Strange Places: Latterkamp

---

A phantasmagoric wilderness lurks far below the cobbled streets of Wermspittle. Old and hoary, dim and only ever hinted at in furtive whispers, Latterkamp is the domain of Goules. It lies across an ancient, nameless abyss known all too well to those dreamers cursed with a knowledge they'd rather forget. One might approach it by way of the Near Deep. Crooked somnambulists and disreputable oneirsts will offer to take you there in your sleep.

You do not want to go there.
But you might get taken.
Especially in the Winter.
When the moon hides her face in shame
and the Butcher Boys roam the alleys in search of easy pickings...

---

Behind the Darkness...
Goules are living beings who prey upon the dead. Many of their kind become Ghouls upon achieving a state of undeath, others become Ghuls, should they dare the darkest rites and transitions involved in such things. Those who speak their names make no distinction between the threefold forms. Only the written word reveals the tripartite nature of these beings who hoard whispered secrets and dead languages, capture dreams and nightmares in subtle traps, and devour the flesh of those who come under their unhallowed jurisdiction.

Latterkamp itself is ancient beyond the reckoning of conscious time. It is a place of fossilized shadows, ossified phantasms and petrified dreamers whose imaginings go on and on well past death. When the Three Camps formed the First Compact, the event most scholars accept as the beginning of Wermspittle, there were representatives from Latterkamp present who gave their seal to the Compact. The seals used by the Notaries still bear the inscription and insignia used by the agents of Latterkamp. The First Laws were carved in a slab of violet-veined marble said to have been quarried from deep beneath Latterkamp. There is a good deal of truth to the old saying that Wermspittle was founded upon the catacombs and ossuaries of Latterkamp.

The Red Chair set a little to the left of the Governor's throne has sat vacant, but always present at every official function. Even during the various occupations and invasions, the Red Chair has remained in-place and undisturbed. One does not incur the wrath of Latterkamp lightly. Not in this place.

Gore Worms: A Deep Red Vintage (Wermspittle)

Down and Out in Wermspittle
Norrivy lives on the third floor of the Black Tambourine in Wermspittle, a notorious tavern that was mostly burned-out during the riots last winter. The owner was killed in the course of settling the matter of who was responsible for the repair of the place a few months ago. Since then it has been pretty-much abandoned as no one is paying the night watch or anyone else to keep an eye on it, which makes it questionable on a good day and very dangerous on a not so good night.

So far Norrivy has been okay. Mostly because she takes precautions. Also she spends a lot of time locked away down in the cellars beneath the place.

She's discovered the second cellar. The one the old owner used for their clandestine alchemical experiments.

Norrivy was raised among farmers. She learned how to pickle and preserve things at an early age. Looking through the beer-brewing set-up, and the small (mostly unused) wine-press, what little remained of the stock of already-brewed beer and wine left behind by the looters, and the well-hidden alchemical apparatus gave her ideas. Norrivy began to experiment herself.

At first she tinkered with adding different components to the stouts, porters, ales, lagers and beers she brewed, adding-in things like medicinal herbs, fruit rinds, even small quantities of resinous incense. Some things worked better than others. Then winter came in and it became far more difficult to collect suitable cast-offs and spoilt produce to work with, even barley and oats were getting scarce and she was running low on hops, herbs and other supplies. Starvation stalked the streets and alleys of Wermspittle, as it did every winter, preying upon the weak, the old, and those who were just plain unlucky.

But Norrivy considered herself lucky. She was smart. Determined. A survivor.

All she needed was a little help.

Can You Take It?
Norrivy doesn't have a lot to offer, aside from the promise of some beer and pottage or bread made from the mash left-over from the brewing process. But it is food. Winter is here and people are only going to get more desperate as what little reserves, stocks and stored provisions there might be are quickly depleted. Already there are rumors of butcher-boys snagging fresh meat from among the shanty-camps.

Stealing grain, herbs and rotten produce might not sound like much of a start for a young thief, but it could make the difference between starving or getting turned into winter-sausage and surviving to see the next Spring.

Outside the patrolled areas of Wermspittle there are lots of unclaimed, collapsing and abandoned warehouses, manors and other places where scavengers are always finding stuff. Norrivy is sure that there are caches of grain, waxed or pickled roots, just about anything one could ever want all lying there in the basements and burned-out buildings just past the gas lamps and regular patrols.

Perhaps she will craft a simple root-finding charm, if you ask.

Will She Make It?
One of the local underground surgeons will eventually learn about Norrivy's use of the old Black Tambourine as a makeshift den of thieves and unsanctioned brewery. He is an old associate of the previous, legitimate owner, or so he claims. He approaches Norrivy about distilling a very special vintage using his alchemical knowledge and her 'inherited' apparatus.

The surgeon's name is Grimaden. He wishes to distill down the essence of certain special ingredients in order to create a rich, red elixir-like liqueur that he has only read about in the pages of a moldy old grimoire that he had discretely stolen from Aldrich the book-seller by a pair of thieves who've since disappeared.

The two thieves are locked away in a basement. They have been immobilized and are now hosts to specially-treated Gore-worms that Grimaden has been treating with various rare medicinal decoctions, bizarre formulas and other-planar salts.

Will Norrivy acquiesce to Grimadens' strange proposal? Will she have any choice? What happens if some young thief discovers what happened to their two comrades? What happens if Grimaden succeeds?

Gore Worms: Rubeon's Guest (Wermspittle)

Hard Luck Life
Rubeon is an outcast among outcasts. A half-breed refugee whose parents were killed by bandits on the journey to Wermspittle, Rubeon arrived in the shanty-camps only to get infected with the Gray Pox. The morlock midwife who attended to the young Rubeon left him on a midden-mound. She was certain that the diseased child would succumb and sought to minimize any further contagion. If the child had not been so hideously disfigured by the Pox she would most likely have kept him for the stew-pot. But even a morlock fears the wasting death that almost always comes with the Gray Pox.

The Kindness of Unlikely Strangers
Poor little Rubeon lay out on the pile of cast-off gutter-mussel shells, chitin and rotting garbage until finally, after hours of bawling in the rain, a leper-harpy swooped down and carried off the infant. Even though she was blind in one eye, the leper-harpy saw something in the filthy little baby she had rescued. Instead of devouring the pitiful tyke, she raised it as her minion.

It has been a harsh life, but with the grudging help of the leper-harpy, Rubeon survived the Gray Pox and has quickly grown into a gangly, thin-limbed waif who scuttles and scrambles across the rooftops of Wermspittle. A crude mask of dirty rags wrapped around his head and face hides the hideous scars left by the Gray Pox. His hands and feet bound in strips of cast-off leather, rough burlap, and a velvet glove stolen off of someone's clothes-line, Rubeon is a peculiar looking young fellow. Skittish, nervous, quick to bolt and a master of hiding amid the chimneys, eaves and gabled windows, few get very close to Rubeon...

Soft and Seductive 
Jilleetha was raised within the perfumed maze of the brothels as her mother and her mother before her had been. An eloi whore with green-gold eyes and the soothing touch for which her kind were valued, she sometimes escaped from the clutch-dens and padded rooms to wander the rickety balconies and attic-spaces of her...not home...never home...no...her prison. Yes. That seemed like the right word for it. Mostly uneducated, Jilleetha was a very good listener. She learned a lot by simply listening to the private conversations and whispered secrets that went on all around her. That was how she had learned about the strange 'rag-boy' who lived along the rooftops. For weeks she has snuck up to the attic in order to see if she could spot the boy. Last night she saw him. Jilleetha smiled her professional smile and before she was even halfway down the creaking stairs she had most of a plan worked out...

Leaving Nests Both Fair or Foul
Rubeon lives in a dank, half-caved-in attic that Jurgoi the leper-harpy has long used as a nest. It is filthy, heaped with small bones and cast-off bits of rubbish, and the small, pitiful piles of shiny objects that the aged and infirm creature has stuffed into every niche, nook and cranny. Jurgoi will not live for much longer and she is too weak to hunt for herself any longer. Rubeon brings her rat carcasses, birds and anything else that seems edible that he can catch, capture or kill with his crude net, sling or the sharpened bones he uses for knives.

A few weeks ago Rubeon stumbled upon the frightful remnants of a terrible slaughter atop the roof of one of his local haunts. There had been a terrible fight and several people had been dismembered. The grisly mess would have turned the stomach of nearly anyone who hadn't been raised by a leper-harpy. At first he thought to gather-up bits of flesh to feed to Jurgoi...but then...he noticed something wriggling in the blood.

It was a small swarm of Gore-Worms. Only a handful, really.

Fascinated with the squiggling things, Rubeon scooped a few up and carried them back to Jurgoi's nest, along with some hastily snatched bits of meat. Jurgoi ate well that night and while she slept soundly, Rubeon constructed a sort of pen for his pet Gore-worms.

He has been feeding the worms behind Jurgoi's back. They've grown large and pulpy, devouring each other as they are wont to do when not safely ensconced within a host, until now there is only one very large Gore-Worm left in the make-shift pen.

This is where it  all gets interesting...

Jurgoi's Final Days
Rubeon might seek out a midwife or a healer to tend to Jurgoi. Very few would tend to a harpy, let alone a leper-harpy. Should the authorities learn that there is a leper at loose within the walls of Wermspittle, they will send Purgers or Burner-teams in to root out any lingering infection or contagion. Rubeon would quickly find himself all alone in the world with nowhere to live any longer. Of course, the disreputable frauds and down-on-their-luck charlatans who are likely to even consider helping Jurgoi could just as easily attempt to blackmail the naive boy, possibly sending him off to collect 'ingredients,' or to fetch suitable bits of loot for payment so that they do not betray the nest to the authorities.

In any case, Jurgoi is old, sick and won't last much longer than a few (1d4) weeks at most. Should Rubeon actually succeed in bringing some sort of quack or midwife to tend to Jurgoi, her life expectancy will be 1d4 days.

Jurgoi will either die alone and the Gore-worm will most likely feed upon her corpse, or she will expire when Rubeon is present. If Jurgoi dies while Rubeon is with her, her final gift to her young minion is a scribbled shred of worm-parchment containing the recipe for the curative ointment that she used to save Rubeon's life as a baby. It is most likely written in a language that Rubeon has been taught, but his ability to concoct the recipe is fairly limited and he might seek some help in determining what to do with it. The secret of this salve would be extremely valuable to any herbalist, midwife or salve-maker or snake-oil peddler who could easily make a fortune offering a reliable cure for the Gray Pox.

Does Jurgoi pass along the secret to Rubeon alone, or is there a healer there to witness things and maybe interfere? Perhaps the salve-maker has hired some protection, as in a few player-characters to watch their back. Perhaps Rubeon shares the secret with the healer, and that opens the door to all sorts of temptation and unscrupulous conniving. The disposition of the recipe for Jurgoi's Ointment could lead to all manner of double-crosses, lies and outright fighting should any hint of what exactly the old harpy left to its young minion.

Jilleetha's Meddlesome Plans
Jilleetha will begin to set-out food and other inducements to attract Rubeon's attention. There is a base 10% chance each night that she is eventually successful. She might attract something else's attention instead (base 20% chance each night).

If she manages to keep her vigil without raising too much of a ruckus, Jilleetha will eventually catch Rubeon's attention. Using food and her eloi charms, she will quickly learn all about the 'rag-boy' of the rooftops, including his current dilemma regarding Jurgoi, or possibly the secret recipe. If he was ripped-off then she'd learn about the betrayal as well.

Jilleetha will suspect the valuable nature of the harpy's formula almost as soon as Rubeon tells her about it. She will use her wiles and her knowledge of the local authorities, criminals, merchants, etc. to see to it that the secret recipe is recovered and that it comes to her, and to no one else, despite whatever she might tell Rubeon.

She knows a lot of important people, and those she does not know personally, she knows people who know them. Jilleetha can arrange for bully-boys to show-up looking for some stolen trinket, or she might con some adventurer-type to recover an old family heirloom (the scrap of her mother's last letter to her) from some potion-peddler. Jilleetha's list of contacts is extensive and she is devious enough to make very good use of it and she knows this. Her goal is not to escape, far from it; Jilleetha wishes to take over the brothel, first and foremost, then Wermspittle itself. She has ambitions. This is just the beginning of her machinations...

As the Worm Turns
That gore-worm growing oh so big up in the attic-nest has grown to the size of a large dog. It has also begun to acquire a low-grade form of animal intelligence. It isn't going to stay penned-up for much longer, and it definitely won't linger around once Jurgoi dies. The worm will not willingly attack or harm Rubeon, as it harbors something of a sense of loyalty to the disfigured boy who rescued it from the rooftops and fed it regularly up until things got weird and disrupted.

The Worm will wait for an opportunity to escape. There's a chance that Rubeon might set it free if he knows that he can never return to the nest.

But where will the over-large worm go? What will it do? What might it become?

Gore-Worms in Wermspittle (Series)

Gore-worms are particularly prone to wallow about in the blood-drenched gutters surrounding slaughterhouses and have been known to sometimes block the surrounding sewers as they writhe about in the sanguinous effluent. Butchers and slaughterers hire urchins, refugees and other folks down on their luck and desperate for some way to earn a meal or a few coins to clear-out the gore-worms from the local pipes, passages, channels and flow-ways. Many of these unfortunates become infested with the things themselves, and wind up carrying the disgusting creatures back to their families, neighborhoods or shanty-camps.


It is a terrible problem. One that lingers and never really ever gets cleared-up, despite various policies, laws, rules, regulations and even attempts to eradicate the masses of gore-worms using actinic torches, galvanic prods, naptha-burners, or even various burners using alcohol, kerosene, or whale oil. Most of the Puritan-organized municipal burner-crews have started terrible conflagrations or massively damaging explosions when they've come into contact with pockets of gas, free-ranging miasmas, Withering Mists, or other, odder things down below. Whether this is part of their plan, a way to drive-off the clusters of Refugees, Unfortunates and other such human flotsam gathering around the Low districts, or just an indictment of their callousness, carelessness and incompetence is still being hotly debated among the Privy Council.


Parasitism, Patriotism & Prudery
Nasty and gluttonous things, gore-worms are considered a moral pestilence and a matter of poor judgement and bad hygiene by those who do not have to endure the conditions imposed upon the various groups of refugees, displaced persons and other non-persons who have yet to make it in Wermspittle. Puritans may argue among their cliques and sub-factions as to the root cause of the infestation, but all of them are agreed that drastic steps need to be taken immediately. Roving gangs of hooded vigilantes already patrol the low streets, seeking out any trace of worm-taint. Sometimes they are satisfied with delivering a sound beating. Other times they fire-bomb entire blocks in order to eradicate the shanty-camps. There are those who fear that these gangs have not only taken the law into their own bloody hands, but that they might be doing the bidding of masters they themselves do not suspect. There are rumors that the Corruption Trade is somehow involved in all this violence and destruction. But to what end?


A Person's Got To Eat...
The poorer folk huddled together in the shanty-camps have learned how to use the blood from slaughtering game, chickens or other meat to lure gore-worms into their pots and cauldrons. With some quick reflexes, some scalding water or cooking oil, and a deft bit of work with a knife or sharpened spoon they subdue, kill and then prepare the gore-worms in a variety of soups, stews and goulashes. You can find a variety of gore-worm derived fare at most of the local eateries, especially those closer to the shanty-camps and the collapsed sections of the Burned Over Districts filled with Unclaimed and Abandoned Properties. It's not so bad, once you get used to it...just be sure to use plenty of salt...


The Basic Entry Regarding Gore Worms.


A Few Scenarios Involving Gore-Worms in Wermspittle

• Disruptive Gastronomy
• Dubious Medical Applications
• Rubeon's Guest
• A Deep Red Vintage
• Ghoulish Delight
• Bite Your Tongue
• A Familiar Feeling

Wednesday Werks: Gore-Worms Converted to 4th Edition

Totally out of the blue we just discovered that the Gore-Worms have spread over to the How to Succeed in RPGs or Die Trying blog, where the author S.P. has converted the Gore-Worms over to a spiffy-looking Fourth Edition stat block. S.P. does a really nice job of converting the wriggling little monsters over to the new-fangled version of the Classic Fantasy RPG.

Gore-Worms for Labyrinth Lord
Gore-Worms for 4th Edition

We're currently completing work on a few more Scenario Seeds involving Gore-Worms in Wermspittle along the lines of Dubious Medical Applications and Disruptive Gastonomy.

All this business about worms kinda makes you squirm a bit, doesn't it?

Gore Worms: Dubious Medical Applications (Wermspittle)

Nasty Things
Unlike leeches, which can be useful in various forms of healing, gore-worms are foul, detestable things that pollute the very blood they feed upon. Anyone not treated, usually by surgical removal of the things, and who manages (somehow) to not become a host, will eventually have their blood turn septic and die a painful, feverish death. The gore-worms will then go dormant and await the opportunity to seek out a new source of blood or a host. It is a vicious cycle.


Certain medical professionals within Wermspittle have been tampering with gore-worms in order to breed or create a new form that devours polluted, corrupted and poisoned blood instead of the fresh stuff.


Hazardous Research
Several established surgeons have admitted casually that this could be a somewhat helpful thing in certain cases, but no one will openly support this line of research as it runs afoul of various undead who see this as a direct threat against them, especially certain ghouls, cadaverists and of course the vampiric Ignobles with reputations for bad tempers, cruel dispositions and a penchant for eliminating their enemies in grotesque, even spectacular ways.


But there are those who hunt and kill the undead who might be willing to back this sort of project...


Discredited and Disregarded
So there are always rumors about one or another disgraced doctor, defrocked cleric or such-like person of learning and erudition who might be dabbling along these lines. Packets of unpublished papers containing research transcripts, old medical journals, even musty old books salvaged from one of the banned libraries all circulate among the various academics, philosophers and other interested parties who make their home in Wermspittle. Some of those manuscripts and notes may contain essential clues or hints or even records of past attempts that could prove useful, even critical to this sort of thing. Anyone having knowledge of such items or information can always find a discrete buyer, if they know whom to approach and which ones to avoid.


Enter Lucius Stroden
One such person might be Lucius Stroden. Wild-haired and given to fits of rage, the erratic surgeon has been performing a number of experiments upon maimed and grievously wounded refugees. Experiments involving the grafting of tissues derived from gore-worms and other such creatures onto the wrecked bodies of his subjects in order to replace lost limbs and restore function to damaged organs. He has paid a group of Gronk mercenaries to keep guard over his 'clinic,' and to keep things quiet. But of course, Gronks being Gronks, several of them have taken to grumbling in the local taverns about some of the odder things that they've seen take place so far. A few of the dimmer Gronks have even formulated a few theories regarding what might be going on, but so far nothing has quite reached the level of a rumor. At least not yet.


But Lucius Stroden isn't the only one exploring the possible medical applications of gore-worms. Far from it. 


Ah...Katarine...
The notorious assassin Katarine is alleged to have stolen certain personal effects from one of the closed estates and used the sorcerous secrets they revealed to develop her own special sub-type of gore-worm that she now uses as her murderous calling card. The original research she used was focused on converting gore-worms into transplantable replacements for damaged livers. That original research could still be of great use to legitimate surgeons.


Worm-Mongery & Cut-Rate Replacements
Wilm the Limberatician left his apprenticeship to the worm-monger and has gone into business for himself providing replacement limbs to those who've been maimed in the sewers and other such deep-places beneath Wermspittle. He keeps moving around, but with a few coins he can be found easily enough. As long as you're not a meddlesome Noble or one of their hirelings. It gets dangerous down below. People disappear all the time. Especially those who might be seen as potentially interfering with the good work of a pillar of the underground community. Sure, Wilm replaces people's limbs with bundled masses and bunches of wriggling worms, but his methods work and his technique gets livable results that are both cheaper and less intrusive (and far less prone to infection) than those quacks who try to inflict mechanical, clockwork or even more exotic prosthetics upon those who've already suffered the loss of a limb.


Julia Has Worms
Julia raises very special gore-worms that she believes to be symbiotic partners, friendly things that can help recover the memories, minds and personalities of the aged, infirm or even recently deceased and transfer these essential things into fresh bodies. She just hasn't quite worked out all the details yet. Unfortunately word of her work in this area has reached the ears of certain jealous rivals and possibly a particularly zealous Puritan with political aspirations. Julia could really use a friend or three, especially if those friends could watch her back  or maybe help her with her work before things turn really ugly.


Among the Dispossessed
Among the refugees of the shanty-camps there are a number of former doctors, surgeons and others who either carry closely guarded secrets or who are looking to take advantage of the disorder and disruption to pursue various experiments. Some of them have scruples, many of them have ethics, but all of them have patients and clients and all manner of atrocities are being committed on a regular basis. Heavily armed and disguised vigilantes have started to 'handle' the more egregious infractions, but those who are drawn to this sort of thing tend to be from the upper-crust and they overlook the less glamorous situations. Perhaps someone from the lower rungs of society might rise up to fight for those the glory-seeking would-be heroes have passed over?


Wild Claims, Unfounded Accusations and Still More Rumors...
There are also less credible claims that someone has managed to distill or drain-off some sort of serum derived from gore-worms that is either a powerful hallucinogen, potent restorative, the cure for all diseases of the blood, or possibly some sort of longevity elixir. Perhaps those scruffy-looking bully-boys down behind the Pissing Wyvern Tavern who are buying particularly large specimens of gore-worms know a little something about all this?

Gore Worms: Disruptive Gastronomy (Wermspittle)

Mmmm Tasty...
A family of clever immigrants have recently discovered a way to convert gore-worms into sausage casings. Their process has tremendous potential to help feed the hordes of refugees and such-like who stand a good chance of starving over the course of the coming winter. So far, only a few close family-friends know about the new sausages, but it is only a matter of time before the local butchers learn about it. Competition among the flesh-peddlers is fierce, especially in the darkest part of winter when preserved supplies dwindle, game is scarce and prices sky-rocket.


The older, established butchers have profited greatly from this situation and they prefer to keep things just the way they are, or if there is going to be any sort of change to the status quo they want to be the ones who are behind it. 


Someone from the family will most likely attempt to hire protection. This could be where the player characters enter into things, or it could be something that one of them overheard while at the Pissing Wyvern or another inn or pub.


It's Just Business
Most non-player mercenaries hired to handle this sort of 'protection' are likely to strike a deal with one or more of the local butchers and skip town. A few of them might blackmail the family first, but as the sausage-makers are refugees from some lowland village that got overrun or destroyed last spring they have very little money, so the mercenaries will probably turn to the butchers who do have money.


Word Leaks Out Like Blood
Once any of the butchers hear about this new sausage-making process most of them will try to keep things quiet so as not to alert any of their competitors, and attempt to strike some sort of a deal with the refugee family. If one of the rival butchers learns that their competition are trying to make a deal with these refugees with some new sausage-recipe or whatever, then they might seek to interfere, make a counter-offer or choose to pre-emptively burn the place down or send in some bully boys or droogs to disrupt the proceedings. This could go in any number of directions, but if the butchers do not get their hands on the sausage-making process by legitimate means such as purchasing it out-right or offering the family some sort of limited partnership or other deal, they will very likely consider resorting to subterfuge, threats, and/or hiring some thugs to steal it before anyone else does the same damn thing. Depending on how things develop, and who learns what and when, there could be a bit of competition among the thieves, bullies and mercenaries sent after the sausage-making process. If someone's nephew gets embarrassed, insulted, severely injured or even killed in the course of this matter that could lead to further complications and escalation, even a possible vendetta or feud.


Secret Recipe
If in the course of the clandestine struggle to secure the secret recipe of the gore-worm sausage casings word leaks out to the refugees in the shanty-camps there are likely to be riots, or at least a good chance for all sorts of fear-mongering, libelous accusations, provocative agitation and even possibly some rioting or violence. Someone might whip up a mob and set them to 'liberating' the sausages. Wild rumors and ignorant speculation will run rampant. Armed gangs might start looking for some warehouse stuffed full of imported sausages. It could get humorous or grim, depending on how bad food-stocks are depleted over the winter and just how desperate some of these folks get.


War of the Weird-Weiners
Should the struggle for the sausage escalate to the point where it attracts the notice of the authorities, then things could get political and potentially even messier. Various unsavory Nobles and petty aristocrats who have lost their lands if not their titles will see an opportunity that they might be tempted to seize upon in order to restore their failing fortunes. The established cliques will of course seek to either gain some perceived advantage or at least deny the same to their rivals. Again, this could escalate along some rather interesting directions depending on who does what to whom, when and who finds out about it. Rumors and innuendos, especially unsubstantiated or deliberately planted ones can be like kerosene tossed into a small fire.

Gore-Worms (Wermspittle)

Gore-Worms


No. Enc.: a single mass of 6d6 writhing worms
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 20'
Armor Class: 9
Hit Dice: 2 (for entire mass) [single, bloated specimens have been recorded reaching up to 8 HD...]
Attacks: 1 (blood-drain or infest) + Feeblemind effect
Damage: 2d4 blood-drain/per turn or infest
Save: F2 (+4 to Save against all non-surgical forms of removal)
Morale: 4


Thoroughly nasty things, gore-worms are prone to infesting areas around butchers, tanners, and such establishments where wholesale slaughter takes place, including some of the less reputable underground gladiatorial arenas, almshouses and hospitals. The gore-worms are not fussy about what, or whom, they infest, as long as it has plenty of blood for them to feed upon.


When a group of gore-worms bite into any sort of flesh, they either drain it of all blood until it or they are killed, or they attempt to infest the flesh, squirming deep into the tissues and going dormant (in dead flesh), and attempting to subvert the will of their host (in living flesh). Every other turn that a victim suffers blood-drain by gore-worms, they must make a Save or else fall under a Feeblemind effect and obey the worms crawling around within them. The victim gets to re-roll this Save every other turn they are being fed upon or infested. Every time the victim fails the Save, they take no damage but are urged to seek out fresh blood for the gore-worms to dine on. Anyone subjected to this sort of domination for too long runs a serious risk of slipping into permanently becoming a host for the gore-worms (called 'Worm Feeders' by the butcher-boys), and in some extreme cases, these hosts have survived the transition into undeath only to continue serving their wormy masters, which has led to the development of Writhers and Wormtongues, among other, even worse specimens.


Because of their exposure to various contaminants in the sewers, such as the decayed remains of dismembered undead, vampire ashes, and other such waste-products of an active and on-going adventurer sub-culture, there are  various sorts of sub-types and mutant varieties of gore-worms that appear from time to time. Some of these variant strains are of more or less value or interest depending upon their abilities, proclivities and overall disposition.