Hereticwerks

Tuesday, October 2, 2012

Lithus Sector: Balajang (02.00)

Balajang (Coord.: 02.00)

Balajang is a Nomad Planet that left The Canopy Sector less than 10,000 years ago,on a trajectory that some experts have claimed might take it dangerously close to the Lithus System (03.05) within a few hundred thousand years. No one is in much of a hurry to avert this potential disaster, especially since the Orəq remain skeptical that it will in fact cross-over into the Lithus System enough to have any real impact upon Lithus Prime. Conservative elements within the Glarus Commune on Lithus Prime have begun to issue bonds in order to fund the development and deployment of a long-range collision-avoidance protocol based upon the best designs submitted by teams of contestants and volunteers on a highly rated reality Netcast that combines engineering-under-pressure, improvisational combat and a range of viewer-submitted challenges. The Netcast takes place on the Isle of Zug, which has been cordoned-off by patrols of heavily-armored macrosharks. There are rumors that the producers of the show have been siphoning-off funds for several side-projects, but since they've secured official diplomatic recognition for Zug as an Autonomous Island-State...no one has clear jurisdiction, so most investigations into this matter have been derailed, deterred or discontinued.

What Is Currently Known...
Balajang has been all but forgotten in the wake of the mega-success of the Hammer & Tongs Netcast. Three separate missions have been registered with the Astronomical Analysis & Assaying Office at Tregio (Coord.: 00.03). The first mission was recalled after the shell-corporation backing it went bankrupt during a hostile take-over. The second mission was only able to orbit Balajang twice before having to return to Tregio (00.03) after sustaining massive damage once their ship's Meteor Rejector failed. The third mission was led by the famous Doctor Enrique Galthazzar and his once-fashionable team of Netcasting Xenoploitation Specialists. Team Galthazzar once produced one of the most highly-rated Netcasts available via subscription, rivaling even the Hammer & Tongs Netcast at the height of their popularity. Billions watched breathlessly as the team descended deep within a fog-shrouded equatorial rift-valley to discover a massive complex of cyclopean ruins that included a series of mile-high five-sided pyramids that extended along the rift for over half the diameter of the planet--and some speculated the series of pyramids (re-christened 'pentamids' by the team's publicist), might well entirely circumnavigate the world.

For five days Team Galthazzar conducted a thorough survey of the Rift Valley. A small network of geosynchronous satellites were left in orbit to help secure the Team's livestream IP, register their claim of the site for Speculative Explorations & Exploitation, and to conduct orbital reconnaissance. The satellites were able to map a considerable portion of the incredibly rugged surface of the world but the Team's AI Producers would not release any of that material until after they'd wrung every last bit of drama out of the process. Ratings counted for a lot.

Autoprobes revealed that the Rift Valley site was indeed part of a vast inter-connected system of rifts, crevasses, fumaroles and underground lakes that extended indefinitely. The probes were left on automatic and pretty much forgotten, their encrypted and scrambled reports trickled in to the central on-site datahub where the Team's AI processed it all into something presentable to the folks at home. But few viewers were interested over-much in the weird geology and rock formations surrounding the site, even if they might actually form some sort of belt all the way around the world. People were curious, intrigued, even smitten with the Ruins. Fans demanded that the Team go in and explore the site right away.

Probes were sent in ahead of the Team. But no one wanted to watch probes. That was considered boring.

So Team Galthazzar compiled all the very latest data, synchronized their GIS mods and boldly went into the Rift Valley Ruins. They recorded seven hours of stock footage and did a preliminary assessment of the site. They had located the entrance to what they were now calling Pentamid 3. The next day Team Galthazzar disappeared while exploring Pentamid 3.

The Team's support-AI crashed or were knocked offline but the cameras still recorded everything and the probes still reported in to the datahub. There just wasn't anyone on-site to access it, interpret it or to release it to the Net. And that was what killed the Team's Netcast. No new footage meant no new episodes and ratings plummeted. In the cut throat world of Netcast explortainment you either broadcast or perished. With the total cessation of all signals from the Team after they entered Pentamid 3 on Balajang, their entire Netcast empire has crashed. Backers have moved on to other infotainers and actual projects, those that haven't been tied-up in the courts or bankrupted by the sudden default of the Team and the predatory actions of the Insurers and creditors who stripped things down to the most minimal assets.

Other groups have taken their place and the sponsors have (mostly) abandoned Team Galthazzar to their fate. Sure the disappearance of Team Galthazzar was a mystery, but all the legal turmoil and behind-the-scenes shenanigans of their disgraced and dismantled management left them in a sort of limbo. No one remembers Doctor Livingstone or King Tut any more, but they do recall something about a team of exploiters lost beneath a pyramid on some godsforsaken world without a sun. Most of them just wonder why anyone would ever go to such a planet in the first place.

Immediate Repercussions and Subsequent Events
Quite a lot of Team Galthazzar's back-up equipment and legacy systems are to be found on various online auction sites.

There are a few hardcore fans of Team Galthazzar. Some scour the Nets looking for clues to some deep, dark conspiracy that they know was behind the disappearance of the Team, others just like to dress-up as their favorite Team members or produce fan fiction or build holo-dioramas of the Team's greatest finds. One of the more fringe-ward of these Fans, Jonn Sitchinson, who operates from his aunt's basement in Pleasant Valley on KII in the Kaaldu system (03.04), claimed to have discovered the smoking gun, the holy grail of Teamers everywhere: Evidence Of The Conspiracy. Unfortunately for Jonn, the 'evidence' he has discovered has in fact opened-up a forgotten back-door into a dead operative's secret cache of dirty secrets. Everyone connected to Jonn Sitchinson is beginning to disappear or die. Unfortunately for the Team, all this clandestine turmoil brought about by one of their Fans has brought altogether far too much covert scrutiny to bear upon the disappearance of Team Galthazzar. Each faction and service monitors everyone else's interest in the mystery surrounding the Team. Some have begun to release disinformation, others have tried to expunge all public access records, all in a desperate attempt to prevent their rivals from learning anything significant that their own analysts might have overlooked or missed. One major Intelligence Service, upon discovering all the activity going on surrounding the missing Team has initiated a secret mission to Balajang to get to the bottom of the matter once and for all. Several smaller agencies have instead opted to insert mines or pickets of deniable drones into orbit around Balajang. The whole situation continues to escalate as each group reacts to what everyone else is doing, is suspected of having done, or might do if no one stops them...

There are rumors of a live vidfeed still streaming out from Balajang. The team left a lot of equipment including a few high-end Automonitors in-place at their point of entry. Four of the Team's original set of satellites, customized decommissioned military-surplus recon-drones are still in orbit, taking readings, mapping the surface and demarcating the legal limits of the team's xenosite claim. Spurious mock-docs and outright hoax footage continue to get released via subculture-forums, Fansites and public vid-distribution services. So many fraudulent and low-quality 'non-transmissions' have been released in the wake of the disappearance of Team Galthazzar that the creation and release of such fake footage has become a genre unto itself. Only the footage posted by KM1818 seems to be legitimate. Even the most accomplished and respected debunkers and skeptics have not been able to find fault with this stuff. But no one knows who this person really is as they are incredibly paranoid and possibly have some sort of Black Ops background. Apparently they weren't paranoid enough. Your group is receiving encrypted pleas from KM1818 requesting your help...

Burt Graham, a third-rate Xenoploitation Auteur has recently found an anonymous backer. Graham has begun to buy-up all the available records and transcripts left behind by Team Galthazzar. He claims that he feels that he is their peer and comrade, not a rival, but he is continually denounced by Fans and several of the more excitable Fans have taken it upon themselves to sabotage Graham's efforts by selling him deliberate forgeries and faked materials in the hopes of derailing his efforts to legally acquire a majority share in what remains of the Team's corporate structure. It's a long shot, and an elaborate exercise in legal maneuvering, but Graham intends to gain legal access to the Team's assets and authority to assume control over the site on Balajang. No one is certain just who is behind Graham, nor where his funding is really coming from...

A transmission bearing authentic Team Galthazzar signifiers was partially received before Black Satellites around Balajang jammed it. It is...or was...a distress signal.

Guide to Lithus Sector (Links) | Intro to Lithus Sector | Map of Lithus Sector

Rogue Space Resources

Monday, October 1, 2012

Yoggidam

Yoggidam
No. Enc.: 1 (1)
Alignment: Evil (any)
Movement: 40' (120')
Armor Class: 6 (only take half-damage from crushing/blunt weapons)
Hit Dice: 1 to 12
Attacks: As primary-palp number
Damage: 1d6 per Primary-palp
Save: MU 1 to MU 12
Morale: equal to HD (3HD=Morale 3)
Hoard Class: Trinkets & Trash (adhered into place within folds of their flesh by globs of partially solidified mucus)

Blind imbalanced denizens of the Deep Places, Yoggidam squirm through the frigid ooze of subterranean waterways hunting after the flesh of any who stray within their reach. Vicious, mindless and malleable in the extreme, Yoggidam writhe and wriggle through the dim, dark places below forever on the prowl for fresh meat to despoil, dissolve and digest.

Constantly in motion, Yoggidam can never rest, never stay still. Their monstrous metabolisms require them to feed constantly; every hour they go without food causes them 1 hit point of damage.

Devoid of visual senses (immune to visual effects), incapable of hearing or registering most vibrations (thus immune to sound/voice effects), devoid of any sort of tactile sensitivity (immune to pain), Yoggidam rely entirely upon their sense of taste and smell. Their flabby, pointed tongues flick and flash out of their maws similar to giant snakes. These hyper-sensitive appendages enable them to detect edible flesh within a ten mile radius in water and within (1d4) miles on land. They perceive nothing else. At all. (Immune to charms, most enchantments, and all mind-altering effects).

Creatures of immense and intense appetites, Yoggidam prowl the deep waters as scavengers and opportunists, slowly growing stronger and bigger and more aggressive as they accumulate HD and more upwards, closer to the sources of edible flesh they can sense above them.

A Yoggidam can squeeze and compact itself enough to force itself under a doorway or barrier with only 1" of clearance within (1d10) minutes. They can also attempt to burst down doors and the like as though they possessed a STR of 12 or better (gaining 1 point of STR every 2 HD).

Potions and poisons rarely have any effect upon a Yoggidam--their rampant metabolisms break down these sorts of substances before they can do much, if any damage or effect. (Save vs Poison +6).

Yoggidam attack by spurting a noxious, sticky dishwater-gray digestive fluid at their prey. They can spray one such glob of goo per Primary-palp, with the option to split their attacks among multiple enemies/victims as they wish. Each glob of digestive fluid causes (1d6) damage and forces those struck to Save or suffer an additional (1d6) on the following round as the stuff continues to dissolve their flesh. The fluid goes inert after the second round.

Yoggidam are sometimes harvested by certain subterranean societies for use in crafting very expensive armor and other high-end items. These things cannot be raised in captivity, so they must be baited and trapped or hunted down, both very dangerous (but lucrative) enterprises.

Wermilok

"Slick, oily and smooth they slither through their tunnels arranging ingenious traps for those unwary folk who trod all unknowingly upon their chosen territory..."

Malgramar The Xenosophist

Wermilok
(Mutant Nematodes)
No. Enc.: (1d4)
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 120' (40')
Armor Class: 6
Hit Dice: 7
Attacks: 2 (Weapons, Contact Toxins)
Damage: Weapon, 1d8+Poison
Save: L4
Morale: 9
Hoard Class: Low End Loot

Mutations: Aberrant Form (arms), Chameleon Epidermis (Limited: hide in shadows 70%, can partially-shift from gray to one other color selected at random), Dermal Poison Slime, Gigantism (humanoid-sized).

(30% chance of 1 additional Mental Mutation or Drawback)

Descendants of free-living nematodes, Wermiloks most often consume algae, fungi, small animals, and fecal matter. Occasionally they will devour dead organisms, acting as undertakers and scavengers at the same time, much like ghouls, whom they dislike intensely due to their long-standing competition as rival waste-mongers and corpse-gatherers in the four great Citystates of the Sunset Coast. Wermiloks within the Four Citystates make a great fuss and bother about observing all the proper and required rituals, maintaining excellent standards of hygiene and propriety, and respectfully handling the dead with all due honor and decorum. If anything they are even more fastidious and punctilious than their rivals who suffer from a lingering reputation as grave robbers and despoilers of the dead based upon historical records and the shuddersome accounts and lurid tales of those abdead individuals who have sought damages through the courts. There may have been some Wermilok money behind some of these grotesque legal proceedings, but that has never been proven. The Wermiloks of the four Citystates pride themselves on being civilized and productive members of society who fulfill a very necessary function which they choose to see as a sacred obligation.

It is also worth noting that the Wermiloks do not exclusively dispose of dead bodies, like the ghouls. They collect and process all trash, rubbish, and waste-products of any and every sort, kind or type...for a small, nominal fee, of course. Some of this stuff they feed-upon, others they recycle, salvage or break down into usable materials. Wermiloks possess an innate genius for restoration, refurbishing and recycling cast-off things. They also are among the most driven to learn everything they can about the old technologies, to study anything they can get hold of that came from the times preceding the Big Burn, with one notable exception; Wermilok elders earnestly and fervently deny any knowledge regarding sorcery, magic or witchcraft. But some have begun to suspect that perhaps they proclaim their innocence in such matters just a bit too strenuously to be taken seriously.

The Wermiloks maintain deeply burrowed archives, museums and workshops few outside of their genome have ever seen. It is in these well-hidden and protected places that they conduct all manner of experiments with old tech and entirely new inventions as well. They salvage and study the past as a prelude to the future, and of all the peoples of the re-industrialized regions it is the Wermiloks who sponsor the most innovators, inventors and experimenters no matter how crack-pot, mad or potentially blasphemous their ideas might be.

Wermiloks are masters of setting deadfalls, digging various types of pit traps and the like. They prefer ambushing their enemies and are notorious in their devious use of traps over any sort of direct confrontation but they are by no means cowardly. Typical Wermilok burrows are arranged with dozens of looping sub-passages, crawlspaces, secret tunnels and so on, making it possible for a few dedicated Wermilok warriors to decimate even large groups of intruders or trespassers. Very few would-be despoilers have ever survived to return from attempted raids upon the underground domains of the Wermiloks. This is a matter of quiet pride among the elders of the Wermiloks, but they do not speak of it in public for fear of encouraging ever rasher, ever more desperate or despicable types to try their luck.

There are adventuresome members of the Wermilok folk who are not satisfied with the conditions imposed upon their kind within the Four Citystates. These nonconformist Wermiloks often hire out as tunnel-fighters, sappers or siege engineers (at double or triple normal rates, depending upon reputation/experience).

Wermilok Secretions

Wermiloks secrete a sticky mucus-like substance that they use to bond earth together so as to reinforce the walls of their tunnels and burrows. Some urban-dwelling groups of Wermiloks have gone into business making bricks or working with cement, plaster and adobe-type building materials. The mucus-substance that they secrete is also highly toxic (when still fresh and wet) to non-Wermiloks, causing those failing a Save to rapidly purge their systems of salt, suffering 7d6 damage (Class 7 Poison/Save=half damage). They sometimes sell small, sealed containers of this stuff to select clientele.

Wermiloks also combine their mucus with honey and other ingredients to treat small boards that they then set-out to poison and petrify vermin such as rats. Just another service they offer. A few artistically-minded entrepreneurs among them have begun to creatively pose and arrange various types of vermin that they then treat with their proprietary mucus-blend in order to create whimsical or bizarre pseudo-statues through their taxidermy-like new art. It has only just begun to catch on as something of a fad among the consorts and concubines of certain of the Warlord's higher ranking officers and supporters.

The 'Other' Wermiloks...

Some of the more savage Underwaste tribes of Wermiloks have developed a taste for devouring the living tissues of victims whom they keep alive for as long as possible while they dine upon their limbs, faces and/or guts. This is thankfully a rare, if strikingly sadistic deviation from the norm, or so say the few scholars that have studied the hordes of reclusive, xenophobic mutant-barbarians of the Underwastes. Warlords have been known to hire-on outcasts from these particular tribes to serve as torturers. Their reputations often undo recalcitrant prisoners without ever having to touch them.

There are increasingly lurid and unsavory rumors concerning tribes of Wermiloks out past the Bad Lands that have learned how to control Burn Leeches and domesticate Giant Leeches for use as guard-beasts. Bad Lander Wermiloks tend to have 1-2 additional Physical Mutations, usually Aberrant Form (Multiple Arms), Natural Weapon (Stinger), or Dual-Headed, though there are other types from time to time. These tribes are also reputed to be led by shamans who exhibit one or more major Mental Mutations and possibly spell-use...

A more radically mutated offshoot/sub-species of Wermilok, much larger and equipped with axolotl-like gills, have been reported by explorers who've only just returned from the Southern Rainforests.

Mutant Future RPG | Introduction to Draath | Badlands & Underwaste | Draath Index

Saturday, September 29, 2012

Sector T-3 Notable Location One: Hex 14.42 (Kepler 22-B, Strange New World)

Kepler 22-B is a Super-Earth that orbits within the Kepler 22 solar system's Habitable Zone (at 0.849 AU). It is one of the earliest confirmed Exoplanets located 600 light years from Earth in the Cygnus constellation. The Strange New World blog is coordinating a collaborative effort to map and explore Kepler 22-B as an environment suitable for table-top role-playing games.

Sector T-3 occupies a rocky, mountainous region with warm Mediterranean coasts with a few large freshwater lakes and is dominated by vast, dense forests that are book-ended by two distinctly different desert regions. We have only begun to explore this region...

Kepler 22-B: Sector T-3
Notable Location One
Northwest Quadrant: Hex 14.42

Free-floating blimp-drones have detected a large symmetrical mass in Hex 14.42. Situated upon a sheer cliff overlooking the mouth of a fast-flowing river there is a very large, almost featureless blister-dome. The area surrounding the Dome is heavily forested, dense with ferns, fronds and thorns. The terrain is rugged and difficult to traverse for tripods and almost impassable for most ground vehicles. Aerial or aquatic transport are recommended.

Blister-Dome (Egg?): Nothing grows upon the Dome. There are no visible apertures. No markings. It appears inert. Yet it registers as a living organism according to all scans. A single living organism more than a mile in diameter...

Lesser Tributaries: On either side of the Dome are a pair of winding and sluggish freshwater rivers that flow into the more brackish waters of the mega-river that extends inland to Hex 20.35. Both of these smaller rivers have muddy bottoms rich with various sorts of bivalves and burrowing fish. More than thirty varieties of ferns and lotuses cover the banks or grow out into the river-bed itself. Red-striped land-krill and yellow-spotted drift-slugs prey upon smaller insect and motile plant species. There are eight-winged insects somewhat resembling mayflies or cicadas that feed upon the land-krill and drift-slugs in turn. Small traces of gold can be detected in the river mud. A species of butterfly unique to this region extracts gold from the mud and deposits it into their wings as an ultra-fine bio-foil.

Cliffs and Caves: This area has a great deal of limestone and dolomite. Sinkholes, cenotes and karst formations are extremely common and serve as habitats for countless animals, fungi and so on. All along the mega-river the terrain drops away sharply in a sheer cliff-face that extends for many miles (at least as far back inland as Hex 16.40). These cliffs are heavily eroded, massively overgrown and extensively riddled with holes, tunnels and caverns.

Mega-River: Blimp-seals and hundreds of migratory waterfowl of every type and description thrive in the brackish waters at the mouth of this Mega-River. Luminous shrimp, aquarachnids and eel-crabs proliferate farther upstream. A sort-of salmon-like fish species competes with voracious 3' long insect larva in the deeper waters. A type of reedy plant has been expanding into the region from a source that may or may not be located in Sector V-3. Nothing can be conclusively established without more in-depth research. The reeds are of interest as they produce a wide array of 'pearls' by accumulating and concentrating various minerals into tightly packed nodules scattered along their extensive root-networks.

Abandoned Settlement-Site: Extending from the promontory across the Mega-River from the Blister-Dome noted above and running down behind a steep overhanging ridge into Hex 15.43 are the cyclopean ruins of a non-human settlement dominated by octagonal slabs of greenish basalt that have been stacked like twisted or spiraling helical sculptures. Carvings and cave paintings near or below these ruins depict six-legged scaly centaurs most often with four arms and either four or six sets of eyes. The creatures are shown in a variety of ritual poses and are believed to have been adept hunters. No bones and no artifacts have been uncovered at this time.

Crystal Cylinders: Several large crystal structures, all of them cylindrical in shape, have been encountered at various points across this region. The Cylinders hover 3' above the surface of the ground or river-bed. They emit a low-level humming noise and appear to be following very precisely prescribed paths. When moved away from their present location, the Cylinders will invariably seek to return to their preferred path once they are allowed to go free again. They are definitely artifacts of some sort. Little else is known about these Cylinders at this time.

Kepler 22-B: Strange New World
Kepler 22-B Master Map

Sector T-3 Intro | Sector T-3 Index

Friday, September 28, 2012

Swarms Table 1 (Wermspittle)

"One bee makes no swarm."
Questionable Franzik Proverb

Not all swarms are created equal. Here is a table of unique and exotic swarms for use on those occasions when you want something more than just a mass of biting, stinging insects and such.

Swarms (Table 1: D30)

(3d4) bloated, squishy lampreys saturated in formaldehyde and other fluids are flopping about the floor trying to come to terms with being converted into badly embalmed and inadvertently abdead mockeries. Completely out of their element, the lampreys will seek water or blood, whichever presents itself first. If they escape into the Sewers, there is a slight chance that they may infect/contaminate otherwise normal lampreys lurking within some of the buried cisterns or other underground municipal waterways. The Sewer Militia will take an active interest in the matter, should anyone notify them, like say that girl standing over by the doorway who just ran off...
Five hundred manic black-and-gray swirled marbles roll across any surface, including ceilings, in search of iron-based compounds. They will extract iron from anything they come into contact with (inflicting 1d4 damage per attack) until they achieve satiation (20, 30 or 100 hit points?), at which point they will blink red three times then fade away. The marbles will tend to clump together in order to more efficiently consume iron weapons or armor which they prefer to the messy effort of extracting iron from blood or living tissue.
(4d4x100) Mead-Bees have a hive near here. They tend to strip all pollen, nectar and sap from the local area for use in producing honey and honey-derived products. The Mead-Bees are upset and desperately looking for someone to help them drive off a nasty Brewer's Bane.
A vast flock of Passenger Pigeons descends upon the immediate area. Every hungry person for blocks around is out in force casting nets, firing off home-made nail-gonnes, and otherwise trying to make the most of the sudden bounty of edible fowl. Things quickly spin out of control and even the Street Patrol might not be able to prevent a blood-bath or riot.
(4d20) Spiny Writhers are nervously clustered across the nearest wall. The urchin-like worm-things have been set into wet plaster that has since dried, trapping them here. A Black Liquor Distiller did this in order to discourage unfriendly or nosey traffic.
Rats. Hundreds and hundreds of shriveled and starving rats quickly cover the floor like a dismal tide of scampering eczema-afflicted little bodies all speckled with far too many tiny glittering eyes. They make almost no sound whatsoever. They bite no one. They are gone nearly as quickly as they appeared. They leave behind a nauseating mess reeking of ammonia and unguessable filth.
(4d6) Giant Albino Penguins burst forth from a ramshackle pen where some damn fool has been giving them bits of Hard Candy. These foul, smelly birds have grown strange, deranged and cannibalistic. Now that they've broken free, they will attempt to eat anything...or anyone...who they can capture, kill or clamber upon enmasse.
At first it was only one or two semi-translucent snails sliding down the window. No big deal. Then a few more snails worked their way down the wall. Then a dozen. Soon it was too many to count. That was when it became clear that the things were bone-gnawing snails, hideous creatures that squirmed painfully past the flesh of their victims in order to grind down the calcium in their bones which the snails use to form their elegant, elaborately-curled shells.
(6d6x100) Silkworms have found their way into a run-down garden overgrown with mulberry trees. (4d20) of the things can be found across all the local alleys and rooftops, searching for their preferred succulent leaves. Most people are ignorant of the potential value of these caterpillars and tend to smash them flat as nuisances. Formal Sericulture is something of a forgotten art in Wermspittle...currently...but once there were several well-established Magnaneries located along the West Wall. Maybe those could be reclaimed and put back into production, once whatever wild beasts or worse that have taken-up residence in them has been driven out. Of course once people discover that the pupae are edible, that might interfere with attempts to develop sericulture, though it could then lead into a gourmet pupae-raising opportunity instead...
A billowing cloud of skin-eating moths. They inflict 1d4 damage per minute of exposure. Each victim must make a Save every time they sustain another 4 points of damage, failure means that the moths have laid 1d20 eggs in the wound. Anyone taking in excess of 12 points of damage from the moths must roll an additional Save at -2 or suffer a loss of 1 CHAR. This loss will become permanent if not properly treated by a Surgeon (using the Removal spell), Midwife (using a drawing salve and a restorative spell or two) or other healer. The eggs will hatch into maggots within 1d4 days. Their constant gnawing will cause 1d4 damage per hour until they are removed or the host dies.
(4d6) Flytaur maggots (1HD each) are crawling over, around and within the messy carcass of a Bruthem that was recently rustled, killed in an alley, skinned poorly and left to rot. The rest of the maggots (6d6) have scattered through the area looking for more suitable fresh meat.
Papermonger Wasps have begun to build a carefully hidden and heavily reinforced hanging fortress of gray-paper behind the crumbling facade of a burned-out building. They send out patrols of 2d6 paper-armored soldiers for every 3d4 less well-armored hunters who are under orders to collect beetle larvae, caterpillars, maggots and the like. They will trade for nectar when it is available. They secrete a clear liquid that repels ants and some Landlords hire them to spray this substance around their properties to ward off ants, termites and related insects. Inside the hive are 1d4 Scribe-wasps who specialize in bookbinding and scroll manufacture utilizing the gray-paper their people produce.
(4d6x200) Mottled Yellow Ants are marching through the area. They are following the pheromone trail of their scouts who have located a Weak Point that leads to a fragrant rain forest where their Queen believes they can finally begin the next stage of her alchemically-augmented scheme to develop a malleable sub-species of hybridized ant-human centaurs that can then be trained to serve Her insane ambitions of conquest. Any humans these ants encounter will be evaluated as potential breeding stock. They will prefer to buy suitable slaves when possible, but are not averse to kidnapping particularly promising specimens if so ordered by their mad Queen.
The ceiling is covered with dozens of lime-green slugs. The mucus they leave behind them dries into a flaky, light-green film that is incredibly flammable. They spit an exceptionally volatile form of Mercury Fulminate as their general response to anything that gets in their way. A small band of orphans has been capturing and corralling these slugs in this place so that they can farm the green-film for making fuses and torches. When one room in an Abandoned Property is suitably saturated in the green mucus, the orphans then bring in a few salvaged bed-warming pans that they stuff full of damp moss in order to produce a great deal of smoke. The smoke pacifies the slugs. The kids then transfer the slugs to another room. Then they go back and scrape the rapidly-drying green film off of the walls. They either wind it around bits of string or just roll it into plump cylinders by hand. They store their cache in a near-by attic. The orphans have learned to feed the slugs rotting cabbages soaked in a diluted solution of Spectral Brine as well as crumbled cakes of cinnabar that they loot as needed from one of the old warehouses up along the White Zone of the Aerial Concourse where the old airships used to load and unload freight. So far only three of them have lost a finger or some toes to the slug's spittle. They're a bit stumped as to how they might gather the slug-spit in order to sell it. The longer these kids keep herding the green slugs into their hide-out, the more of the things sneak away to take up residence in the surrounding properties. They can be a real nuisance.
(4d100) leg-less mauve scorpions (they still have front pincers) were once confined to a tin-lined trough intended for torturing and/or executing blasphemers by the friendly cultists who've been rebuilding one of the local Abandoned Properties into some sort of chapel. Somehow the creatures have gotten loose. The cultists would prefer that no one know about this particular aspect of their practice. They will vehemently deny any knowledge or connection to the poisonous insects. They will also be tempted to try to silence any non-believers who they think they can successfully bribe, intimidate, or assassinate.
There is a sizable hive of fingerling wasps near-by. They are perpetually angry, their venom is slightly hallucinogenic (Save or suffer Confusion for 1d4 minutes, cumulative) and does 2d4 damage per sting. They attack all spell-casters for double-damage. The rage that fills these insects is deeply imprinted upon them. Do these things guard some special location? Were they part of some student's applied biology experiments? Why are they so angry and what can be done to placate their furious Queen?
(4d6x100) White Striped caterpillars cover nearly every surface. They seem torpid. More than half of them are already forming cocoons. The milky fluid these things produce can be used as a peculiar, buttery substance when churned with a small quantity of White Powder, or it can be fermented. One of the local tavern-owners is known to pay a fair price for usable quantities of this stuff.
Hundreds of Beautiful Blue Beetles, each one asking the same question over and over again, yet no two of them ever ask the same question. All in the same, monotonous, inhuman voice. This appears to be some sort of idiot-mimicry and not any sort of actual intelligence. Their flesh is edible and the Refugees down along the Low Streets are reputed to steam them or serve them 'popped' by throwing them into extremely hot oil. These beetles are mostly harmless, so even small children will scramble after them to gather up as many as they can whenever they are encountered. The shells give off a sweet-smelling juice that temporarily dyes everything it comes into contact with a vivid shade of blue. Some artists use the shells in formulating paints, some calligraphers prefer inks derived from these beetles, especially for inscribing certain types of spells.
(4d6) tadpole-stage Molgs (2HD, half-power attacks) slither across the walls hunting stray wisps of ectoplasm left behind by a Fantodic that has since been captured and removed by a cabal of Fantomists, one of whom is keeping an eye on the Molgs. She's raising them with an intent to train them as guard-beasts and will take exception to anyone harassing or harming her creatures.
Three inches of fresh blood covering the floor hides the (3d6) Gore Worms wriggling about just below the surface.
(1d4x1000) Tiny orange frogs.
One hundred forty three bowling balls that were painstakingly, lovingly hauled one by one to a carefully-chosen hiding spot over the course of three decades by a slightly demented one-armed Drilg have been set rolling down the nearest set of stairs by a rival. Spazrit's gloating over his mischief didn't last long as the bowling balls broke loose from their make-shift rack which collapsed under all the stress and strain, crushing him under a torrent of bowling balls. The Drilg has left the building in disgust. He's going to go back and rejoin the Sewer Militia.
(4d6x10) Aerial Ferns float past. They are instinctively seeking out suitable spots to deposit seeds as they go along. Typically these things prefer to follow rivers and creeks in order to find marshy regions. No one is quite sure how they got up here in Wermspittle.
Gnats. Countless little flying, buzzing, biting little insects erupt forth from some basement-bog or sump-swamp. They are so dense there is a danger of suffocation from inhaling too many of them at one time (Save or choke, make second Save if first one is failed to avoid passing out). The swarm will dissipate in 1d6 minutes.
(4d4x20) Esoteric Leeches slither along the shadowy recesses, nooks and crannies hunting after their chosen prey: unwary spell-casters and psychics. Individually, these horrid little lavender-gray parasites aren't much of a threat, but in a large group, they can strip several levels of spells from the very brain of a sorcerer or drain the reserves of power from a psychic so as to seriously impair their ability to sue their abilities for a considerable amount of time, in some cases inflicting permanent reductions in the capacity to memorize spells, use spells of a certain level, or even the lingering loss of INT, WIS or CHAR. Junicullo Vesubidar is generally regarded as the miscreant who gave these things the ability to operate outside of the murky waters of the Low-Land Marshes. Many spell-casters burn a small effigy of Junicullo every February and give thanks that he died a miserable, painful death for his incredible stupidity. [If this result falls in February, it consists of a procession of spell-casters carrying their effigies of Junicullo to one of the local plazas or squares in order to burn them and castigate, berate and curse his name.]
One of the upper floors of a near-by Abandoned Property has just collapsed due to the unceasing efforts of termites. Roll on a random Encounter Table to see what might have been dislodged, driven out or trapped by the collapse.
(4d10) Candle-crafter pseudohumans (think halfling-bees) are prowling the area looking for a potential new hive-site. Several of them are wounded and dying due to the incessant attacks of wild dogs, street wolves, and feral children. They are only lightly armed (mostly with mis-matched tools and a few rickety bows or slings).
Zealot Termites have begun erecting a huge cathedral mound behind the vine-hung outer-walls of a ruined manor. They have established a kill-zone surrounding the outer-walls and squads of (4d4) Warriors ruthlessly eviscerate anyone who crosses the pheromone-soaked boundary that they've staked out. Unfortunately for the Zealot-mites, conditions in Wermspittle are less than conducive to their efforts. They have a tough time surviving the harsh Winters. But all that might change now that an enterprising ex-Sewer Militia sergeant has taken it upon herself to negotiate with the Zealots in regards to the location of a unregistered portal that can be used to access a location far more amenable to the Zealot's metabolisms. What the sergeant isn't telling them is that there are three other insect species who have already paid her considerable sums for 'exclusive access' to this portal.
(6d6) Giant Carnivorous Millipedes have been driven up into the city from below by a rogue band of Morlocks hoping to use the creatures to terrorize the rich, upper class estates. Too bad they were working from an outdated and incorrect map and brought their war-beasts out in the middle of the Burned Over District. Dozens of Refugees, Unfortunates, and others have been overjoyed to carve-up the Millipedes into stakes, roasts and chops...
Scores of distorted, discolored mosquito larvae float about listlessly in the stagnant waters of a rusty water-tank atop a deserted building that is about to collapse. Once the metal tank is overturned and the greasy, stinking water sloshes out into the wreckage, the larvae will be freed from the torpor forced upon them by a ward inscribed upon the tank by a Forager three decades ago. If it is Winter, the larvae will either freeze or get hacked into stew-meat. Any other time of the year and they have a better than even chance of becoming large and obnoxious flying pests.

Thursday, September 27, 2012

Bujilli: Episode 44

Previously...
Accepting a job from a shifty Triloo librarian to scout-out the lower levels of their new-found Keep on an Adjacent World (see Episodes 40 & 41), Bujilli and Leeja were making quick progress in their discrete survey when Bortho, their ostensible 'guide' abandoned them and ran off down a sloping passage after his missing mate. Following Bortho, they quickly caught-up to him and saved his life before he ran head-long into a small group of Grunters. They sent Bortho running back to the Portcullis Station. But Leeja had no intention of running. In fact she quickly dispatched the creatures. Bujilli noticed that the Grunters were infected with a horrific fungal culture. They ran. Bortho was already lowering the Portcullis (see Episode 42). He was out of his mind with panic...and under the psychic domination of the fungi that has infected the Grunters. Acting quickly and decisively, Bujilli and Leeja prevented Bortho from locking them out of the Portcullis Station (see Episode 43). The psychic link to the fungi twisting Bortho's fear-addled mind was severed. Then came the realization of what might be lurking down the sloping passage...

War Bells reverberated from down the opposite sloping passage. They could be a mile or more away, or much closer. The heavy, sonorous things were intended to vibrate deeply and carry far underground. Grunters were an unsubtle folk.

Bujilli looked at the half-lowered Portcullis. He considered their situation. This was supposed to be a simple, easy job. A lucrative side-trek that wouldn't take more than a day or two at most. Ha!

He consulted his Counsel, the machine-spirit etched into his bones by another machine called a Transveyance. It helped him. It could tell him many things. He closed his eyes and communed with the Counsel, allowing it to operate more quickly, more intuitively in anticipation of his needs and requirements. It showed him how the Grunters had split into three groups at the Domed Chamber in order to explore the sloping passages. It also showed him Bortho's mate. She went down one of the passages only hours before the Grunter scouts. He could see the sparkling motes of a minute trail left behind the...pregnant...girl.

Bujilli snapped out of the light trance. Things were getting complicated. It was supposed to be a quick little job. Nothing to it. Ha!

Leeja examined one of the Grunters' crude black-iron javelins she'd recovered from where it had fallen after Bortho had flung it away in disgust. It was coated in the boy's blood.

Bortho groaned and began to struggle back up on his feet. The bandage on his left leg, where the javelin had pierced him, was soaked with blood. It had been a vicious wound. The javelins had multiple sets of blade-like fins and vanes set randomly around the shaft. No two produced similar wounds, for whatever that was worth.

"You think that you have an idea?" Leeja swung the javelin like a shortened staff or jabbing spear. She seemed to know what she was doing. She was trying hard to not sound too petulant. For now.

"Yes." Bujilli went over to Bortho. The boy refused his help.

"Can you walk?" Bujilli stared into Bortho's eyes. The boy grew just a shade paler. He wavered for a second then nodded vigorously. He had no intention of being left behind, not that Bujilli planned anything of the sort.

"Wound closing. I fight." Bortho gritted his teeth. Sweat poured from his forehead and bare skin. His hair was damp with it. Fever. A side-effect of the boy's mutated metabolism. He was healing rapidly. The blood-soaked bandage slid down his thigh and he promptly drew out a knife and cut it away. The wound in his leg was a pinkish patch surrounded by deep purple bruising. Like all his people, the boy healed incredibly fast.

"Good." Bujilli shook his head. Whatever or whomever had given Bortho's people this accelerated healing capacity, and it was clear to him that they were in fact a designed, manipulated people, this 'gift' was something they were intended to put to use, or perhaps it was deemed necessary for them to carry out whatever aims or schemes they were intended to accomplish. That bothered Bujilli. These people were living weapons. Pawns on a game-board. And he didn't recognize the rules, who the players were, nor even what his role might ultimately be; however the stakes were fairly obvious. But even so, there were too many uncomfortable questions and disturbing implications. He wanted some answers. Answers his Counsel could not give him. He wondered how they might get Idvard to confide in them more fully. The devious old Triloo librarian knew a lot more than he'd shared with them so far. Which was to be expected.

"Your Plan?" Leeja prodded.

"There were Grunter scouts sent down each of the other three sloping passages that run off from the Domed Chamber. We've eliminated one group. We can cut-off the scouts that went down the other two passages by dropping and locking the Portcullis at those Stations. The War Bells will cover the noise, I think. Then we can either try to lock the Grunter Horde out or we can head back and warn Idvard that things are far from safe down here."

"I'm not thrilled with leaving the place open to that Horde. Especially when they could send more scouts or skirmishers through at any moment. Behind us. Not a good option."

"I know--"

"FOOLS!" burbled the severed head on the floor.

All three turned to stare at the thing. It regarded them with baleful, piggish eyes and snorted derisively.

"YOU HAVE RUINED EVERYTHING!"

"We don't have time--"

"KILL THE SCOUTS! I WILL DEAL WITH THE HORDE!"

"What?!" Leeja stepped up before the sizzling Grunter-head.

"GO! KILL SCOUTS! MY PLAN STILL GOOD! BEHOLD!"

-Squinch-

A headless Grunter shambled past the half-lowered Portcullis. Livid purple growths protruded from gaping splits in its horribly abused flesh even as orange pus dribbled down to leave a fetid trail back to where it and its companions had been abandoned.

-Squelch-

Another, then another of the fungi-infested corpses staggered past the Porcullis. Bortho stood dumbfounded.

"GO! NOW!" howled the head as its skin flaked away in ashes. It's eyes ruptured. A lambent green flame flickered out from the back of it where the skull split asunder due to the intense heat and pressure from the burning brain. In seconds the talking head was reduced to ashes.

Bujilli looked into Leeja's simmering gold-green eyes. She smiled sweetly. He nodded. They began to jog back to the Domed Chamber. Bujilli grabbed Bortho by the arm and got him to follow along.

They went back along their trail and stopped to watch the shambling cadavers move past them and down the sloping passage towards the War Bells and the Grunter Horde. The grotesque things moved far more quickly than any of them were comfortable with, and they left behind a foul trail of smeared fluids certain to be rife with toxic spores. But somethings can't be helped.

"Which way do we go?" Leeja watched the last of the fungi-possessed corpses go down the passage back to its people. A scout bearing far worse than bad news.

Bujilli waited for the last headless Grunter to move past. He considered dropping the Portcullis to block off the fungus colony...but what good was a bunch of heavy metal bars against something that could spew a cloud of spores--he froze. Ventilation. Why didn't the fungi make use of the Keep's ventilation system to by-pass the Portcullis? He ran back into the Station. There. Along the ceiling, at even intervals all along the upper surface of the walls were gill-like slits. All of them closed tightly. He focused on the Portcullis itself. It was hardened against spells and blocked aethyrial and other forms of intrusion. He could discern layer upon layer of embedded and immersed ward and guarding protocol. Then he saw it. It only made sense.

"What are you doing?" Leeja whispered harshly in his ear.

"What needs to be done." He dropped the Portcullis the rest of the way. It locked into place. The vent-slits above flared open and fresh air streamed into the space.

Leeja looked up at the source of the sudden breeze. She smiled in approval. The fungus was locked out, at least the main-mass was--the infected corpses had left behind a sickening trail that would need to be dealt with, but that was far less hazardous than a full-blown Fungal Tyrant having free and full access to the place while they were busy dealing with the Grunter scouts.

Bortho scowled at them both. He resented their doing what they had stopped him from doing. no matter he might well have trapped them both on the wrong side of the barrier.

"Now."

"We hunt." nodded Bortho.

"See if you can keep up." Leeja taunted them both.

"This way." Bujilli barked. He knew that they needed to reach Bortho's mate, but she had a lead of several hours. He also knew from his Counsel that she had not been abducted. She had passed through this place on her own. That made him nervous. It smelled like a trap.

They reached the next Portcullis Station and dropped the barrier to the outer passage. It locked down cleanly.

They moved on to the next Station, the one where the sloping outer passage led to the Grunter Horde. The War Bells vibrated through the floor. Bortho struggled to stick with them and not run away. They dropped the Portcullis. It locked. The War Bells became a faint background noise.

Leeja led the way to the last Station. She went to the Control Pedestal. Paused.

Bujilli drew out his hand-axe. She grinned at him. Bortho barreled past at full-speed down the sloping passage. He was going to rescue his mate.

They followed.

The passage ran on and on for more than a mile.

Two miles.

Three.

Bortho slackened his pace.

The air grew humid. Warm. Pungent with strange smells, not just rot and mold.

They heard the rumble of waterfalls ahead.

A cavern opened-up before them. The passage debouched onto a walled and fortified platform. Three overturned carts were shoved up against the left wall, just visible in the soft gloom of the place. Off to the right a cluster of angular crystals gave off a sharp blue light. Grunter tracks went off past the crystal-cluster. So did the trail of Bortho's mate.

They followed.

The fortified platform was some sort of depot. It was arranged as a set of three nested octagons. Each narrow-topped gate was wide open before them. More clusters of the angular blue crystals flanked each gate and were spaced along each wall at regular intervals. There was a skeleton embedded on barbed spikes incompletely withdrawn into the wall before the second gate. The place was deserted. Abandoned.

Bortho grabbed-up a section of one of the crystal-clusters as they went past. It came away easily. A translucent blue metal shaft was mounted at the base of the thing. A torch of sorts. He grinned as he pulled two more torches from their resting place and handed them to his companions.

The blue light was sharp. Actinic. Cold. It seemed hot at first, but the crystals were cold. The light provided no warmth. It lit up the immediate area as well as any smoldering stick, but without wavering or using up precious oxygen. Or igniting pockets of volatile gas.

A rounded plaza-like space awaited them past the outermost gate. Three switchback roads wound their way down the steep sides of the cavern.

The right one led down about half-way to the oily black river below before it passed behind a gate-house set into the side of the cavern.

The left road led down less far than the one on the right and continued along a ridge for a considerable distance, possibly half a mile or more until it disappeared at what might be another gate-house. It was too far to see clearly in the gloom.

The middle road led down to the river and what looked like a modest set of three stone piers that jutted out into a cove set off from the river proper. Four or five old hulks, boats that had once plied the dark waters of this river long ago, sat jumbled together, scuttled or their bottoms rotted-out. Except for one.

Bujilli squatted down and brought his crystal-torch close to the ground. He counted six Grunters, two went down along each of the three roads. His Counsel showed the faint sparkly trail left behind by Bortho's mate. It led down to the cove. The piers. The boat.

A squeal of shock came from below. It was cut short abruptly.

A splash. A second splash.

The boat was leaving...

What now?

Run after the boat before it can get up to speed?

What should they do about the Grunter scouts?

Turn back?

Which way should they go?

What should they do now?

You Decide!

Previous Next

Series Indexes

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

Starting Page | Central Index

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

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

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

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)

Labyrinth Lord | Advanced Edition Companion

Wednesday, September 26, 2012

Those Aren't Rats In The Walls (Random Table, Wermspittle)

Those Aren't Rats In The Walls...

There are dozens of newly hatched Slasher spawn (3d6, One HD each) back there, cutting their way through the wall with their tiny blade-legs. It'll take them the better part of (1d4) hours to break on through to this side.
Dozens of exotic snakes have created a nest in this wall. They escaped from someone's unlicensed herpetorium and have been decimating the local mouse, rat and vole populations, which has over-joyed the Landlady who owns this property to no end. The snakes are non-poisonous, but the Landlady will be incredibly irate, even spiteful if you disturb her 'little angels.' She has connections to some thoroughly unpleasant people who she will enlist to 'teach you trespassers a lesson,' if necessary.
The squatters and Refugees who have attempted to sleep in this room report strange dreams about a dark, dark place and a voice whispering to them of power...if they would just break through the wall and claim the Green Gem that has been lost there for several decades.
The stench emanating from this wall is nauseating in the extreme. It will only get worse (and require a Save) if the wall is breached in any way. A Vilg was imprisoned behind the wall by a former master who suffered from the unfaithful familiar's gross betrayal one too many times. It might still be alive. It would like to make you a deal...
How did an armadillo ever get inside this wall?
Forty-three penguin skulls have been stacked and packed into a secret compartment in this wall.
A swarm of 6' long blue-and-green-mottled two-headed centipedes has infiltrated the space behind this wall where a small, overlooked Weak Point has lodged. These centipedes have a rudimentary form of group intuition that is right on the verge of becoming some form of shared consciousness. They are incredibly venomous, sensitive to psychic impressions and absolutely hate cats. They originate from a Parallel Realm dominated by a bright, hot, humid teal-and-verdigris jungle no one has explored or named as of yet. Or is that an encrypted diary of some venturesome sorcerer partially merged into the wall by the passage of the Weak Point?
A crippled Perdu was sealed behind the wall by a vengeful ex-lover. His tongue was viciously hacked out of his mouth and his legs are chained to the main support beam. He's nearly insane from having been left here all alone for so long. Every now and then he tries to tap out some sort of signal or moans pitifully in frustration and despair which only convinces the landlady who owns this place that it is haunted or under some sort of a curse.
(4d4) Veilsect eggs are in the process of hatching, now that the wards placed over them have expired. Some fool thought that they could use the eggs as a sort of insurance policy in dealing with the parent. They were wrong. (You could also substitute some Strange Ovum, if you want an alternative to the Veilsect...)
A Little Green Bag has been hidden here. Would you like to look inside?
(6d20) Lesser Violet Ants are busily making themselves a new home within these walls. They are coming through a fractured Planar Aperture to the Paraversal Plane of Vhonj anchored by a brittle violet gem that will crumble into inert dust if disturbed. There are scholars and others who usually pay better than scholars who are interested in such things. Perhaps you might be able to sell the location of this thing to one of the Booksellers or trinket-peddlers or some other Middle-man so as to avoid any 'academic entanglements'?
The dingy gray wallpaper is peeling away from the older, more sinister Yellow Wallpaper beneath it.
The walls have been rudely plastered-over by an ambitious former land-lord. They missed a spot. Perhaps they ran out of time or were interrupted before they could finish the job? In any case, there is a map scratched into the wall beneath the cheap, crumbly plaster. A closer examination of the little bit that is visible shows that it is not only scratched into the wall, it is scorched into it and radiates a dim, fading sense of old, lingering magic. There's a 40% chance of a Student, Sorcerer or Forager recognizing this as a Grobbly-Bonk map.
Someone has inscribed a sigil upon the wall. The sigil encrypts and embeds a slightly modified variant of the Thought Wall spell upon the wall. This is obviously the work of some Student. There are traces of other experimental sigils on the other walls of this room, but not enough of them remain to tell what they might have been. It is possible to study the sigil on the wall, if you can afford to take (1d4) hours and make a Save so as not to disrupt the sigil. Keep in mind that the use of such sigils is a Skill akin to a Thief's Find/Remove Traps, only for Sorcerers and other spell-casters. This is one of the techniques taught in the local Academy to those who qualify for admission.
The wall is saturated with Yellow Ichor left-over from a recently destroyed Shrouded. A team of Foragers have bribed the land-lord's staff to let the stuff remain in-place as they want to see what sort of Wet Spot it will yield after exposure to a small quantity of White Powder.
The wall is upholstered with a rich, well-dyed leather derived from the victims of the Butcher Boy who lives here with his mother. His apron, mask, cleaver and other such gear is stored in a compartment behind the third panel on the left, the one with the screaming face. No one is supposed to know the identity of a Butcher Boy. Ever. Should this fellow have his ritual identity compromised, the Butchers will react swiftly and harshly. You don't want to be present. Really.
A fossilized Polypous Abomination is thoroughly integrated into (1d4) walls of this room. Someone was deliberately attempting to force the thing to grow through the interstices and spaces behind the walls so as to create a ritual chamber completely enclosed by a living barrier. But why? To what end?
There is a faint purplish discoloration to this wall. Anyone sleeping near it must make a Save or cross -over into the Purple Forest, either (60%) psychically/oneirically or (40%) physically.
A Loathsome Mass has seeped down through the space behind this wall from one or more floors above. It seems intent on reaching the ground floor, as if seeking to escape.
Sporadic tapping from within this wall is neither a poltergeist nor an unfortunate inmate. No. It is a tightly sealed glass jar. Inside the jar is a small (2HD) Corpuscular Sludge.
A contraband Red Token has been hidden in this wall. Most people would have overlooked the viscous seepage of curdled blood staining the wall at that spot. The Red Token is your means to become a collaborator with a 'Scarlet Shadow,' either willingly as one of its disciples, or unwillingly as a victim of 'the Gurgles': the choice is yours...if you decide to take the Token without taking suitable precautions first. There are those who would pay a good price to learn the location of such a thing, but as it is proscribed, most of those sorts of people are already fairly dangerous and unstable, if not outright mad. Maybe there is some sort of a reward for turning this thing over to someone at the local Academy? Too bad the thing is so ethically corrosive and oneirically volatile...anyone holding it will need to make a Save every hour on the hour to avoid becoming corrupted by the insidious, malicious black humor this object inspires in its victims. Of course there are spells that might offer some measure of protection against this subtle undermining effect...but working out which spell(s) to use and how to maintain them long enough while traveling to the Academy, let along getting past the gate-keepers and tracking down just whom to contact, not to mention getting through the negotiations...well...this could prove quite challenging indeed.
Hundreds of roaches are busily consolidating a particularly intelligent and spell-casting Ungezeifer's unofficial dominion over this filthy, abandoned place. It dwells in the basement. The roaches serve it as henchsects and followers. This creature is a not-so-former rival to Urmigan the Drone-Seller. (See Bujilli Episode 40)
(3d100) small, sealed pots and bottles have been stacked between the braces and cross-beams of this wall, each one carefully cemented into place with a mortar made from a ground-up Type I Gobbling Grout. Each of the containers is filled with a slightly different sort of Spectral Brine salvaged from dozens of different clandestine distilleries and powder-works. Whoever did this was doing it for a reason. Perhaps it has some sort of ritual significance. But what good could ever come from attuning oneself to the waste-products of the Corruption Trade?
The after-image of a large Fantodic has been imprinted upon this wall by some sort of sorcerous photographical technique. The image is mostly inert, unless someone were to expose it to raw ectoplasm or start to meddle with it as part of some magical experiment. Sleeping in this room is a bad idea. Really bad.
The professionally-preserved skeletons of a family of gnomes is packed away behind this wall with an incredible attention to detail. Each one is labelled, named, and otherwise thoroughly described by the tags affixed across each one. The bone-peddler who did this found himself unable to sell the skeletons to anyone back during the onset of a virulently regressive plague that de-aged its victims in spectacularly imprecise and inexact ways. Everyone took one look at his skeletons and instantly thought them victims of the then-current plague and refused to do business with him. So he packed them away in secret, with the hope of finding a buyer after things settled down a bit. Unfortunately he died only a week after ensconcing the bones in his bed-room walls. They say it was a random mugging. But they never did find his killer. Or his head.
The walls are covered with several layers of dessicated and dry verminous insects. A few torpid and disoriented specimens clamber over their dead brethren, but for the most part, they are nearly all dead.
This wall is Oneirically Permeable thanks to the efforts of a former tenant, a disbarred Somnambulist from Istibar.
(2d4) Undead Medical Leeches are trapped behind this wall. They tend to be fairly quiet, even inconspicuous, but that was before part of the floor collapsed out from under the wall and now they are tentatively wriggling forth to seek out fresh blood after far too long a time.
The walls in this place are packed with guano. The space(s) above have been taken over by a huge colony of bats.
Who thought it was a good idea to trap a Withering Mist in the walls by embedding Miasmic Wards into every wall, floor and ceiling around this room?

You may also find the Swarms Table(s) of some interest.

Tuesday, September 25, 2012

Lithus Sector: Mov (05.00)

Mov (05.00)
A Hot (Type sdB) Blue-White Sub-Dwarf star, Mov is still listed as a Red Super-Giant star in many databases, as it has been for thousands of years. Something transformed Mov from one type of star to another in less than a hundred years and completely by-passing and over-writing the normal evolutionary processes. Whatever changed Mov, also stripped-away a vast amount of energy and material in an extremely short amount of time, leaving behind an intensely bright star degenerating into a White Dwarf, surrounded by a highly anomalous Planetary Nebula that is composed primarily of ice and dust. More than one astronomer has likened it to a spherical cloud of ice-fragments or a snow-storm, so to speak. This densely packed and highly symmetrical shell composed primarily of volatile ices surrounding Mov has also been compared to an artificially compressed Kuiper Belt. No one has claimed responsibility for the drastic and inexplicable restructuring of Mov.

What Is Currently Known...
Merellon Corp maintains an active and ongoing crowd-sourced observation project based within the Telajan (06.01) and Lithus (03.05) solar systems, and to a lesser extent within the Tregio Poly-system (00.03). [see Lithus Sector Map] So far all findings and data produced by this project have raised far more questions than anyone save the Orəq might have foreseen.

Mov used to host 27 planetary bodies, twenty of which were dwarf-planetoids. Originally the solar system lacked a true 'asteroid belt.' Instead it had a pair of massive debris clouds that primarily occupied the leading and trailing Trojan Points of Danasku (Mov VI), a Super-Jovian planet that may or may not have been a Brown Dwarf. The debris clouds were locked into an incredibly well-defined Lissajous Orbit and recordings of this amazingly elaborate debris-system are still being used to model complex orbits by AI and astronomers alike. But all that is so much history now. Danasku and the twinned debris clouds are gone, thought to be subsumed into the icy shell surrounding the drastically reconfigured Mov.

Currently there are no bodies larger than a dwarf-planet within 120 AU of Mov.

The Mechapublic Projected Security Cordon Authority at Mov (Coord.: 05.00) has maintained an ongoing monitoring station and forward Sci-Ops Base on a deep orbit at the periphery of the Mov system for the last four years. Two years ago they launched a probe to the Kazix system (02.01) for unknown reasons.

Recent Developments
Achernarian Investors have backed an exploratory mission to Mov composed primarily of Trippies and a trio of decommissioned AI that are in lock-down until the mission reaches Mov. The mission is publicly tasked with mapping and surveying the cloud of icy debris surrounding Mov as well as establishing a network of autonomous beacons that will facilitate further exploration and ongoing telemetry for a swarm of probes that are to be overseen by the AI. Rumors abound in respect to what the mission's private orders might be.

The Brass Council has announced their own expedition to Mov by way of Hypersail. The group, based in orbit around Kaaldu (03.04), intend to reach Mov three days before the Trippies. Their interest in Mov is undisclosed. Durango-Tangier, celebrated hero of the Ponesian Crisis and Special Spokesperson for the Brass Council has remained uncharacteristically reticent as to the nature of the expedition to Mov, which has caused a veritable hurricane of speculation and gossip.

Exactly 14 hours prior to the announcement of the Brass Council's impromptu expedition to Mov, a Big Dumb Object (BDO) estimated to be in excess of 10,000 miles in length was reported by a mid-level AI in the Astronomical Analysis & Assaying Office at Tregio (Coord.: 00.03). Follow-up efforts by the University of Kaaldu's Deep Time Photoarcheology Station currently in operation in an Unclaimed Region (Coord.: 02.03), confirmed the AA&AO report. The object, whatever it might be, is on a course that will take it directly into the Mov system. It remains unidentified at this time.

Immediate Repercussions and Subsequent Events
Someone operating under the cover of the Official Secrets Act in Kilanya Port-Town on PzIII in the Panj system (04.05) has been buying-up shares in so many contract security and paramilitary units that there has been a sort of informal and undeclared holiday in effect for the last six hours. Many are referring to it as the 'Lottery Virus' in commemoration of the centuries-old folktale of the mythical benevolent software package that crashed the economies of three worlds before it was eradicated*. Every Ship Captain within 1100AU of Panj have either gone to running dark or left the system under duress as their life support systems have crashed due to what the Authorities are describing as "...some malicious hacker's little escapade and desperate plea for attention..." Some of those ships carry ultra-hardened systems. News-crews, Stringers, Private Investigators and various Watchdogs have begun to trawl the regions surrounding Panj for any sign or signal from one of these ships in the hopes of getting an exclusive first-hand account.

The Mechapublic Projected Security Cordon Authority at Mov (Coord.: 05.00) went off-line one hour ago. There is no longer any signal coming from their Forward Sci-Ops Base. The official story is that it is just routine maintenance. A freelance datadelver operating from out the Lesser Griesalpen Commune on Lithus Prime (03.05) has released an unconfirmed vidloop consisting of 36 seconds displaying so far unidentified and badly out of focus, but heavily-armed humanoids(?) engaged in executing the 14 biocrew subcontractors attached to the Mechapublic at Mov. Attempts to suppress this footage have failed. It has gone viral.

The Hartley Bequest has been uncharacteristically silent on this matter so far, though their head of PR is scheduled to hold a sector-wide press conference in three hours...