Showing posts with label Labyrinth Lord. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Labyrinth Lord. Show all posts

Wednesday, December 28, 2022

The Doubly Silent Ones with Their Outside Shadows

Knifey Dude Doubly Silent Cultist badguy
What I saw about me none else saw; and I grew doubly silent and aloof lest I be thought mad. Dogs had a fear of me, for they felt the outside shadow which never left my side...
by H. P. Lovecraft

Doubly-Silent One
No. Enc.: 1
Alignment: Neutral
Movement
Armor Class: 7 (As Leather)
Hit Dice: 2 (Advance as Dual-Class Spell-caster/Thieves)
Attacks: 1 (Weapon or Spell)
Damage: 1d4 or by Weapon or Spell
Save: T2
Morale: 5

Special: -4 penalty to Reaction Rolls with all dogs and guard animals. Apply both INT and DEX bonuses to Thief abilities. Make No noise when they move. While Skulking (before any attack/interaction) they can seamlessly blend into shadows. Once they attack or interact in any capacity, they must actively make an effort to Hide in Shadows (as a Thief), but can only do so if they no longer cast spells or seek to attack. Cannot use verbal means of casting spells - their gestural approach requires twice as long to cast than normal means. Darkness-related spells heal them at a rate of 1hp regained per level of caster. Light-based spells prevent them from healing during time of exposure. 

Furtive and skulking, those who become Doubly-Silent eschew normal modes of speech as too vulgar and inexact for their arcane needs. Unable to use verbal means of spell-casting, they rely instead upon a more deliberate and gestural approach to their spells, which takes twice as long to cast any given spell than usual, which is why they often prefer to focus on rituals and rites over the more immediate spells employed by adventurers.

They are notorious for keeping elaborately detailed journals, notebooks and spellbooks filled with all manner of esoteric trivia and cultic gibberish. These books are difficult to read, at best, and often require use of Comprehend Languages or similar spells to wade through their dense, purple prose and idiosyncratic nonsense. Doing so runs a risk of incurring madness or being cursed to require twice as long to read anything ever again, including scrolls or one's own grimoire. Any spells gained from these sources require twice as long to transcribe and can only be cast silently, meaning they take twice as long to cast as well. Each such spell transferred into an adventurer's spellbooks (or to scrolls) incurs a cumulative 30% chance of drawing the attention of an Outside Shadow that will begin to follow that character, patiently waiting for an opportunity to make them into a fresh host.



Outside Shadow
No. Enc.: 1
Alignment: Neutral (Evil)
Movement: 60' (20') Can climb like a spider.
Armor Class: 7 (as studded leather)
Hit Dice: 2 (Can 'heal' by draining the hit points of their Caller or Master, so long as the Caller/Master is sleeping)
Attacks: 1
Damage: 1d4, or Special
Save: T1
Morale: 10 (Gains +1 for each hit point sacrificed to them by their Caller or Master)

Special: Will do nearly anything to avoid bright light. Can adhere to nearly any material surface that is not Blessed. These unholy things delight in reaching into the mind of their chosen victim and sowing confusion and madness. They can also forgo gaining more hit points and instead develop spell slots and copy/memorize the spells their host, Caller or Master has prepared or known, with a cumulative 20% chance that the spell will be lost to both for each level of the spell concerned.
Take 1d4 from Holy Water or if touched by a Holy Symbol. If destroyed, they can attempt to 'resurface' through the foolish one who Called them or attempted to make them a servant.

Clingy, occult parasites that that freely climb and gambol about on any surface, so long as it is dimly lit or in the dark. Slow, weak and frail things, at least at first, these are not the usual Shadows one might have encountered before. These creatures bond with someone foolish enough to serve as their host, or who acts as their Caller via an occult ritual best not discussed in the open, or they will feign loyalty to a supposed Master for so long as this spell-caster allows the Outside Shadow to slowly feed upon their vitality while the Master sleeps (starting with 1-2 hit points a night). Over time the Shadow grows more greedy and begins to drain 1 more point each night, allowing them to gain a bonus of one permanent hit point for every 10 hit points drained from a willing host, Caller, or Master.




Source: Right out of the quote above from HPL's The Book.

Friday, August 23, 2019

Oculent (Wermspittle)


"The individual has always had to struggle to keep from being overwhelmed by the tribe. If you try it, you will be lonely often, and sometimes frightened. But no price is too high to pay for the privilege of owning yourself."
Friedrich Nietzsche

Oculent
No. Enc.: 1d3 (1d6)
Alignment: Neutral (Cruel Tendencies...)
Movement: 90' (Float/Guided Levitation)
Armor Class: 6 (Scalemail)
Hit Dice: 1d4+2 (Some individuals advance as spellcasters)
Attacks: 1 (Area Effect or Ranged with a focus on one target)
Damage: 1d4 or by effect/spell
Save: F4 Except No Save versus magical Fear effects.
Morale: 10 (Extremely susceptible to magical Fear...)

Special: Cast Detect Magic, Read MagicDetect Invisibility and Telekinesis* at will. Oculent communicate via a limited form of telepathy**. Must succeed on a Save to learn each new spell gained if advancing in level as a spellcaster (failure means loss of spell). They also require double the usual XP to progress in any spellcasting class (Except Cleric). Most Oculents will not or cannot cast Dispel Magic

* Oculent Telekinesis is limited to 1/2 pound per HD/Level.
** Oculent Telepathy limited to 10' range and requires a written language known to both parties. They cannot communicate with illiterates...

Oculents will sometimes offer to serve as a Servant/Hireling, Familiar or even Companion Creature, depending upon Reaction Roll, how they are approached/treated, terms offered, any spells used etc.

Rugose and vaguely angular in outline, the Oculent are smallish beings (averaging 1' in diameter per every 3 HD/Levels) with a pronounced innate ability for Detecting and Reading Magic which leads many of them to become spellcasters of one sort or another, but never Clerics.

Oculent tend to be shy and retiring sorts, scholarly introverts who delight in poring over old scrolls, ancient tomes and paging through musty grimoires in the pursuit of magical lore and the chance to attempt to learn another spell, ritual or formula. Unfortunately for them, the Oculent tend to struggle in truly comprehending the things they read oh so easily; despite being capable of clearly reading nearly any magical text, they require a great deal of contemplation, study and practice to learn even the most basic children's cantrip. It is for this reason that some Oculents swallow their pride and take up the responsibilities of an acolyte, disciple or even familiar, depending on the egocentric demands and proclivities of whomever they deem a suitable master, mentor or teacher.

Oculent are ambitious yet patient sorts. Some have lingered in magical service to their 'masters' for decades, serving in placid silence, never revealing the full extent of their abilities or knowledge (or opinions), and unobtrusively learning all they can no matter how minor, worthless or deprecated it might be for their 'masters.'

Not especially brave nor entirely forthright in their dealings, the Oculent are often disregarded as weak, cowardly and nearly useless creatures best suited for use as Familiar (granting their masters the ability to Detect/Read Magic at will and sometimes other abilities determined by negotiation), or as a disciple that pretty much just turns pages on command or who oversees the cataloging and indexing one's scroll collection.

Despite lacking any limbs and having poor depth perception, Oculents hear extremely well and are fairly quick studies when it comes to learning written languages...they just struggle with the process of mastering and imprinting spells upon their weirdly structured brains. One wonders just what might transpire were the Oculent to ever begin to develop their own unique form of spellcasting instead of continuing to struggle with the approaches and canonical corpus everyone else takes for granted...


Any Oculent who learns Comprehend Languages is not long for anyone else's service...



Thursday, November 9, 2017

Edge Creeper [Wermspittle]


“Intelligence is the ability of a living creature to perform pointless or unnatural acts."

Arkady Strugatsky​


Edge Creeper
No. Enc.: 1d4
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 90' (30')
Armor Class: 7 (as Studded Leather)
Hit Dice: 2 [Advance as Magic-User/Thief Dual-Class]
Attacks: 1
Damage: (by Spell)
Save: MU2
Morale: 8

Special: See in all directions, Immune to Sleep, Use Detect Invisible at will, Move Silently gains bonus of +10%, Find Traps gains +20% bonus however they cannot remove traps, cannot be back-stabbed, ignore all damage rolls of 1 or 2.


Silent, patient, playful...these beings are as much animal as vegetable and yet not quite either. Their tall, central body mass is very flexible and they easily contort themselves to get into tight spaces. Their sturdy four legs allow them to clamber about through rubble, debris, or uneven terrain with the seemingly effortless grace of a deer. Eyes of several types and sizes form apparently at will or at random all over their main body, allowing the Edge Creepers to see in nearly every direction. They have displayed a deep and abiding interest in discovering and uncovering all manner of concealed doors, secret passages, lingering booby-traps, unexploded bombs, mines, and so on. Sometimes they leave markers or Warning Signs, but other times they seem satisfied with merely leaving a formerly hidden thing exposed. So far the Wall Guard have not been able to enlist their help along the Inner Ramparts or the Outer Precincts.

Little more is known about them, aside from the few encountered so far have all been spell-casters with an intense interest in the Black Zones and the Glow Field. They seem to avoid the White Orchard for some reason, but may have some sort of affinity for or connection to the Cold Roads. It is rumored that the Edge Creepers first appeared in Wermspittle by way of the Cold Roads, though there are some who are convinced that they first entered by way of the Glow Field or the White Orchard...so far no one knows, so there is a potentially lucrative opportunity for someone to go forth and discover the answers so many Experts and Academics are arguing about...



The creation of something new is not accomplished by the intellect but by the play instinct acting from inner necessity. The creative mind plays with the objects it loves.
Carl Jung

Wednesday, November 8, 2017

Yzel [Wermspittle+]



"Retaliation is related to nature and instinct, not to law. Law, by definition, cannot obey the same rules as nature."

Yzel
No. Enc.: 1d4 (1d6)
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 120' [Levitation]
Armor Class: 3 (as Plate Mail)
Hit Dice: 3+ [Advance as Fighters, 1 in 100 may be a Ranger]
Attacks: 1
Damage: As Weapon
Save: F3+
Morale: 12

Special: Unaffected by Fear, Confusion, Illusions, Charm, or other mind-influencing powers/spells. All thief abilities are reduced by -4 penalty within 30' radius. Unwavering Morale (Never retreat, never surrender...unless ordered). When engaged in conflict become Mindless/Completely Instinctive with +2 on all Initiative rolls.

Gifted calligraphists of high order, the Yzel can only be addressed effectively in their own unique written language which in some ways resembles something alive unto itself. Any spell-caster seeking to learn this language must undertake a very demanding magical retreat lasting no less than one year in order to successfully assimilate and integrate a beginner's level appreciation of the complex whorls, squiggles and intricate diacritical marks involved in this uncanny textual tradition. Those who invest the time find themselves able to converse, after a fashion, with the Yzel and engage their services as guardians or soldiers.

Voiceless, faceless, telepathically muted, the Yzel are deeply intelligent plants from Somewhere
Else who are renowned as being highly civilized beings, despite being almost totally opaque to all forms of magical scrutiny, psychic snoopery or technological intrusion.

The Yzel are never found unarmored save when they first spawn, but so far no one has discovered where they go to get their distinctive body-casques made from multiple alloys of bronze and beryllium. The armor is so cunningly wrought that it cannot be removed from the creature and upon their death the armor crumbles away into an ultra-fine dust, as does the Yzel's body. They are incapable of being resurrected, raised or converted into undead.

When an Yzel enters into conflict they surrender to their instincts in a manner that renders them mindless, but not in the same way that a Berserker enters their rage. The Yzel in battle is a terrifying, implacable opponent that cannot be read, second-guessed or misled--they become focused completely on just the battle at hand...and that could be seen as a flaw of sorts, possibly leading to their downfall against an opponent willing to sacrifice lesser fighters to occupy the Yzel, allowing one to by-pass them altogether.



"To win any battle, you must fight as if you are already dead."

Tuesday, October 31, 2017

Book-Keepers

“But need alone is not enough to set power free: there must be knowledge.”
Ursula K. Le Guin,

Book-Keepers
No. Enc.: 1d4
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 90' (30')
Armor Class: 7 (as Studded Leather)
Hit Dice: 2 (Advance as Magic-Users)
Attacks: 1d2 or Spell-Taking (can also use Magic Items such as Wands)
Damage: See Below
Save: MU2
Morale: 6

Special: These creatures can attempt to drain any spell a victim has memorized by making a touch attack that inflicts 1d2 damage per Round, requiring 1 Round per level of spell being extracted. If contact is broken during this attempt, the spell is lost to both parties.


Driven by obsession and totally lacking in conscience and possessing only a vague echo of their former intellects, Book-Keepers are undead creatures of unnatural memory and lingering reflex, beings so caught-up in the pursuit of spells and the act of spell-casting that even in death they pursue new spells at any cost.

Seldom encountered outside the Academy, Book-Keepers are considered Very Minor Undead; verminous magical pests best left to apprentices and students to deal with generally. Only in rare instances when a Book-Keeper might have stumbled upon an ancient, forgotten trove of old scrolls or books and gained a considerable number of spells would there be reason enough to alert the elders, professors or administrators of academia. Many faculty members look upon the Book-Keepers as something of a test for their charges, an opportunity for those with the wits to make the most of it or a contest of skills and/or personal power for those too dim to continue along the path of spell-casting.

Some nuisances are really gifts in disguise, if one only knows how to make the most of the situation.



'If you want to make things go BOOM! join the artillery or the grenadiers. Spells make lousy -- and overly expensive -- bombs.'
Jadivak Klinehorst,
Third Exchequer of the Academy at Wermpsittle
from a quotation carved over the door to the Little Arena as a reminder to others

Tuesday, August 15, 2017

Nejaun


"Hold still so I can bash ya dammit!"
Rutigar the Droll, Lord Protector of the Blue Trees of Trondelle

Nejaun
No. Enc.: 1d4
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 60' (shuffle), 180' (Leap)
Armor Class: 7 (as Leather + Shield)
Hit Dice: 2 (can advance as Fighters or Spell-casters)
Attacks: 1 or 2 (Can Wield Weapons and/or Magic Items)
Damage: 1d4+1 (Slashing Kick)
Save: F2
Morale: 8

Special: Nejaun can perform a double-kick once every 4 rounds for double damage. They can also forego their next attack in order to attempt to dodge an incoming attack by rolling as for a normal attack and if their 'To Hit' roll beats their opponent's, the Nejaun successfully dodges the attack and incurs no penalty to initiative. If they fail to dodge they take half damage and suffer a -2 penalty to initiative on the next round.

When sorely pressed (having lost more than 3/4 hit points in one combat) the Nejaun can rear back on their muscular tails and lash out with all three legs at +3, +2, and +1 to hit respectively, each doing double damage, but then the Nejaun collapses and is unable to continue attacking until it rests for 2d4 hours. This is only ever used in extreme circumstances and only as a form of last-ditch self-defense.

Smooth-skinned pseudo-saurials with three legs tipped with wickedly sharp curved blade-like claws and muscular tails, the Nejaun rarely wear armor or clothes. Nejaun prefer ranged weapons or wands when wielding anything in addition to their natural claws. Only spell-casting Nejaun wield staves.

Nejaun are fairly commonly encountered as summoned servitors or retainers in service to a spell-caster who has made the journey to the cliff-keeps of Jalamere.


The Nejaun are creatures that have languished in my portfolio for a long, long time and as I recently had the opportunity to go through things over the weekend and re-discover them, I've decided to let them see the light of day once and for all. They seem like a good fit for Jalamere and Wermspittle both...

Friday, August 11, 2017

Actual Play Report from the Fringes of Wermspittle

The map is a work-in-progress...

We recently had the opportunity to run a session of Labyrinth Lord for our friends and their offspring, one of whom is about to head off to college later this month. Our first session went very well, considering that they all began in an isolated village being bombed during the night by unidentified airships...

The following Actual Play Report was written by Jody. We both hope you enjoy it. We're looking forward to the next session!

The party consisted of Q (Potentially a thief), N (Probably a Spell-caster), R (An archer-type Fighter), A (Fighter), and J (Another Spell-caster). Everyone drew a random index card for the gear they were able to grab on their way out of the village during the bombing and everyone had the opportunity to choose a Class for their character based upon how things went as we played through the morning after the bombing...


Session 1
The bombing stopped around daybreak. It had been a long night but the group I fell in with (five of us in all) managed to stay out of sight and uninjured, which is pretty good considering we met in our mutual runs for cover. Everyone was hungry and thirsty, though. We left the relative safety of the woods and walked a bit on the road toward the nearest village. We could hear a few other groups of folks rummaging around in the debris, looking for fallen comrades or fallen goods, but they were all on the other side of town.

The first house we came to still had its walls, more or less. We figured the stench from the flaming outhouse would keep the others away for a while so we decided to some scavenging. Q went first, entering through a broken window as the door was locked or blocked. We heard a bit of a scuffle and some squeaking from inside but no screaming so N and I decided to check it out. A quick peek in the window showed three short, black-furred critters doing their best to hang on to all the goods they’d gathered. Hobyahs. Q had one in hand, thus the squeaking. N decided to go through next to try to talk to the Hobyahs. After a few words and a lot of gesturing N was able to convince the Hobyahs that we weren’t going to kill them out of hand and that we could work together to find more goods, and maybe some food, if they could be quiet.

We met R and A outside. They had checked out the rest of the little farmstead and found an ax, a bucket, and a nice jug of hooch. The bucket would come in handy if we could get to the town well. Unfortunately the well was close to a bomb crater that showed all the signs of being contaminated with Black Smoke. Yuck.

The next closest building to the farmstead had been a blacksmith or arms storage of some kind. Now it was mostly rubble. No food, but we were able to dig out various bits of armor and weaponry, enough for everyone to have something they could use. Some of it had Franzikaner markings, others were Pruztian. The Hobyahs were more interested in the boxes the stuff was packed in than in the goods themselves. I took a nice Vinkin coat and hat and some Pruztian gauntlets. I gave the chausses to A as they fit him. I figure the better armored my companions are, the more protected I am.

N managed to get a pretty nasty cut in their hand digging through debris. I was going to clean it and bandage it up but as soon as I pulled out one of the bottles of wine I had reserved for medicinal purposes one of the Hobyahs became very interested. At first I thought it just wanted to drink it but, with more gesturing, I was pretty sure it was trying to say it could take care of N’s hand. Knowing I had more bottles I decided to see what the Hobyah could do and gave the bottle in hand to it. It took a drink and slapped N’s hand right over the cut. N held up their hand to show the cut was gone. Hobyah can be helpful creatures, apparently.

Things were getting noisier off to our right. At least two of the other groups were fighting over something in another pile of rubble. R and N decided this was a good time to head for the well and fill up all of our containers with water. Q wanted to keep an eye on the fray and snuck around to see what he could see. He’s pretty good at being quiet. A and I chose to stay in the mid-ground so we could go in any direction we needed to.

Pretty soon R and N returned with full water containers. The Hobyahs were playing around with the boxes we had found, trying to get in them. One finally managed to get the lid closed on itself. When its companion opened the lid, the Hobyah inside was gone! We had checked the boxes out pretty thoroughly and they didn’t seem to be designed for helping things disappear, so we decided it must be a Hobyah thing.

Q came back with a report that the fighting seemed to be done and the losing party was heading our way. He also said he had shared the observer role with a winged monkey who was on the other side of the rubble. You never know who you’ll run into out here.

We moved back into the trees to observe and avoid interaction with the wounded group, if possible. They followed the road where it spiraled just past one of the craters and, poof, they were gone. Most likely a Weak Point. Hopefully they ended up in a better place for them.

Once the coast was clear we decided to check out the crater to see if there was anything worthwhile left from the bombing. We got lucky and found a couple of storage caverns. N was able to grab a couple of nice books, with some help from the rest of us holding the anchoring rope. We also found a meat larder and grabbed some sustenance.

While things were still fairly quiet we investigated a few more buildings. One had been set up as a temporary camp for the “winning” group from the skirmish Q observed. Since they didn’t bother to leave a guard we relieved them of an electric lamp and a couple of other goodies. The winged monkey showed up again, watching us through a hole in the roof. We attempted to communicate but didn’t get very far. I guess we’re better at Hobyah.

The rest of the day is a little blurry. I don’t know if I inhaled some Black Smoke by that last house or if I was just too tired to make clear memories. I do remember hearing a tiger in the woods, which we were able to avoid, and that there were five or so Yeren involved in the rubble skirmish that also headed our way. The winged monkey made a beeline for the mountains so we followed. Good thing we did, too. Yeren are nasty critters and none of us were up for a fight.

Turns out the monkey was with a traveler who introduced himself as Gnosiomandus. Nice old fellow. He offered us the sanctuary of his camp for the night, which we gladly accepted. We could all use a good rest before we figure out where we go from here.



The group did very well for themselves and managed to gather a decent amount of usable equipment and avoid some pretty dangerous encounters. It was remarkable to see a group cooperate and communicate as well as these players did--and for most of them this was their first time at the table rolling dice and all that. I'm looking forward to seeing how N deals with the Hobyah Bond-mark and where the group decides to go from here.


Friday, June 30, 2017

Roachlings


"Both the cockroach and the bird would get along very well without us, although the cockroach would miss us most."

Roachlings
No. Enc.: 10-100
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 60' (20') Climb Walls as Thief.
Armor Class: 7 (as Leather and Shield)
Hit Dice: 1
Attacks: 2 at -1 to hit, or 1 at +1 to hit.
Damage: Half of normal damage for Melee weapons.
Save: F10
Morale: 8 (Suffer -4 to Morale in Bright Light)

Special: Climb Walls, Hide in Shadows and Move Silently as Thieves. Some specimens advance as Thieves or Magic Users. All Roachlings are capable of extruding 'gut-crystals' and/or 'milk.'

Ranging from 1' to 3' tall when walking upright, Roachlings are rarely if ever encountered alone. They know full well the dangers of the Bright Places and avoid them as much as possible, except for a few demented or deranged individuals who have developed a taste for adventuring in the humanish world.

Roachlings can extrude a messy yellowish-pink goo that they dredge up from their mid-gut and work into a thick, viscous material that sets-up like a form of pinkish amber. This so-called 'gut-crystal' is packed with nutrition and is much sought-after by the Candy Makers and Confectioners.

They used to sell their 'milk' to anyone, especially during the harsh winter months, but during the First Pruztian Occupation the Roachlings banded together and made a contract with the Maidens of the Well who have held a monopoly over the roaches' 'milk' in Wermspittle ever since. This of course has led to some friction over the years with the Confectioners who likewise signed an exclusive arrangement with the Roachlings in regards to their 'gut-crystals.' To this day it is not uncommon to see gangs of Candystripers or Sweethearts ambushing or accosting lone Milk Maids. It is rumored that the Milk Maids are in negotiations with the Sisterhood of Swans to gain some protection from the Candy Maker's servants and agents...


"Beware of bugs in the above code; I have only proved it correct, not tried it."
Donald Knuth, as quoted by Alan Kay


Before the Great War there were rumors that a number of rival Orders and some Academic Libraries were using swarms of literate Roachlings to transcribe ancient scrolls, clay tablets, illicit manuscripts, and other sorts of things in secret. None of the groups accused of this crime have ever admitted to it and no one was ever punished for it, allowing many Yellow Journalists to decry this as some sort of hoax or fraudulent account. Nonetheless it would account for the Roachlings acquisition of both literacy and spell-casting capabilities...and their disturbing access to some extremely archaic forms of spells and rites few modern scholars know beyond off-hand mentions in the records of defunct organizations or the vague descriptions offered in decaying popular texts from centuries ago...

A more disturbing claim is that while employed as scribes and archivists by their various masters, the Roachlings slipped a few sarcastic comments, pornographic marginalia and even some critical yet subtle errors into the works they copied. Thus it is common practice to blame faulty spells, gibberish scrolls or mis-translated rites to the Roachlings...despite nothing ever having been proven.


There is a wonderful little article at Science Alert that gives a bit more detail on the 'Super Food of the Future, Cockroach Milk. Obviously, such a food-source would be critically important in the winter in Wermspittle...too bad it is in such short supply...

Thursday, September 3, 2015

Octovoidal Transvectors

Four gray blobs wiggled and jiggled through the aperture. Each of them wielded a variety of melee weapons in their pseudopods that surrounded a single glaring black eye...


Octovoidal Transvectors
No. Enc.: 2d4
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 90' (30')
Armor Class: 4 [15] (tentacles 6[13])
Hit Dice: 6+
Attacks: 1d4
Damage: 1d4+1 per tentacle, or by weapon
Save: MU3+
Morale: 10

Special: These loathsome things can only gain spells by plundering the brains of their dead victims. It requires 1d4 hours per level of spell to remove it form a corpse, but if the process is interrupted at any point, the spell randomly discharges and is lost, rendering the victim's brain unusable by the Transvector.

Squishy, soft, bloated sacs of interstitial fluids with demented dreams of conquest; Transectors prey upon spell-casters to amass personal power. They dwell deep within the fringes of obscure regions where the laws of nature break down and all manner of nightmares and insanity run rampant. Cold, inhumanly callous and completely self-serving, these flaccid interdimensional narcissists only cooperate with one another while one of them retains enough power over the others to ensure their obedience, but given half a chance, they will harvest spells from the brains of their would-be masters, one-time peers or foolish allies as they would from anyone else.

All spells that target humans affect the Transvectors, leading to some unpleasant speculation among sorcerers and scholars.


Inspiration: The Octovoidal Transvectors are related to the more octopoidal forms of Mucoids, some of whom have established isolated colonies in deeply weird interstitial regions of time/space. Little is actually known about these beings, though they are extremely hostile to Interstitial Insectoids, seem to have some sort of agreement with the Thysanurians, and are rumored to employ War Grubs from Nhorr to patrol their fortified domains.

A more barbaric form of these creatures are the Octovoidal Degenerates, who will be addressed in their own entry.

Thursday, July 23, 2015

Bujilli: Episode 137 (Rapunzel Overdrive)

Previously...
Rust and debris swirled and splashed down in a riotous torrent right at Bujilli...

Crackling, sizzling ripples of orange dust spread out from the center-mass of what had only moments before been a gargantuan metallicized insect.

Ripples grew into wave upon wave of rust, dust and ichor and dwindling remnants of chitinous stuff. One after another. Each one spreading out farther. Washing across the rubble and wreckage. Rapidly growing into a crashing, smashing tidal wave of corrosion looming over Bujilli and Leeja as they looked on from their precarious little ledge.

Bujilli raised the Synchronocitor in an attempt to ward off the worst of the rust.

The Synchronocitor flickered and shimmered with violet flames. Bujilli commanded it so protect them both. The violet flames surged all around them both, forming a Zone of Protection.*

The mound of rubble beneath them shifted. groaned, began to wobble to the left under the impact of the rust, dust and debris flowing and frothing about the place.

The Synchronocitor's Zone of  Protection was not going to be enough.

Leeja grabbed him around the waist and used her lashing, flashing white tendril-hair to lift them higher, up out of the way of the onrushing rust and towards some part of the mound that might be somewhat more stable.

It was a valiant effort.

She struggled for every yard they covered. Sweat glistened across her skin as she exerted herself like never before. Leeja closed her eyes and focused entirely on her hair and getting them up and away from the mess caused by Bujilli's runaway spell.

Jagged fragments of stone and metal provided plenty of places to gab onto. She avoided the worst of the tangled masses of barbed wire or anything that gave way too quickly when she came into contact with it--having grown up in Aman Utal, she was very well aware of the sorts of things that might lurk amidst the jumbled rubble or disguise itself as a clump of rocks and the like.

The the bulk of the rust struck the mound full on.

Metallic screams filled the air. The entire mound shifted. Orange flakes sprayed over everything. Debris flew everywhere.

The mound began to teeter backwards. they'd never reach the top now and if they did, it would be a very bad place to be when the whole thing fell over into the backwash of rust.

Leeja realized that her hair alone would not be enough to get them out of harm's way. It was strong enough, just not long enough, nor could she move them both fast enough. She needed something else. A spell? She did not know Levitation, not yet. In fact she only knew a few spells. Most of what she knew were perceptual manipulation things. Lesser beguilements, discerning surface thoughts, that sort of thing. The sort of spells her mother had passed on to her more through a form of osmosis than outright instruction; things that came easily to them both because of their nature.

Her nature.

For a large part of her life she had rebelled against her true nature.

Niobe, her sister had mocked her for it.

She had struggled to fit in with the others, to be something they could accept. But no one ever really had. Not until she met Bujilli.

He had accepted her as she was. He knew she had something monstrous in her heritage. He'd accepted her anyhow.

That meant a lot to her.

She wasn't going to let them both die now just because she was afraid of becoming more like her mother.

Her mother's folk were highly intuitive, very empathic...but not in the sense most others thought of that capability. They didn't just 'read' emotions or cloud people's minds, they could reach in and manipulate, twist and even remove things.

She reached into Bujilli's mind. He was open to her. He trusted her.

The Levitate spell was easy to find. Even easier to trigger.

Both screamed in agony as the spell exploded into effect and they were borne upwards into the cold, dark night...


* See the post on the Synchronocitor for more details.

Meanwhile...
Mak-Ait-Akh**, Makait as the spindly apelings insisted on calling him, scanned the horizon. All around him spread a lurid red landscape. Desolate, barren, deadly; he was expected to die miserably out in the wastes surrounding Ylgreve when he had been expelled. That conniving little liar Jamildra had wasted no time in getting him black-listed and banished in retribution for his so-called betrayal. Never mind the fact that he had carried her back from her disastrous debacle of an expedition beneath Zormur's Palace. She was upset all the more since he had deliberately left behind her precious ancestor-possessed scimitar. Let her go get it for herself. He had declared when the solicitors had interrogated him at her behest. If they hadn't already accepted her bribes they might even have agreed, but the winds of political skullduggery were even more whimsical and wild than the winds of war and he she had gotten her way, for the most part. He had gotten exiled from Ylgreve. Banned and barred and banished, just as she had demanded; right before she was set with the geas to recover the blade she had allowed to be left lying in some ruined place through her incompetence. Because he had been black-listed, she could not call upon Makait for assistance. The memory of her spluttering impotent rage amused him. Even now after all these long weeks and longer miles trekking through the Kalaramar Drifts...


(**Now we know something of what happened after Episode 13...)



Waking up in the darkness with blood running down his lip was nothing new to Bujilli; but doing so while being suspended nearly a hundred feet in the air by a spell he didn't recall casting was a new twist.

He shook himself. Spells. His head ached horribly. He tightened his grip on the Synchronocitor. There was a Levitation spell in effect. It felt very similar to the one he tended to use...but it had been subtly altered, empowered, overcast in a way that ought to have fried his brain to a cinder. Except it hadn't. Instead the spell had bulged outwards, distorted by what appeared to be some seriously inexpert casting. It had been cast from within him, from his repertoire, using his mind and his knowledge, the patterns residing within his brain. But how?

Bujilli sat up. This took effort. He ached all over. His singed hair reeked and would need to be trimmed, again. At least the bloody nose had stopped. He felt like warmed-over wermscheiss, but at least he was alive. Nothing dead hurt this much, from the texts he had read growing up.

Down below the rust surged and sloshed and was settling down into a sort of lake of flakes.

They had escaped the worst of the crashing wave and the cloud of abrasive dust that had followed.

The synchronocitor gleamed with violet light that shimmered and shivered and flowed outward from the staff-like device in a dozen or more streamers that all led back to him. To his skull. His brain. For a moment it reminded him of Leeja's writhing and wriggling hair, only this was violet light that was seeping into his brain.

His Levitation spell hovered before him like some abstract defense against imaginative intrusions.

It had been his spell.

But he did not cast it.

He had been involved, of course, but it had not been his idea.

The spell had not spontaneously cast itself. He knew because he checked. that was how he knew it had been his spell and that it had been cast from within his skull and should have burnt his brain to a cinder at least. But it didn't happen that way. Instead the spell had jumped like a spark from one pole to another in some galvanic demonstration. It had connected with the Synchronocitor and somehow went into a resonant feed-back loop with the Zone of Protection.

This had over-charged the spell and very likely saved their lives.

The Synchronocitor was softly singing to itself in a creepy little child's voice. some sort of nonsense ditty in excessively inflected Franzikaner dialect.

Out on the horizon Bujilli spotted what looked like some sort of city or castle or fortress. Whatever it was, it had towers, spires, domes and lights. Either torches or street-lights; he wasn't sure which, but either one indicated an active presence of some sort of people in the place. Whoever lived there, whatever the place was called, it could offer them shelter, maybe even food and drink.

His hand brushed against Leeja.

She was very, very still.

Cold.

"NO!"

Bujilli reached out to his partner. Golden filaments of light spread outwards from his hand, sinking deep into her flesh, down into her bones, awakening whatever it was that lurked inside her, whatever parallel to his Counsel that had imprinted itself upon her back in Wermspittle at Idvard's old place.***

Whatever it was, if it was some duplicate form of the Counsel etched into his bones by some ancient machine, or something else; it was not enough.

He willed his energy through those golden threads of light and into her form. All his vitality, his will, his vrillic essence. There had to be some way to help his friend, his partner.

The Synchronocitor stopped singing. He could feel it observing him, but he didn't pay it any attention. Everything he had, all that made him who and what he was boiled through his body and soul to flow through tiny golden threads that linked him to Leeja.

He called on all his allies and guides and whatever spirits or things might help him set things right.

Lightning flashed and roared overhead. The rain resumed, only harder and mingled with hail now.

He struggled with every last bit of his strength and personal power.

His nose began to bleed again.

Violet sparks snapped and crackled all around him.

It wasn't enough.

With an inarticulate howl of rage Bujilli seized upon the spell vibrating all around them, the Synchronocitor, the Counsel-things scintillating between and within them both, and something happened.

Something wonderful. Something terrible.

Bujilli awoke in a dark place...



*** See Episode 39 for details.

Roll for Initiative...

and a couple of Saving Throws as well...


Synchronocitor Status: Somewhere between curious and bored, while recharging itself.

Roll Saving Throws!
Bujilli needs to roll a 11 or higher on 1d20.
Leeja needs to roll a 6 or better on another 1d20.
Both are suffering from a -2 penalty at the moment.

Should both of them succeed, then they will be together when they wake up. If one or both of them fail, then they are separated when they wake up. You decide!

In this instance the Saving Throw pertains to both damaging effects and displacement. Speaking of Displacement Effects, you can check out our old table for those HERE. You can read more about Saving Throws on Pages 54-55 of the Labyrinth Lord book.

Will it Leave any (more) Scars?
We need to determine how long Bujilli and Leeja have both been incapacitated (both times). If someone would be so kind as to roll 1d6 for each of them, we'll know how many hours they spent suspended over the rust lake. Another roll of 1d20 will tell us how many hours Bujilli was out of it before waking up in the dark this second time.

We can then roll for Initiative for each of them normally.
1d20 each. If Leeja gets the Initiative, we'll determine her situation first, depending on the rsult of the Saving throw above.

We'll need a few d6 and d20 rolls, and actually a d10 or d12 roll would also be pretty handy as well, since now we need to determine where they are, what the prevailing conditions are, and all sorts of fun things like that.

Then we need to decide the top three priorities for Bujilli and Leeja. Should they try to figure out where they are first, or look for one another?  If they find each other early on, should they explore this dark place, or try to get out, or attempt to sort out what just happened between them?

Whatever happens next; You Decide!

And of course, it's Time to Roll 1d6 for a Wandering Monster.
Please roll 1d6 and let me know the result. If you get a 1, the encounter is an environmental factor. A result of 6 will mean we need to roll on the new Wandering Monster Table I'll be posting tomorrow to determine what might be prowling around out there in the darkness...

What Should They Do Next?

You Decide!

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Thursday, July 16, 2015

Bujilli: Episode 136 (Rust Never Sleeps)

Previously...
Ferropede! Huge, iron-clad and on the hunt for fresh meat. It just scuttled out from behind a mound of wreckage and lunged at Bujilli...

...but the sudden motion caused the heavy metal vermin's back third to sink into the soft mud.

Leeja pulled Bujilli back behind a partially melted pillar of cracked basalt marbled with veins of three kinds of metal. She only noticed the metal as it glinted unnaturally in the rain. It reminded her of something she had encountered as a child in Aman Utal. Metal.

They didn't stick around gawking at the pretty metal streaks. Quickly, quietly, carefully Leeja led Bujilli up and around the pillar and the accumulated, compressed debris wedged between it and the next one. Rain made the metal and ceramic bits slippery. Mud seeped up through the broken sections of crushed pipes and conduits. Rubble tottered and collapsed in the wind or from the effects of the rain...or something else.

Leeja found a reasonably-sheltered spot, an overhang blocked the worst of the rain and they could look down at the space just past the pillars where the Ferropede still prowled.

Looking down at the implacable insect forty feet or so below them, Leeja realized it was not some sort of construct like she had initially thought. Seven feet long, possibly eight, from tip of mandibles to spiky-bits on the tail-end, not counting the antennae. Each segment was heavily armored, with wickedly curved blades extending out and down from a lateral line or ridge along each side and down the middle of its back. Valve-like spiracles dilated and closed just below the lines of blades, releasing little puffs of vapor into the cold rain. This was a living beast with iron integrated, concentrated within its exoskeleton. The iron was arranged in a particular pattern. Just like the not-quite-as-glassified section of the pillars all around them.

Thunder reverberated overhead. The rain fell harder. Lightning brought the angular features of the less-melted section of the nearest pillar into focus.

Jeelo runes.

"We can't fight that thing. Not barefoot. In the rain. Not with blades and I seriously doubt either of our fire-arms will amount to much even if they do work in this rain..."

Bujilli nodded, not taking his eyes off of the Ferropede. It was casting about, waving its whip-like antennae about, trying to pick up some scent, some small chemical trace of its prey. The rain was interfering with it, making it have to rely on its other senses.

"Yes...you have a good point. We don't need to fight the thing. At least we won't if I can keep it from finding us.

Bujilli considered his repertoire of spells as he observed the beast below their position. He knew it was only a matter of time before the thing detected them. He half suspected that his scars made him more visible to these sorts of things. He had been severely marked by a Lichipede he had awakened within an old tomb as a child. It had been his third foray into the dark places below on behalf of his uncle. It had nearly killed him. When he had mostly recovered from the worst of his wounds, yet still suffering from the lingering effects of its fever-inducing venom, his uncle lowered him down into the tomb in a basket and demanded that he destroy the thing.

The Lichipede was old. Powerful. Knowledgeable in many things, well-versed in all sorts of esoteric arts. Bujilli was a child equipped with a stolen table knife he had sharpened on a rock.

He should have died that day.

That was what his uncle had intended.

He was furious when Bujilli returned to the surface dragging the Lichipede's head in a rough burlap sack behind him.

Bujilli didn't do things like other people expected him to...and that had saved his life then, just as it might now.

The Ferropede down below was too massive to levitate and only a fool wasted time trying to charm such a thing; he could feel the vrillic emanations of its nervous system even at this distance.

His scars ached.

If only there was some way to keep it from finding them...

Invisibility might work. It was tricky to get it to really work well in the rain. If one was dead-set on not being seen. There was more to being invisible than simply not being seen. The spell distorted light, in some versions, but more often it relied on deranging the perceptions of those observing the caster. The version Bujilli had learned was from a moldy old scroll, the one crafted from satyr-parchment and lovingly illuminated with egg tempera containing ground lapis and beetle shells. He took it from his uncle's cabinet during a solstice ritual. The initial theft had taken less than two minutes...returning the scroll afterwards, so he wouldn't be caught had taken hours. The damned lock had nearly bit off two of his fingers in the process.

Bujilli visualized the arcane structure of the spell. It was constructed using Naacal. Essentially, grammatically, it was a string of glyphs arranged along a primary line, much like a chord of music. One visualized each glyph one after the other in sequence, building-up a composite/compressed mass of energy that was then released like a spring of sorts, the sequence and harmonic relativity of the glyphs dictating the overall structure of the spell.

Shifting some of the glyphs, rotating one here, replacing another there, allowed Bujilli to modify the spell, to adjust its parameters and shift its ultimate expression so that it caused other effects. Each step ran the risk of spoiling or scrambling the root-spell, possibly even prematurely detonating the thing inside his own head. Even a mediocre low-level spell could prove fatal to someone lacking the proper internal resources. It took more than rote memorization to master something as energetically mutable and imaginatively volatile as a spell. It required imagination.

There. He had it. A sequence fell into place that would turn the target's perceptions back upon itself in a feed-back loop.

Three steps and a deep cleansing breath. Calming mudra. The rain felt good in his whiskers. He fixed his vision on the Ferropede and cast his new spell.

SHRIEK-reeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeennk-KKKKKKkkkkkkkkkkkkk!

Thrashing, splashing, slashing this way and that the Ferropede chittered and clattered and clattered as it struck out blindly all about it.

Leeja smiled in approval.

Bujilli was proud of his handiwork.

Then the dislodged a pent-up pile of debris that roared down like a landslide, trapping the thing.

Squeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee---

Green ichor ran from gaps in the chunks of concrete, twisted metal and other wreckage.

ZZZZRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIILLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLLL

The mound of rubble on which they stood wobbled slightly.

"Scheiss." Bujilli fell to one knee. His scars throbbed painfully.

"Something big is moving around--"

"This one is just a hatchling..."



Meanwhile...
Yorim Balthome sipped his coffee. It wasn't coffee this morning any more than it had been for the last thirty-odd years. It was more of that rancid red swill made from Red Weed seed-pods. Vile, oily stuff with a metallic after-taste he still wasn't used to and probably never would. Just like the morning reports on his desk. Another casualty. They were down to only five certified mail-carriers left on the rolls for the Night Mail now. If Jezka didn't recover they'd be down to four. He picked up his pigeon-bone pen and started composing yet another help wanted ad. Maybe this time someone would respond...




Leeja stifled a scream as the angular rune-embossed patterns of a gargantuan Ferropede moved past just below their position. This new Ferropede was gigantic in comparison to the first one. It had to be over thirty feet long. Probably longer.

Bujilli struggled to even-out his breathing, to regain control of his nervous system after the intense shock of the second Ferropede's vrillic emanations.

His modified Invisibility spell popped like a soap bubble.

It had served its purpose.

Leeja turned to him, her gold-green eyes luminous in the darkness and rain.

It was getting darker, colder, more substantial.

Bujilli could feel the transitoriness, if that was even the right word for it, slipping away. They were sinking through immaterial layers, quickly moving past the threshold of the liminal regions, the mirrorspace regions and entering into another region or realm...one farther removed from the Oneirical Seas or Dreamlands.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII-k-click-KKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKKK

The larger Ferropede pulled the hatchling out from under the collapsed pile of wreckage and proceeded to devour it.

They didn't have a lot of time before this huge beast began looking for something more to eat.

Gonnes, knives, the usual forms of violence just were not an option--not if they wished to go on living.

Even the thinnest sections of the massive Ferropede's iron-bound chitin were far too thick and tough to hit it with an axe and expect anything useful to happen.

Bujilli stared at the creature. The patterns built-up from the accumulated layers of metal-reinforced chitin were angular, almost runic in nature, but if that was so, it was in a language he did not know.

The top sections were darker, but marked with orange stains and red streaks that grew more pronounced towards the bottom of each section and at the joints of the thing's many, many legs.

Rust?

Bujilli nodded to himself. Oxidation. A chemical process. All processes are a sort of movement, if only in terms of the passage of time and time was the key. He called up his repertoire of spells once more. He had not been able to master the spell his uncle referred to as 'Celerity,' but he had learned the rudiments of Haste from a chartreuse talking serpent with an affinity for mead.

Haste accelerated the user, boosting their metabolism and giving them rapid movement. If one adjusted it so that it focused on accelerating a process rather than facilitating motion...yes...the structure of this spell was much simpler than Invisibility had been. Fewer moving parts, not as many contingencies, no provision for the user's safety; this was a very straight forward utility spell.

He converted it over to Low-Pruztian so it would be even more efficient.

"I'm going to cast another spell. This time, once it is cast, we need to get moving as far away from here, as fast as possible."

"In what direction?"

"At this point I'm not sure it matters, as long as it is away from that thing."

"You do realize that I'm barefoot?"

"Yes."

"Can you use your Levitation spell to help us get past the worst of the debris? There's barbed wire down there. And worse..."

"No. When I cast this spell, we need to go. There won't be time to try to cast any follow-ups, and I'm not sure that I can speed-up the Levitation spell enough to get far enough away from this thing fast enough..."

"Then I suggest you make this spell you're going to use really count for something. there's no way we're going to move very fast across all this jumbled crap in the dark in the rain and not get seriously injured, buried under a rubble-slide, caught in mud, or fall down some hole in the ground--"

"Fine. I'll do what I can...but then you're going to have to watch over me again. this is going to take a lot out of me..."

"Do what you need to do. I'll be here. Always."

One heartbeat. Two.

The spell slid into reality like a well-honed knife.

Bujilli turned, faced the gargantuan Ferropede's flank and cast his modified spell.

Lightning crashed. Thunder rolled through the little valleys between the pillars and mounds of debris.

Red light streamed from every pore in his body.

His scars writhed across his chest.

Bujilli screamed.

The spell took. It worked. Even as it went into effect he realized he might have adjusted it far more easily to simply accelerate the thing's aging process or perhaps induce its own digestive system to run amok and dissolve it from within using its own juices.

He suspected that hindsight was an occupational hazard for a sorcerer.

Bujilli watched as his spell slithered through the vrillic currents of the Ferropede's internal systems, a cascade of violet-red flames coursing through its nerves and tissues.

It took barely any effort at all to connect the beast's internal energies into the spell.

Three gestures and a slight on-the-fly revision.

He didn't notice the blood flowing down his upper lip.

Or the scent of his singed hair.

Or Leeja's attempts to pull him away from the rim of the ledge they were on.

Crackling, sizzling ripples of orange dust spread out from the center-mass of the huge metallicized insect.

Ripples grew into waves.

Waves of rust.

One after another.

Each one spreading out farther, extending past the Ferropede.

Washing across the rubble and wreckage.

Bujilli raised the Synchronocitor in an attempt to ward off the crashing surf of rust roaring outwards from the crumbling, collapsing shell of what once was a mighty Ferropede...




Roll a couple of Saving Throws...

Then, depending on what happens with the run-away spell... what should they do next?

You Decide!


Synchronocitor Status: Fully Recharged.


Roll to Save!
Bujilli needs to roll a 9 or higher on 1d20.
Leeja needs to roll a 4 or better on another 1d20.
We'll also need another 1d20 roll for the Synchronocitor.
The Ferropede already failed, spectacularly, I might add.

Should either or both of them make their Save, then the effects of the run-away Accelerate Rust spell will be modified one way. If one or both fail their Save, then things take a different turn. Whoever rolls first, determines the outcome. You decide!

You can read more about Saving Throws on Pages 54-55 of the Labyrinth Lord book.

Additional Defensive Measures?
Bujilli has just enough time to try one special action before the waves of rust crash down on them both. He might call upon his Counsel for some assistance (no guarantee that it can do anything in this space).  He could attempt to revise the run-away spell one more time, but that runs a very high risk of making things even worse. Attempting to dispel the rust-waves would require a lot of effort, and we're well past the point where he could shut the thing down by force of will alone...but maybe Bujilli could try to deflect it, or re-route the stuff away from them? Or he could try to use the Synchronocitor either to take them elsewhere, such as it can under the circumstances, or perhaps to shift the rust away from them somehow? If ever there was an opportunity to get creative or to put your imagination to work to come up with a last-second solution--this is it--after all; You Decide!

Roll 1d6 for a Wandering Monster.
Please roll 1d6 and let me know the result. If you get a 1, the encounter is an environmental factor. A result of 6 will mean all this wild vrillic energy going all over the place draws the attention of something attracted to large amounts of vrillic energy...which ought to be pleasant, I mean interesting...

What Should They Do Next?

You Decide!

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