnivorous sheep that have since accepted her as their protector and defender...
   

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   Vossitelle (unique) [Medium, Adult, Female Lion; AL N, MV 180' (60'), AC 4, HD 6+1, #AT 3, DG 1d4/1d4/2d4, SV F10, ML 11, Special: Vossitelle can summon 1d6 Carnivorous sheep every 4 turns. These deranged animals will fight to the death to defend her. Neither the sheep nor Vossitelle are anything more, or less, than animals. They seek only to survive in a very peculiar environment, or to escape to a better place. There is a strange pool within the old greenhouse where all the animals in this place get their water. The pool seems to be contaminated in some way, possibly with some manner of Spectral Brine or something. The longer they stay here, the smarter the beasts seem to become...]

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5. Zura. She killed dozens of hunters with those scimitar-like fangs in her brief career of infamy as a man-eater. The newspapers and promoters liked to exaggerate and say that she had devoured hundreds of unlucky hunters and their servants. She never kept a count...
   

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   Zura (unique) [Huge, Adult, Female Sabre-Toothed Lion; AL N, MV 180' (60'), AC 5, HD 8, #AT 3, DG 3d4/3d4/5d4, SV F16, ML 12 (fearless), Special: Zura is now an Undead Zoological Specimen. She is turned as a 16HD Undead Creature. She is driven by an insatiable urge to kill.]

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6. Blackmane. A noble creature. Originally brought into the city by the commander of a Pruztian Jungle Korps unit returning to the homeland after three long years in a green hell. This beast was intended to be released on a private hunting preserve. A bomb demolished the hotel where the commander was staying. Now Blackmane prowls the alleys of Wermspittle.
   

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   Blackmane (unique) [Huge, Adult, Male Lion; AL N, MV 180' (60'), AC 4, HD 6, #AT 3, DG 2d4/2d4/4d4, SV F14, ML 12 (fearless), Special: A wonderful specimen wandering about the streets and alleys looking for easy-pickings. He is easily distracted by shiny objects and the scent of females in heat.]

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Lions | Tigers | Bears

Lesser Beasts
Red Bestiary Index

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There have been conflicting and disturbing reports of some sort of gang that has taken over the old Brazgan Estate. It is unsure if the gang is some sort of group of rogue shepherds, possibly from Menillia, or whether it might in fact be some sort of autonomous flock of monstrously deformed and dangerous animals. Local Authorities have insisted on getting jurisdiction established before anyone sends anyone to investigate the matter...

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Shockheads (Red Bestiary)

Just look at him! There he stands,
With his nasty hair and nasty hands.
See! His nails are never cut;
They are grimed as black as soot...

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Shockheads
(A.K.A. Struwelpeters, Slovenly Ones)
No. Enc.: 2d4
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 90' (30')
Armor Class: 5
Hit Dice: 2+2
Attacks: 2 (Filthy Nails) or 1 (Bite)
Damage: 1d6/1d6+Plague or 2d4+Plague
Save: F4
Morale: 8

Filthy little degenerates. They reek of grease, rubbish and ordure. Despicable things. They torment small animals and spread pestilence and plague in their wake. Thoroughly dehumanized and fearfully weaponized, these diminutive beings have been sent back home to spread confusion, terror and disease among those they barely remember.

Any time someone is bitten or scratched by a Shockhead, there is a base 10% chance that the victim contracts a cruel wasting disease. Those failing a Save versus poison incur the loss of 2d6 hit points and suffer a terrible fever that leaves them delirious and unable to recover lost hit points for the duration of the disease. Those who succeed on the Save take half damage and are only intermittently delirious and recover 1 hit point per day maximum, until the disease runs its course or they receive a Cure Disease spell or a similarly effective cure.

Those who succumb to the plague spread by Shockheads do not die, but rather transform into Shockheads on the very brink of death. Once transformed, there is no known way to recover the victim.

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The Franzikaner newspapers claim that the first Shockheads were children captured by the Pruztians. The Pruztian press insist that the Shockheads were the result of botched military experiments by the Franzikaners. At this time there is not enough evidence to support, nor to dismiss either claim...

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Source of Inspiration: Struwelpeter by Heinrich Hoffmann, was originally written as a book intended to provide moral instruction to small children, revealing the drastically exaggerated consequences of misbehavior such as bad manners or poor hygiene in an over-the-top way. There are decent English translations of this book available at Archive.org, and at Project Gutenberg.

Bujilli: Episode 91

Previously...
Bujilli slipped and fell down a stairwell...and wound up meeting a hungry tiger in the dark. A lucky pistol-shot surprised the tiger and drove the thing off, at least for the moment.

Leeja bid farewell to her estranged sister Niobe who has tasked Mishka to take Leeja to Bujilli. Mama Rudta prepares her people to leave Wermspittle once Mishka returns. Niobe has gone off to confront the mysterious Bathurst...

"BANG!"

Bujilli's nostrils burned. He hated discharging fire-arms in enclosed spaces, but the hungry tiger insisted.

He scrambled back up the corkscrew ladder and started looking for a small space to wriggle into, somewhere the tiger down below couldn't get at him. Hopefully. He needed to re-load his pistol again. It had been sheer luck that he had finished right before the big cat returned.

The beast was persistent.

That was never a good thing. Not when it was hunting after you.

Bujilli clambered across a gap in the catwalk. Jumped. grabbed hold of a bent railing and pulled himself up into the works overhead. Gears. Huge pulleys and bearings and cables. The dark space reeked of oil and rust. He climbed behind the biggest cables. A precarious perch atop some sort of ledge bolted to a support pillar. He tried to re-load the manticore pistol with still shaking hands.

The roared. Bujilli dropped a paper-wrapped cartridge. He cursed in frustration as the cylindrical packet bounced down through the gaps between machinery, cables and metalwork. The tiger roared more loudly. The echoes made it impossible to tell how far away the ting was, or how close.

The pistol was loaded. Finally. Five tries. He huddled in the dark. Waiting for his nerves to settle.

Tigers ate Almas.

All his young life Bujilli had been raised listening to stories about tigers.

Tigers scared demons. Ate them.

Tigers ate everything.

His Uncle had summoned a tiger to dispose of a troublesome rival and her three demons. He had made Bujilli watch.

He was beaten afterwards for pissing himself in fear.

That had not been the lesson his Uncle had intended to teach him.

His hands stopped shaking.

In that moment he finally understood what his Uncle had tried to teach him.

His Uncle had summoned the tiger. Commanded it. Dismissed it once it had served him.

An Almas had proven himself the master of a tiger.

His Uncle.

He didn't know how to summon a tiger. Not yet. But he did have his Uncle's, actually his Father's Four Little Brown Journals. He could learn to summon things. Command them.

Later.

The tiger growled as it passed below. It couldn't reach him. It might not even be able to catch his scent with all the oil and rust around him.

He watched it pass.

He considered his spells.

Sleep might buy him some time, but he wasn't sure the version he knew was strong enough to affect the tiger. Bujilli wasn't inclined to tinker with it just now in the hopes that he might find a way to make it more effective against the tiger. He could try, but he wasn't terribly impressed with his chances. This was a tiger, not some already half-asleep guard.

He didn't expect to get very far with Ventriloquism, not once he started moving. The tiger would probably spot him or catch his scent once he was down from his perch and away from the defunct machinery.

He considered just taking a nap. Let the overgrown cat get bored with waiting around and it might wander off in search of someone else to eat.

Bujilli looked about him for something, anything he might use to scare off or kill the tiger down below.

Cables, cables and more cables. Gears, ratchet-things, rods and levers...nothing that really looked particularly useful for improvisational tiger abatement. A large, heavy old wrench. Rusty buckets. A small tool-kit, tipped over and mostly empty. A screw-driver and pliers, both rusted together.

Not a lot of options.

He had his nerves under control, for now, but he wasn't terribly keen on confronting the tiger face-to-face, not without something more effective than his manticore pistol. He could hurt the thing. In fact, he had already wounded the tiger. But only slightly. Just enough to annoy the beast.

He closed his eyes and consulted his Counsel. It showed him all sorts of images and diagrams of tiger anatomy and physiology. It instructed him in the dietary preferences and hunting strategies of dozens of great cats related or derived from 'tigers.' He felt himself drowning in trivia and stopped Counsel from further imprinting reams of background data into his brain. He didn't need to become an expert in the ecological significance of the creature about to eat him. He needed to drive off the big cat.

Query: Initiate Pursuit Deterrence Protocol

Yes. Bujilli smiled. He remembered how his Counsel had been able to keep a trio of assassins from pursuing him and Leeja back at the Beast Pens, where the two of them had first met. He sighed. He missed her. But there was work to do. A hungry tiger to dissuade from following him. A trip to the Market. Some answers to find. A theory to test.

A set of twelve little blue icons unobtrusively hovered on the bottom edge of his field of vision. He remembered the third one had been fairly drastic.* This time he selected option one.

His left hand began to tingle. A fine, golden sweat formed across his palm and fingers. It flowed like heavy syrup. At first. Then it began to thin out a bit. The golden fluid dripped from his hand. He held it out over the gap off to his side where he had spotted the tiger as it prowled past just a few moments before.

The golden drops fell past the rails, through the catwalk, down to the level of the tiger.

At first Bujilli wasn't certain about the hissing noise. It quickly grew loud enough to make his ears ache. A billowing golden cloud swirled down below. Obscuring everything. A blinking green icon showed that it was time to get moving.

Bujilli climbed down from his momentary refuge. The cloud hummed to itself as it hid him from the tiger.

He began to run once he reached the catwalk.

He didn't stop running until he reached the blue-tiled stalls of the Farmer's Market.

He was soaked to the skin from the cool spring rain, but he didn't care.

It was time to look for some answers.

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* We saw 'Pursuit Deterrence Protocol: Option Three in use in Episode 30.

Meanwhile...

Leeja followed the lithe girl with the red-streaked face. They ran in the rain. Along alleys. Over make-shift bridges. Down garbage-clotted ramps. Over once decorative railings. Across avenues more forest than roadway. Around the outer walls of a burned-out manor. Through mud and along the faint trails left by the gangs of feral children who hunted in these parts.

Mishka led her into some sort of ticket office. She paused to examine a rusted doorway marked 'Maintenance.'

The girl went pale with fright; "Run!"

Leeja ran after her. Back through the rain. She followed. Her mind wandering. Remembering the times she had spent running in the rain with--

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Whumpf!

Mishka grabbed Leeja by the wrist. Pulled her through the doorless opening of a looted store. Up the stairs. On the fifth floor the girl collapsed in front of a grimy window. Leeja never got a chance to see what made all the racket.

"You watch the door. I think we can avoid them. This time."

"Who?" Leeja moved back to the door. Examined the hinges. Tested it gently. When it didn't creak overly much, she pushed it half closed to provide them with better cover. Just in case.

"Brats. If we're lucky it's just a couple of polly-dollies or pudgies."

"And if not?"

"Shockheads. Bushwhackers. There are dozens of the things to choose from."

"What are they?"

"Children. Mostly. What's left of them...or what's become of them." Mishka motioned for Leeja to be silent.

 AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Whumpf!

Leeja was curious to know what was making all the noise, what was going on, but she stood at the edge of the door and kept a look-out.

A terrible screaming erupted from the street below.

Three voices. Six. A dozen. All of them in direst torment.

The building shook. Windows rattled and cracked. Somewhere a mirror shattered onto the floor.

The screaming grew louder. More discordant.

Mishka scuttled back from the window, shaking with a soul-deep revulsion. She looked right into Leeja's eyes; "We either run. Or we fight."

Bujilli has made it to the Farmer's Market in one piece, which is more than some people who've encountered the Barnum Street Mauler can say. Now he has to decide which farmers and what stalls he wants to go see...and we'll need to roll for a random Marketplace encounter, of course.

If someone would be so good as to make a D100 roll...that will determine what is going on back at the Academy...and might just have some sort of fall-out or impact on Bujilli and Leeja as we go along.

Leeja has to decide whether to run like hell, or to stick around and fight off whatever it is that is behind all that screaming down below...

As always, if you have questions or suggestions let me know in the comments, or via email.

What happens next is up to you, the readers.

You Decide!

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Previous                                Next

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Series Indexes

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

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Starting Page  |  Central Index

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About Bujilli (What is This?) | Who is Bujilli? | How to Play

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Bujilli's Character Sheet | Leeja's Character Sheet | Cast of Characters

Bujilli's Spells | Little Brown Journals | Loot Tally | House Rules

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Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)

Series Two (Episode 20-36)

Series Three (Episodes 37-49)

Series Four (Episodes 50-68)

Series Five (Episodes 69-99)
Series Six(Episodes 100-ongoing)

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Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion

Doughmunculus

Inject a few raisins of conversation into the tasteless dough of existence...

O. Henry

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Doughmunculus
No. Enc.: 2d4
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 30' (15')
Armor Class: 7
Hit Dice: 1
Attacks: 1
Damage: 1d4 (weapon)
Save: F1
Morale: 5

Crude, shabby little things hastily slapped together from odd bits of dough and infused with the life force drawn off of the excised portions of patients' bodies scrounged from the waste-hampers of surgeons, butchers and anyone else who performs similar operations of removal or amputations.

They may have been intended to serve some Midwife or Hedgecaster, but that didn't really work out so well. Now these things have gone feral and hunt Thumblings and other little-people through the spaces between walls and floors.

Some refugee families have taken to live-catching Doughmunculi and then baking them...

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Inspiration: After visiting one of my favorite bakeries, we had Stromboli. It was an excellent meal. Things just sort of clicked into place afterwards...

Zaloth (Minor Servitor)

Obscenity, which is ever blasphemy against the divine beauty in life, is a monster for which the corruption of society forever brings forth new food, which it devours in secret.

Percy Bysshe Shelley

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Zaloth
No. Enc.: 1 (1d4)
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 60' [aerial levitation]
Armor Class: 7
Hit Dice: 3+Summoner's INT mod.
Attacks: 1
Damage: 1d4+Summoner's INT mod, or by spell
Save: F1+Summoner's DEX Mod, if any.
Morale: 6+Summoner's Char Mod, if any.

Misshapen masses of convoluted flesh arranged in an unseemly pile that floats through the air like nasty balloons, the Zaloth are minor servitors called forth as guards, watchers and sentinels by those unable to call up something more substantial or menacing. Once summoned, a Zaloth remains trapped within a 30' radius on that site for 1,000 years. At the end of their service these things must make a Save to avoid dying and leaving a foul, greenish residue behind. Succeeding on their Save allows them to fade back through the interstitial regions to some far better place, at least according to their curious standards. Zaloth use both Detect Magic and See Invisible at will, and cast any spells they are taught at a level equivalent to their current HD. A Zaloth can be taught three spells of third level or below. The burden of instructing the Zaloth falls to the summoner who called them forth, who must take the time to teach them personally. They cannot and will not read. Anything. Ever. At all.

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Summon Zaloth is an obscure second-level variant of Summon Entity most often transcribed in Lower Aklo or Middle-Blue Thrushic. It would be far more common if it didn't require the summoner to permanently sacrifice 1 hit point from their normal/daily healing rate. Of course, those summoners who do take this step also gain a permanent +6 to all Reaction Rolls with Zaloth and are granted the ability to Commune With Zaloth as a spell-like ability that enables them to communicate with any Zaloth they encounter in their travels...

Conservators

I want to suggest that something -- a new social organ, a new institution -- which for a time I shall call World Encyclopaedia, is the means whereby we can solve the problem of that jigsaw puzzle and bring all the scattered and ineffective mental wealth of our world into something like a common understanding, and into effective reaction upon our vulgar everyday political, social and economic life. [...] I am sketching what is really a scheme for the reorganization and reorientation of education and information throughout the world. No less.

World Brain

by H. G. Wells

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Conservator
No. Enc.: 1d4
Alignment: N
Movement: 120' (40')
Armor Class: 6
Hit Dice: 4+
Attacks: 1
Damage:
Save: F2
Morale: 8

Cerebral beings, given to abstract thought and the perpetual sorting and organizing of all knowledge which they filter through their dangling appendages much like how a shark keeps water flowing through their gills. At any given moment a Conservator is sifting through thousands of streams of raw unprocessed data and must make a Save in order to interact with anyone outside of self-defense. They suffer a permanent -2 penalty to Initiative due to be so caught-up in the information flow.

Conservators have the following innate spell-like abilities: Clairvoyance, ESP, Levitate, Read Languages, Read Magic, Telekinesis, Telepathy, and Ventriloquism. They also can create a Force Field once per day that absorbs 100 hit points of damage per HD. Their telekinesis can manipulate fine objects with the equivalent of a DEX 17, however they can affect no more than ten pounds at any time.

Conservators advance as Magic Users, but at twice the normal XP cost, mostly due to their continually being distracted. They never modify their spells and acquire them by scavenging about in obscure texts and caches of ancient papyri or the like. Anything less than a few hundred years old is generally seen as being too new to trust.

Conservators seek to occupy abandoned libraries, disused archives, and other such places as their lairs. It is a primary goal of all Conservators to gain access to the Hexagonal Galleries. They attack Thysanurians on sight.

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No one would have believed [...] that this world was being watched keenly and closely by intelligences greater than man's and yet as mortal as his own; that as men busied themselves about their various concerns they were scrutinized and studied, perhaps almost as narrowly as a man with a microscope might scrutinize the transient creatures that swarm and multiply in a drop of water...

The War of the Worlds

H. G. Wells

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Inspiration: These things are not just an outgrowth of Mr. Well's World Brain, they are also kith and kin to the Mucoids and have ties to certain of the Utopian Sects who continue to meddle with the world despite the horrific losses they sustained in their 500+ year long war with the Morlocks...

Six Traps (And the Stuffer Shack Contest)

(1d6) Minor Traps

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1. What You See: A battered and tattered child's toy, some sort of stuffed animal, lies on the edge of a small puddle of glossy black oil. Closer examination will reveal that the black oil is in fact leaking out of the little stuffed animal.
   

   ---

   What you get: The oil is non-toxic, not flammable, and aside from a nasty odor doesn't pose any sort of threat whatsoever. The stuffed animal is packed with (10d10) tiny, but inert blue-striped maggots. The black oil is what kept them inert. Moving or disturbing the stuffed animal will cause more of the black oil to leak out and revive the swarm of maggots...
   
   Blue-Striped Maggots (10-100) [AL N, MV 12' (4'), AC 7, HD 1 hit point per maggot, #AT 1, DG 1d4 (Special), SV F1, ML 12 (mindless). Special: Whenever the maggots roll a natural 19 or 20 on their 'To Hit,' they attach themselves to their victim and begin to burrow into their flesh for double damage each subsequent round, until destroyed or eliminated, or they kill the victim who then becomes a host for the things to incubate within as they transform into a swarm of vile, vicious biting fly-things. The maggots take double-damage from fire.]

   ---

2. What You See: The corridor, hallway, or other such passage ahead seems to be criss-crossed with glistening strands of thread or webs. A closer examination shows that the glossy strands extend upwards through some sort of chimney-like opening or crevice, perhaps leading to the outside as there is a slight breeze of fresh air coming through it.

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What you get: The slight breeze may cause torches or unprotected flames to flutter, but otherwise it is no big deal. The passage is very irregular and is too tight in some places for even the smallest party member to get through, not counting the layers upon layers of glass webs. The web-strands are all finely extruded and incredibly delicate strands of glass. The web was originally formed by a swarm of Glass Spiders that have since been shattered into the tiny bits of glass spider-limb debris crunching away underfoot. The web is very fragile and easily broken or shattered, however, once it starts to collapse, the entire structure falls into millions of tiny, sharp glass fragments that come pouring out of the chimney-like crevice in a blinding, lacerating cloud of glass fragments that cause 1d6 per round for the next 1d4 rounds and extends out to a 20' radius.

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3. What You See: There is an open trap-door in a section of the floor directly ahead. Closer examination shows that it appears to have been lying open for a considerable time, as a thick layer of dust covers the edges, exposed hinges, and so on.
   

   ---

   What you get: The floor is covered with a layer of dust over two inches deep and it gets deeper the closer to the open trap-door one gets. The floor slants, slightly at first, but then increasingly more steeply as one approaches the opening. When someone reaches the half-way point, they must Save or make a DEX check, failure indicating that they have slipped on the suddenly much more steeply inclined section of floor covered in nearly four inches of fine, dry, grit which offers them no purchase whatsoever as they slide and tumble down into the gaping pit. The pit itself is just a basic hole in the ground, though it could be filled with spikes, pottery shards, damp muck, or whatever as circumstances warrant...

   ---

4. What You See: Some sweet-smelling fluid is dribbling slowly down the walls on both sides of the passage ahead. Closer examination reveals that the fluid is thick, syrupy stuff with a pungent vanilla scent. It is neither flammable, nor toxic.
   

   ---

   What you get: If anyone asks, the ceiling in the affected area is also quite damp, and may be sagging slightly, but the effect is not immediately obvious. As each person passes through this area, they should each roll a D6. On any result of a 6, the ceiling buckles and a large mass of rotting flesh, a recently expired giant worm of some sort, comes crashing through the ceiling with a lot of noise, dust and syrupy fluid spattering everywhere. The collapse happens in such a way that everyone can quickly withdraw or run past, as they choose, without recourse to any Saves or DEX checks...however, now there's a massive mound of decaying dead worm blocking the passage and the noise of the collapse requires a Wandering Monster check...

   ---

5. What You See: A Spear-Trap. There are at least three picked-over skeletons skewered by dozens of staggered and overlapping spears protruding from slots in the walls. Closer examination reveals that the spears are rusted and this macabre tableau has been left undisturbed for a long, long time...
   

   ---

   What you get: Moving or otherwise disturbing the spears will cause them to retract back into the walls with incredible force, showering everyone within a 10' radius with bits of bone, rusty spear-heads, and splintered spear hafts for 1d4 damage. The damaged mechanisms behind the walls then begin to rattle, clunk and shudder violently for the next 1d6 Turns, necessitating an additional Wandering Monster check each turn the racket continues. Eventually, the noise will settle down, however, any time someone traverses this section again, the walls rattle, clunk and boom loudly for 1d6 Turns, at least until someone does something to finally demolish or repair the faulty mechanisms in the walls...

   ---

6. What You See: There's something funny about the ceiling. It seems to be made-up of panels of dirty, heavily smeared glass. Closer examination will reveal that the glass panels are suspended from the actual ceiling, the outer edges are sloped so as to obscure how the main section of the glass ceiling is about half a foot lower than the surrounding ceiling.
   

   ---

   What you get: The glass panels rattle slightly when people walk around beneath them, but otherwise they appear mostly harmless. It is when investigators attempt to move on from this spot that the glass panels shatter spectacularly, raining down a shower of glass debris, dust and bits of black, lumpy matter that crumble into almost crystalline granules.
   
   The black granules are the desiccated remains of a large Black Pudding, or some similar type of Ooze that had crawled up into this space to lurk in wait for the next bunch of explorers to pass underneath. Unfortunately for the Ooze-thing, something happened and it went inert (it is terribly impolite to say 'died,' in regards to such beings), and its dried-out remains have been held in suspension overlooking this dreary locale for a long, long time. There is a better than good chance that one might revive the Ooze-thing with the addition of some alcohol or blood, if one were interested in doing such a thing...

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Stuffer Shack is holding a contest...

...and you could win some nifty miniature horses!

Six Tigers (Wermspittle)

Do not blame God for having created the tiger, but thank him for not having given it wings...

 Karnadic Proverb

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There are only six tigers in Wermspittle. Two are with one or another of the Circus Camps who continually squabble over the things. One has made a lair in the public aviary on Dunforthe Street. Another has been reported prowling the Burned Over District near the Funicular rail. Two remain unaccounted for and may have taken to making their lairs within disused attics or cellars...

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1. Rushakkim. Majestic and powerfully-built, Rushakkim Half-Tail is every bit what one would expect to see in a tiger. He is a consummate performer, however his former master was killed in a tavern brawl and the apprentices who took over the act were stupid and abusive, so he killed them and escaped. There is a jagged scar along Rushakkim's left flank that healed badly due to the kill-paste (a form of salve-like achromic powder) that had been on the rakes and hooks wielded by his former tormentors. If anyone had bothered to go over Malajam's journals and papers, they would have learned that he was administering a 2% solution of White Powder filtered through a glass-tank of moth-larvae to Rushakkim to keep the beast fit and healthy, despite being over a hundred years old...
   

   ---

   Rushakkim Half-Tail (unique) [Large, Ancient Male Tiger; AL N, MV 150' (50'), AC 5, HD 10 (regenerates 1 hit point per hour), #AT 3 (2 claws, 1 bite), DG 1d6/1d6/2d6, SV F12, ML 10, Special: Rushakkim escaped from the Big Top and prefers to hunt-down anyone connected or related to one of the Circus Camps over any other prey. He lost a portion of his tail escaping from a mechanical trap and has since become wary of entering enclosed spaces or sticking around anything that makes mechanical clicking noises (-4 on Morale).]

   ---

2. Louise. Her coat is a rich, mahogany color, with wide black stripes. Her belly and underside is almost khaki in appearance. Her eyes are a smoldering green only the dead can forget. She is The Queen of the Circus and knows it.
   

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   Louise (unique) [Medium-sized, Old Female Tiger; AL N, MV 150' (50'), AC 6, HD 7, #AT 3, DG 1d6/1d6/2d6, SV F9, ML 11, Special: Louise has no interest in what happens outside the Big Top. Show business is her life. She is fluent in seventeen languages and likes to read poetry, however lacking thumbs, she employs several trained winged-monkeys to handle her books, brush out her coat and otherwise tend to her needs, as befits royalty. She adores mirrors of all kinds and anyone presenting her with a mirror as a gift or token of admiration gains a +4 bonus to Reaction Rolls. She never forgets, nor forgives a slight. Louise has done everything in her power to hide the fact that she is sterile, a consequence of her troupe having spent too long in the Low Lands after their train was bombed and they became lost and had to winter-over in an abandoned Farm Enclave. The mere sight of a map drives her into a berserk rage.]

   ---

3. Little Tess. Massive and sluggish, this She-Tiger appears distracted or confused, until she leaps upon her prey and tears them to bits with her exceptionally long claws. She is larger than most plow-horses and has a few scattered patches of scaliness around her arm-pits, groin and belly that came about as some form of taint caused by the gestating hybrid young she was forced to carry after being bred with a Chimera from Troz. Her saliva is now toxic as well. Once the cubs were born, she killed her handlers and escaped into the streets and alleys of Wermspittle. The frequent use of galvanic prods by her former handlers has resulted in sustained memory-loss; Little Tess cannot remember anything from five minutes ago, not even her cubs. She does, however, have an instinctive hatred of all galvanic weapons and will always attack anyone carrying a prod over anyone else...
   

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   Little Tess (unique) [Huge, Female Tiger; AL C, MV 150' (50'), AC 6, HD 8, #AT 3, DG 1d8/1d8/2d6+Poison, SV F8, ML 11. Special: Little Tess has a poison bite that forces the victim to Save or suffer 2d4 damage from fever that also acts as a Confusion spell for 1d4 turns. She gains a +2 bonus to initiative and to hit against anyone wielding galvanic weapons or prods. Little Tess may be pregnant again, but what will the cubs be like this time?]

   ---

4. Morigoth. His stripes are slightly spirally, and the fur in-between is tinted mauve and purple, with a lighter shade of purple along his underside. Morigoth's claws are translucent like sharp ice and slash geists and apparitions as easily as they part flesh. He wanders through the ruins of bombed-out buildings, half in trance, half in dream, but always and perpetually hungry...
   

   ---

   Morigoth (unique) [Huge, Male Dreamtiger; AL N, MV 150' (50'), AC 4, HD 7, #AT 3, DG 1d6+1/1d6+1/2d6 (Ignores non-magical armor). Special: Can use Passwall up to 3 times per night. Morigoth was born from the mating of an oneiric tiger and a fleshly one. He has since become far more substantial than oneiric, but can shift into the closer, more easily accessed dreamspaces when the situation merits it...]

   ---

5. Pidro-Peeto. Tangerine and cream, with sharply-tapering sable stripes boldly splashed across his fur, Pidro-Peeto is a striking, imposing figure of malice and magnificence.
   

   ---

   Pidro-Peeto (unique) [Large, Adult Male Tiger; AL N, MV 150' (50'), AC 5, HD 10, #AT 3, DG 2d4/2d4/3d4, SV F12, ML 9, Special: Despite his impressive appearance, this big cat is an incredibly good ambusher, gaining a +2 bonus to initiative and to hit when striking from a concealed position. This big cat is playful, likes to listen to live music and will drink itself silly if offered liquor of any sort, but has a massive tolerance, as its keepers were career alcoholics...]

   ---

6. Barnum Street Mauler. The black stripes of this huge cat have a distinctive greenish tinge to them according to the jumbled accounts gathered from those who have 'survived' any of its attacks...
   

   ---

   Barnum Street Mauler (unique) [Huge, Adult, Male War-Tiger; AL N, MV 180' (60'), AC 4, HD 12, #AT 3, DG 2d4/2d4/4d4, SV F14, ML 12 (fearless), Special: The last survivor of an experiment meant to produce a 'war cat' for the Pruztian Jungle Korps. This beast has been fitted with a special armored vest/barding, and subjected to several invasive surgical modifications, including a derangement of its healing process that allows it to regain 2d4 hit points whenever it makes a successful Save against some exotic attack. Its senses have been augmented, and it Sees Invisible, Detects Magic and has darkvision to 300' range. It was originally trained to hunt and kill spell-casters, but has since taken to killing anything that crosses its path--the control mechanism patched into its skull has become faulty and the beast is now a mindless killing machine on the loose...]

   ---

Lions | Tigers | Bears

Lesser Beasts
Red Bestiary Index

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Several Refugees from Yultranza were found torn limb from limb amid the wreckage of a shanty camp in the alleys behind the Athenaeum. Eye-witness accounts and evidence gathered at the scene indicate that there were no fewer than eleven men, women and children struck down in the middle of the night by the so-called 'Barnum Street Mauler.' Luckily, a team of volunteer surgeons from the recently demilitarized Tactical Experimental Medicine Cadre was able to recover three survivors, more or less. After they recover from the extensive reconstructive surgical procedures, as well as the usual trauma associated with dismemberment and being partly devoured, the three Wretched survivors are expected to work-off their medical indenturement by serving in the Wall Guard or Sewer Militia...

---

Hobyahs (Red Bestiary)

ONCE there was an old man and woman and a little girl, and they all lived in a house made of hemp-stalks. -- and one night the Hobyahs came and said; 'Hobyah! Hobyah! Hobyah! Tear down the hemp-stalks, eat up the old man and woman, and carry off the little girl.'

---

Hobyahs
No. Enc.: 1d4+2
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 60' (30')
Armor Class: 7
Hit Dice: 2+1
Attacks: 1
Damage: 2d4 (bite) or by weapon
Save: F1
Morale: 4

Cowardly and dim-witted, always hungry, but incredibly afraid of even the smallest of dogs, Hobyahs would almost merit some shred of pity upon their plight. Almost. Those who have attempted to show charity towards these wicked little things have almost invariably wound up getting eaten by them.

---

Inspirational Source: Hobyahs appear in More English Fairy Tales by Joseph Jacobs. Hobyahs are the ancestral enemies of Thumblings and they only rarely deal with Todtenhilzig, whom they fear almost as much as dogs. There is a first-level spell for summoning a clutch of Hobyahs in circulation, but most of the time it is considered somewhat gauche to pass it off when trading for something better, though it can be useful for playing pranks upon the unwary or clueless, especially around dogs...

Bujilli: Episode 90

Previously...
Bujilli has slipped and fallen down a stairwell...while Leeja is back at the alley-camp trying to decide whether or not she really wants Mama Rudta to cast a fairly unpleasant, if effective, blood-spell on her behalf...

"There is so much I do not understand..." Leeja sighed. Since coming to this place she had done everything she could to not attract attention and to listen, learn, get the lay of the land. She had taken a job in the Beast Pens in order to be inconspicuous. Stay out of her Aunt's sight. Then Bujilli showed up. He brought her out of the pens...right into the middle of a real mess.

"You are young." Mama Rudta laughed heartily, but was cut short by a coughing fit. She still was coughing-up a little blood. The invisible assassin's mercury-filled glass knife had really hurt her.

"Not so young. Mostly it is a matter of not knowing who is involved, who is pulling the strings, who is behind everything..."

"Ah. You have not been here very long. Answers take time. Knowledge takes effort. Experience comes at a price. This one--" Mama Rudta waved towards the invisible form tightly wrapped in Leeja's writhing white hair; "This one might have some things to tell you, if you wish to ask. I can reveal to you the answers carried in their blood, but such things will not set you at ease. Such things will only pull you further into their master's orbit to cross paths you do not even suspect as yet. People fear the unknown for good reason. But if you like, I can pull back the veil slightly and give you what I am able."

Leeja considered the offer. It might be a very good thing to know what could be learned from the assassin. On the other hand, getting dragged deeper into the behind-the-scene politics of Wermspittle daunted her. A child of Deep Dendo, she was all too well versed in the sorts of politics that involved as much violence as subtlety. But there, where she had been born but never accepted, she had grown up being taught all the rules, all the 'sides' and factions, all the movers and shakers to know or to avoid...here...she didn't even know what side she and Bujilli might be on...

"I.." She looked down at the invisible woman caught in her hair. Unlike Yushgra*, Morquin's wife, this person was wearing armor of a sort. She looked more closely. There was the scent of spellcraft here. She tightened her hair until the assassin's ribs cracked. Then she saw it. The spell was deeply ingrained, thoroughly integrated into the armor. Of course--the armor itself was Horla-hide. Intrinsically transparent even when tanned and converted into leather...but only a complete fool would risk the wrath of the Horla by doing such a thing. She examined the spell more closely. It was tightly woven, deeply imprinted, utterly magnificent in terms of construction--whomever had done this work had structured their spell in such a way that it was difficult to examine it even up close and using all Leeja's innate senses. The grammar underlying the spell was so crisp and clean that there were none of the usual loose-ends or dangling strands that most practitioners took for granted. There wasn't any of the usual flaws that the common forms of detection or warning spells exploited. This sort of thing was far beyond her capabilities. Orders of magnitude beyond anything she had ever seen before. The work of a master.

"It is good to look before you leap, when you have the luxury." Mama Rudta nodded sagely.

"Your spell...it will not reveal this one's master, will it?"

"Ah. No. You have looked into the truth, if only at a glance. Ask yourself; what kind of person would send something like this," she pointed to the assassin, "to attend to someone like me? Eh?"

Leeja nodded this time.

There had been multiple assassins working on concert. They had infiltrated the alley-camp and struck with complete surprise, despite all of Mama Rudta's wards and any other defenses the wanderers might have in-place. Despite Bujilli and his Counsel. Despite her own senses.

Leeja shivered.

"This is not good..."

"No. Not good. Not at all."

"This spell you are offering to cast for me--this way you have to interrogate their blood--will it give me any real answers, or just leave me with more questions?"

"Yes."

Leeja considered the offer once more. Ignorance could get her and Bujilli killed, or worse. Then it occurred to her--"Whomever is behind this...they might not have known about us, about Bujilli and myself, prior to sending out their assassins. But..."

"But they most assuredly do know something, or more appropriately, someone interfered with their plans. We're fairly certain that at least one of them escaped. They will most definitely report back to their master." Niobe was staring into the cooking fire. She had been quiet, observing, assessing, like the old days.

"I doubt that this one will give up the identity of their master--"

"Bathurst. It's Bathurst."

"Who?"

"These Abseen killers were sent by Bathurst, or one of his flunkies."

"How do you know?"

"The bastard offered me a job not long after I arrived in this place."

"You mean when mother--"

"Yes. Back then."

"But why would they send these things out to kill Mama Rudta or her people?"

"If that had been their mission, no offense Mama Rudta, but if that was the case, then you'd be dead."

"Then what were they after?" Leeja had a sinking feeling in her guts.

"Me." Niobe closed her eyes. There was a slight glint. Possibly a tear.

"You have to go now." Mama Rudta sighed. Her shoulders slumped. She, too, shed a single gleaming tear. Her gnarly hand was a study of gristle and tendons beneath tautened skin.

"I know." Niobe rose from her study of the fire.

"But..." Leeja couldn't quite collect enough air to get the words out right.

"If you decide to interrogate this one's blood with your spell, its fellows will return to exact vengeance--Bathurst takes things of the blood very seriously. But if you allow me to return her to her master...well...that might give me some small measure of leverage. He detests failure."

Leeja didn't hesitate; "Take it then." She withdrew her tendril-like hair from the body.

"Our fire, our cauldron, our camp..." Mama Rudta stood up proudly and held out her wizened hand to Niobe who took it gently in her own; "You are welcome among us, like a daughter you have become to me. When you have settled things with this killer of women and children, come find us. This will show you the way home." She left some sort of talisman in Niobe's hands.

Niobe was speechless.

Leeja was jealous.

A damp log popped in the fire.

"Mishka!" Niobe called out the young girl with the red-streaked face.

"Yes?" She slid out of the dimness surrounding the cook fire.

"Take my sister to her lover. Make it quick. Then come back here and take my place while I am...hunting."

Meanwhile...

Bujilli slipped. His foot flew out into the darkness. He missed grabbing the rung with his hand. Twisted. The other foot slipped. He lost his grip.

He fell.

Thunk!

Clunk!

Chunk!

There was nothing to grab on to...not that he could reach.

Then everything stopped. Abruptly.

Bujilli lay at a peculiar angle. It was dark. He tasted blood in his mouth. He was bruised. Battered. His shoulder was jammed up against the bottom rung of the corkscrew stair.

He closed his eyes and listened, tasted the air, let his senses tell him what they could before attracting any more attention by attempting to move.

It was quiet. Too quiet. Someone, or some thing, had been moving around down here right before he fell.

Now all was still.

Bujilli sneezed.

RoWL!

"Scheiss!" He scrambled to his feet, then felt for a weapon.

Grrrrrrrrooowlllllllllllllllllllllllll!

It was close. He could smell the hot, rotten-meat breath of some predatory beast.

His head throbbed. He was stiff all over.

Something moved.

The tiger lunged.

Boom!

Bujilli's manticore-pistol erupted with a blinding, deafening flash.

He fell back onto a tarpaulin-covered pile of metal-stock with the image of a slavering maw filled with sharp teeth filling him with primeval dread.

Scritch  SCratch  RiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiPPPPPPP!

The tiger was gone.

For now.

He holstered his pistol and climbed back up to the passage overhead. Then he got moving. He made it quite a ways before his adrenaline simmered down enough for him to cast Gloomlight again and he began to pick his way through the maintenance passage a bit more consciously. The panic passed, eventually, but left the stale taste of fear in his mouth, which overpowered the scent of clotted blood on his lips and in his beard.

The metal door was propped open with three iron spikes.

He passed through it into the night outside without realizing he had left the passageway. He clung to the balcony railing and looked down on the plaza to his right, the chaotic awnings and stalls of the market to his left. The cool wind felt good. The moon was a sharp crescent shining down upon him and him alone. Then the clouds drifted back in and hid the moon. It began to rain again.

Bujilli looked back at the spiked door. He considered going back inside, if only to re-load his pistol. Then he looked down at the market. He had things to do...

---

* We met Madame Yushgra and her husband Morquin in Episode 85 and Episode 86.

It looks like Niobe has gone her own way again. Leeja learned a few things about one of the key behind-the-scenes-powers in Wermspittle, even if she doesn't quite realize it just yet. With Mishka's help, Leeja will be reunited with Bujilli soon...

For his part, Bujilli has a choice to make; should he go back inside, ostensibly to re-load his pistol? Or should he head over to the Farmer's Market with an unloaded pistol? Or is there another option to consider? Anyone want to go tiger hunting?

As always, if you have questions or suggestions let me know in the comments, or via email.

What happens next is up to you, the readers.

You Decide!

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Previous                                Next

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Series Indexes

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

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Starting Page  |  Central Index

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About Bujilli (What is This?) | Who is Bujilli? | How to Play

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Bujilli's Character Sheet | Leeja's Character Sheet | Cast of Characters

Bujilli's Spells | Little Brown Journals | Loot Tally | House Rules

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Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)

Series Two (Episode 20-36)

Series Three (Episodes 37-49)

Series Four (Episodes 50-68)

Series Five (Episodes 69-99)
Series Six(Episodes 100-ongoing)

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Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion

Zinn

Zinn is an alloy (98% tin, 2% lead, antimony, and other elements including a trace amount of either Polar Ash or the Green Powder used in the Plattnerizing process) that is highly resistant to acids, poisons, fungi, mold and to some extent even the milder forms of Black Smoke. The exact formulation of Zinn was long ago classified as a state secret by the Pruztian High Chancellery and knowledge of the formula was strictly limited on a need-to-know basis for more than fifty years, during which time it was zealously guarded by the descendants of the Baumhoffer family until some agent or agents unknown managed to steal the notebooks, records and original test samples from the Baumhoffer family vault. The Pruztian Imperial Laboratories have never been able to successfully duplicate the original formula for Zinn, though they have come up with a number of other useful alloys and compounds. The use of an inferior grade of zinn is one more factor in why the Pruztian New Model Zinn Soldiers and Fyters are somewhat inferior to the Old Model Zinn Soldiers and Fyters produced in Wermspittle, despite all assertions to the contrary issued by the High Chancellery.

Blue Frost (Red Bestiary)

And let me tell you this: our higher senses are blunted. We are so drenched with material sin, that we should probably fail to recognize real wickedness if we encountered it...

Arthur Machen

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Blue Frost
[a.k.a. Lingering Ice, Winter-Fingers, Cold Patches, etc.]
No. Appearing: 1
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 10' (Can only move in shadows, Must always be in contact with a surface)
Armor Class: 7
Hit Dice: 3 (Gains 1 hit point per every 12 points damage inflicted)
Attacks: 1
Damage: 1d4+Frostbite
Save: F6
Morale: In dark: 11, in bright light: 3

In and of itself the Blue Frost is not particularly heinous nor terribly dangerous, not as such, not immediately. However, it is unwise to assume that it is in any way harmless.

A sluggish calamity that lingers in the low, dim places; many write it off as just one more such slow-moving hazard to be avoided within the noisome darkness of the Low Streets. Blue Frost is generally considered a minor nuisance, particularly along the nooks and crannies of the Low Streets and other places given to poor lighting conditions and rife with shadows where the ice and snow of winter take their time to melt. The Ice-Sellers and Cold Storage firms have experimented with trying to utilize this vile stuff in their respective businesses only to abandon it as sheerest folly, usually after multiple deaths and extensive property damage.

Blue Frost inflicts only modest damage, but the wounds it causes are supercooled as though exposed to a whiff of liquid nitrogen, making them brittle and prone to developing frostbite that quickly leads to gangrene. Spells, potions and unguents do nothing to heal the damage inflicted by Blue Frost. The only effective means of dealing with this wicked form of frostbite tends to be immediate amputation. Those who reject such extreme measures soon learn that the damage done is as much to their psyche and soul as to their flesh. Left untreated the frostbite will spread across the victim's body, causing a loss of 1d4 hit points per day as it slowly, agonizingly gnaws away at their flesh. The victim also must make a Save each day in order to stave off the loss of 1 point of Constitution. They remain in full possession of their faculties, but suffer excruciating pain and their movement rate is reduced to one-half normal, and they suffer a -1 on all physical actions including attack and defense. While under the influence of the frostbite the victim becomes completely amoral, emotionless and completely without conscience.

---

Grimflesh
Those who succumb to the frostbite by reaching zero hit points while still retain at least one point of Constitution, collapse into a foul and blackened mess similar in many respects to a Loathsome Mass, and indeed, there is some speculation that these things can in fact take on a weird sort of ablife under certain circumstances. Demented alchemists, defrocked surgeons and various necromantic ne'erdowells have experimented with these vile piles of Grimflesh in order to cobble together a variety of peculiar golems, or mannequins, and this stuff has been used in the creation and construction of some very nasty dolls.

Grimflesh has no real value outside of the necromantic trades, as it lacks any nutritional value and is inedible. The Butchers won't even bother to try to sell it and the Butcher Boys are warned to never collect the stuff for any reason, as it is less than useless to their masters.

---

Grimflesh [AL N, MV 3', AC 6, HD 2+, #AT 1, DG 1d4+Grimrot, SV F4+, ML 10. Special: On each successful attack by a shapeless mass of Grimflesh, the victim must Save at +1 or contract Grimrot. A slowly progressing gray-green discoloration surrounds the wound preventing spells, potions and most other forms of healing to work for 1d6 hours after being infected. The Grimrot will cause 1 point of damage per hour, until it goes inert after 3d6 hours. The areas affected by this stuff remain discolored and distorted, causing most victims to seek cosmetic surgery, though there are those who wear these scars with a twisted sense of pride.]

Note: It is rumored that Grimflesh can be induced to recover some low order form of quasi-sentience, and that it has demonstrated a disturbing form of psychic plasticity, making it altogether far too pliable and responsive to the whims and wills of discarnate entities such as geists and worse. It is for this reason that it is deemed Extremely Hazardous and one is advised to avoid it all costs and to immediately notify the appropriate authorities. It is also whispered in the tap rooms and rathskellers of the Low Streets that even a small lump of this nasty stuff can be worth a good price if one knows how to make the right connections.

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Frost Bitten (Munoz Syndrome)
Those who reach zero Constitution before losing their last hit point quickly blacken and shrivel into stiff, brittle abdead cadavers that retain full awareness and consciousness, but no longer feel any physical sensation, are devoid of all emotion, rendered completely amoral and unrestricted by any form of conscience whatsoever. Abdead narcissists driven mad by their painful ordeal, these Frost-Bitten things skulk about in cold, dark places terrorizing their former friends, family and associates while obsessing over increasingly obscure and complicated forms of vengeance against those whom they have convinced themselves allowed them to suffer so horribly.

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Frost Bitten [AL N, MV 120' (40'), AC 6, HD 2+, #AT 1, DG 1d4, SV F4+, ML 10 (3 in bright light). Special: Movement is halved and AC suffers a -4 penalty, and they suffer 1 point of damage per Turn exposed to bright light. Charm, ESP, Sleep and similar spells do not work on these things as their minds are too deranged to succumb to the effects. They have a 50% resistance to all forms of Paralysis and are immune to normal poisons and incapable of ingesting potions or liquors, though some have taken to bathing in various fluids to mixed results. Those affected by Munoz Syndrome retain their faculties (including knowledge and spell-casting abilities) but are utterly amoral, emotionless and prone to obsessiveness.]

---

Research into an effective cure to the frostbite caused by Blue Frost continues to be a major concern of the Medical College in Wermspittle. There are nearly a dozen scholarships, fellowships and prestigious awards available for those who dedicate themselves to the study and eventual conquest of this particular affliction. Perhaps this has something to do with the twenty-seven surgeons and scholars who have themselves succumbed to Munoz Syndrome according to the official record...

---

Inspiration: Cool Air by H. P. Lovecraft, lingering Minnesota winters that never seem to end, defrosting the freezer in our kitchen, and having experienced frostbite first-hand while working underneath airplanes in the winter...in Minnesota...

Lears' Soap

---

Cleanliness combats the forces of filth and decay!
Perpetual Hygiene is Essential!
The so-called 'Indelible' may no longer be quite so intractable, thanks to Lear's Soap!

---

The posters declare the virtues of Lear's Soap almost as loudly and garishly as the street peddlars and door-to-door 'undocumented doctors' who make their living roving about the Low Streets in search of whatever ills and injuries they can fend off or cure with their patent medicines, noxious nostrums and mostly alcohol-based lotions, potions and tinctures.

In a place rife with miasmas, subject to Smog Events and worse, the people demand and deserve some sort of relief. For decades the Lear's Company has provided a reliable product at a modest cost that counter-acts even the worst of the splotches and seemingly permanent stains caused by coming into contact with Deep Purple Smog and the like. The soap has also proven to be somewhat effective as a deterrent to minor vermin and some forms of undead, prompting any number of street peddlars to re-mold the original cakes of soap into fanciful shapes or to carve it into a type of 'soluble cameo' that they claim will ward off all manner of pest and bogey, for a small price, of course.

Sometimes one needs to use the product up to three times a day for a few weeks, but eventually, it will lessen the intensity of the tinting of one's skin. It also does a fair job of clearing-out skin-parasites and hastening the healing of burns and lesions caused by various Stains, Jellies and Slimes, making Lear's Soap an essential part of every Jelly-Hunter's personal arsenal.

Representatives of the Lear's Company have repeatedly gone on record vehemently denying that any sort of White Powder derivative is used in the manufacture of their venerable and well beloved product. Maybe this is true, perhaps not; but everyone who uses it knows damn well that the stuff reeks like Yellow Wallpaper...

---

Lear's Soap  [Cost: 6 cents a tablet, a nickel along Ammonia Avenue (but that's probably adulterated). Gives the user a cumulative 5% chance to remove the visible marks incurred from exposure to Purple Clouds, Deep Purple Smog, Purple Haze, most minor miasmas, and so on. The soap likewise grants a +2 bonus to all saves against infections, skin-toxins, and most contact-agents, including acids. Persistent use may cause side-effects, but there has never been any successfully presented proof of this, so it is considered hearsay and the slanderous and unfair attempts by disgruntled would-be competitors seeking to besmirch a well established and much respected company that has done so very much for the community over the years. There is also absolutely no truth whatsoever to the unverified claims that Lear's Soap has been responsible for the rash of unfortunate birth-defects among various isolated groups of refugees, as has been proven in the courts.

---

White Wash is a weaponized form of Lear's Soap that was first used during the Urshevik Counter-Revolution. It is a nasty mixture of Spectral Brine and Lear's Soap, often mixed with various solvents and other substances that have been put through a highly volatile alchemical process using commandeered Black Liquor stills. The resulting fluid is extremely corrosive, melting flesh on contact and bursting into exceedingly hot flames that quickly burn out. Small amounts of White Wash were introduced into the cream used by the delegates at various high-level negotiations which was then covered-up by the Ursheviks by their persistent claims of spontaneous human combustion. Since the Counter-Revolution quite a few ingenious and despicable individuals have further refined and developed  their own personal formula for White Wash...