Nag Teeth

"Instances of peculiar intelligence in the demeanor of a noble and high-spirited horse are not to be supposed capable of exciting unreasonable attention, but there were certain circumstances which intruded themselves per force upon the most skeptical and phlegmatic; and it is said there were times when the animal caused the gaping crowd who stood around to recoil in horror from the deep and impressive meaning of his terrible stamp..." *

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Nag Teeth (Lesser Clatterers)

No. Enc.: 3d4
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 3'
Armor Class: 8
Hit Dice: 1 (Turn as 4 HD)
Attacks: 1 per tooth
Damage: 1 hit point per tooth biting
Save: F3
Morale: 11

Special: Assume Gaseous Form(either smoke or swirling sparks) once per night. Ignite Small Fire once a night (cantrip-level effect). Immune to fire.

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A loose pile of grisly horse's teeth, each one looks as though it was only recently ripped from the jaws of a dead horse with pliers. They still bleed as they slowly, painfully tumble, roll and clatter along the ground or across a floor in search of their next victim. These teeth are the vengeful remains of a horse eaten during the Winter. Any fool knows never to leave livestock or horseflesh behind in that accursed place once Fall sets in, but there are those who cannot, will not, or just plain do not bother to tend to their animals before the inevitable happens and the Butcher Boys show up to collect questionable meat, by force if necessary.

Once, long ago, Nag Teeth were one of those minor apparitions or phantasms that plagued the upper classes who considered them one more inconvenience incurred in the course of upholding their claims, titles, and position within Wermspittle. But those times are long past. For whatever reason Nag Teeth indiscriminately attack anyone they meet. It is as if the damned things have been driven mad with a deeply unholy hunger all their own.

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Nag Teeth (Greater Night Biters)


No. Enc.: 3d4
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 180'
Armor Class: 5
Hit Dice: 5
Attacks: 2d6 (as a group of biting teeth)
Damage: 1d4 per tooth biting
Save: F7
Morale: 11

Special: Radiates Fear in a 10' radius. Trample attack once per night. (+4 to hit, 4d8 damage). Assume Gaseous Form (either smoke or swirling cinders) once per night. Ignite Fire up to 3 times a night. Immune to fire.

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This being Wermspittle, things can always get worse. When Nag Teeth taste blood and take their vengeance on a number of victims (1d6), they undergo a disturbing transformation into even more hateful, vengeful and destructive things that prowl the darkened stables, abandoned lofts and stalls of the Burned Over District and other such places looking for victims to devour. Wherever they pause, whether to consume the flesh of their victims or to maliciously cause mischief, the Nag's Teeth tend to ignite small fires that can quickly grow into out of control blazes.

What makes these 'Night Biters' all the more frightening when first encountered is their poltergeist-like ability to trample an opponent as though the macabre teeth were still part of a vigorous war horse. This Trample ability has caused many an otherwise dour and doughty fighter to break and run off into the night screaming like a little girl. (DM discretion whether or not to add-on some sort of additional Fear and/or Sanity Effect.)

It is said that the Fantomists know how to make use of these haunted teeth to necromantically 'grow' a type of undead steed. But that is probably just some old Midwives' tale. Speaking of such grim stories, The Barons of Mareidtholm were recorded as riding into battle accompanied by a swirling cloud of chattering Mare's Teeth that they personally collected from the horses of their fallen enemies, but this may be another case of folkloric exaggeration and crafty myth-making in order to enhance the Barons' already atrocious and quite formidable reputations.

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Inspiration
* The opening quote is from Metzengerstein by Poe. That short story (Poe's first published tale) and The Phantom Rickshaw by Richard Kipling, which was inspired at least partly by Poe's story, gave impetus and inspiration to the creation of the Nag's Teeth. Plus a touch of the Mara/Cauchemare/Nightmare folklore because it seemed like the horrific thing to do at the time. It was also hard to resist playing off of haunted/accursed teeth, seeing as how Poe used teeth as a symbol for mortality time and again in his stories. But that was just a nifty bonus. And yes, there is more proto-Germanic nightmarish horsing around on the way...and we really ought to place a few broken-down rickshaws in Wermspittle...

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Street Encounters III (Wermspittle)

Random Street Encounters III (D30)

1. (1d3) Giant Throttler Spiders looking for easy prey to hoist up onto the rooftop with their webs. One of them has a smear of blue paint on their head. They have been raised and trained by a member of the Blue Tuques to seek out and harass anyone with Sewer Militia insignia.
2. (3d12) Stirges swarming angrily around their ruined nest that someone has thoughtfully dislodged form under an old wagon.
3. (2d4) Giant Gutter Toads chasing a flock of goats that had been left to graze in an abandoned garden. Either a Toad or a Goat crashes down from the edge of the roof. 
4. A decrepit Vampire Ignoble rides past in a sealed carriage driven by a pair of Lurm in dark red hoods.
5. (1d6) Carnivorous Beetles attack from their nest within an old well in a disused courtyard.
6. Street repair crew has this area cordoned-off. 3d4 Sewer Militia are watching over the progress.
7. Caravan: 70% they are leaving, 30% just arriving.
8. (1d4) Local Merchants. All of them are cranky and irritable. Apparently someone has taken to defacing their windows with anti-Hallerian screeds...which is attracting all the wrong sorts of attention.
9. (1d4) Experts & Specialists from the Academy are carrying on a heated argument while enroute to a particularly dingy rathskellar where they are to meet an agent of one of their foreign colleagues whom they all thought was dead.
10. (2d4) Skeletons march past in the antique bronze armor of the Honor Guard. They each are equipped with a combat parasol to shield them from sunlight, should they be required to operate in the day time.
11. Street Performers. (40% chance of pick-pocket attempt). They're not very good. The disgruntled audience breaks up within 5 minutes of them beginning their act.
12. Peddler (20%), Tinker (20%), Unlicensed Vendor (40%), Con Artist (20%).
13. (1d4) Bone Gatherers, (30%) chance to have 1d4 crippled pack-geese as beasts of burden.
14. (1d4) Beggars keep an eye on things from their various perches and designated corners. Someone has paid them a small fee in order to watch for someone resembling one or more of the Player Characters.
15. Wall collapses. Save or take 3d4 damage from falling masonry and rubble. 10% chance to be buried, requiring 1d4 turns to be dug out.
16. The Lone Survivor of an ambushed party of travelers comes riding in, very badly wounded...
17. Roof War between rival gangs. Violence spills over onto street. (40% chance to collapse roof.)
18. Thief attempts to steal something from party. Base 70% Con-artist, 30% brute force mugging.
19. A large, roving band of deserters has been sighted in the valley below the Lesser Keep. Even the Sewer Militia has been called out as this is a former company of sappers and they appear to be digging a siege-tunnel into the city. 30% chance of anyone with a weapon being 'recruited.'
20. Fire breaks out in a nearby building. 30% chance it is abandoned.
21. Group of (3d4) peasants wandering the streets trying to find someone to help them...
22. (1d6) Mercenaries, on their way out to deal with some local bandits. They're hoping to negotiate a better rate of pay from the bandits than what they've just received from their current employer.
23. (1d4) Gargoyle-hunters. (80% chance they are wounded, 60% chance they are drunk.)
24. (1d4) Constables on casual patrol with (2d4) Xelen guards.
25. Roof collapses on abandoned building. [30% chance building had something in it.]
26. A Lone Survivor walks past. They ignore you. They also are in the final-stages of becoming a Shrouded. Watch out for the so-called 'saffron tears.'
27. Event or New Arrival.
28. (1d6) Locals (see Locals, NPCs, or Experts)
29. (1d4) Mumblers are wandering about looking for a possible master. They insist on trying-out or auditioning for any spell-caster they encounter...
30. Special.

* Sewer Militia (Day Shift): 1D4 2nd level fighters, max. HP, studded leather armor, heavy crossbows and cold-iron short swords. Most also carry 1d4 random tools (hammers, chisels, small shovels, pry-bars, etc.) They are forbidden to carry money while on duty.

Street Encounters II (Wermspittle)

Random Street Encounters II (D30)

1. Street collapses in a 3d6 foot radius. Save or fall 2d10 feet into hole. (30% chance that the hole reveals a tunnel, warren, or nest.)
2. (1d4) Beeborn escorting their latest blissed-out victim to their hive.
3. (2d4) Half-Rats on way to burglary.
4. (1d6) Pallid on way home after a long night. They are wearing antique ceremonial regalia and are their own escort.
5. (2d4) Sporemongers setting out to collect the night's production.
6. (1d4) Locals scouring the immediate area with mops and buckets, trying to get rid of all the blood, slime and oozy-gobs left-over from last night.
7. (1d4) Local Merchants, chatting with (2d4) members of the Wall Patrol*. They want something to be done about the latest rash of break-ins by Feral Children.
8. Roof of near-by building collapses. Save or take 3d4 damage from falling masonry and rubble. 10% chance to be buried, requiring 1d4 turns to be dig out.
9. (1d4) Lepers scavenging from the trash. At least one of them is a host for Scab-Mites.
10. Corpse. Another victim has been found. Base 50% chance the next person to show up thinks that you did it.
11. (2d4) Mercenaries, mostly drunk and/or passed-out. 40% chance they wake up and want to start something. There is a 40% chance of recognizing at least one of them as a notorious bandit.
12. (1d4) Scarred and mangy Grizzly Bears (Mother and 1-3 young cubs) that have escaped from a traveling carnival.
13. (1d6) Head-Taker Beetles returning to their lair with a sack of 2d4 severed heads.
14. A full chamber pot clatters to the street in front of you...but there is no window close by...
15. A duck.
16. (1d6) Dopplegangers (30% chance to be accompanied by a Simulacra), trying to blend in, but not doing so well.
17. (1d4) Gargoyles recently dislodged from their nest by a band of gargoyle-hunters.
18. Rat-Mage with 2d4 Half-Rats breaking into one of the local shops.
19. Green Finch, apparently abandoned and quite frightened running loose down the street. The thing is larger than a typical warhorse.
20. A dishevelled Sanguinist returning home after having indulged in their favorite pastime in a coach driven by three bickering Urglun.
21. Roof collapses. [60% chance it displaces some lurking thing.]
22. Event or New Arrival.
23. (1d4) Jelly Hunters returning from a night's work. There is a 70% chance that they are being followed at a safe distance by some Amorphous Horror...
24. Wild Beast escaped from an Asylum or Abandoned Menagerie.
25. (1d6) Giant Flies, plus a cloud of thousands of normal flies. These insects seem to be clustered around the broken window of an old seamstresses' shop. A casual perusal of the premises will reveal 2d4 dead bodies stuffed carefully and neatly into the old sewing mannikins; someone has taken a lot of time and trouble to stitch these corpses into these frames, but to what end?
26. (1d6) Harpies on way to Green Tower. They are late for a consultation with a Hagtessa to whom they owe a number of special 'favors.'
27. Herd Animals being driven to market/butcher by a pack of (3d6) Feral Children who have only just rustled the things from the cellar-stables of a Refugee family that are now stalking them from roof-top. The refugees intend to recover their property, and to teach those kids a harsh lesson.
28. Broadsheet Poster/Pamphleteer and/or (2d4) Rent Collectors and/or (1d6) Pickers. All arguing about what can or cannot be posted where and for how much. The broadsheet is an advertisement for a Magnetic Seance hosted by some up and coming Mesmerist.
29. Hallerian-mode Zombies. [30% inside the walls/40% outside the walls/30% false alarm]. Who let those damned things in here? This could further prejudice people against the Hallerians. Perhaps that was the intent? But who among all their enemies would stoop to something this obscenely stupid and dangerous just to discredit their rivals?
30. Airship. Someone claims to have spotted an airship. They're probably mistaken or lying, unless it's pirates. Again. Bastards.

*Wall Patrol (Day-time) 3rd level fighters, leather armor, (60%) arbalest/(20%) arquebus/(20%) longbow, with short sword, dagger and alarm horn. One in four will also have a spy-glass. They are forbidden to carry money during their time on-duty. Most will be human, with a 20% of any taint. See the Random Wall Patrol Table for more specific details.

Shrouded (Abdead/Wermspittle)

Some cures fail through malpractice, fraud or deceit. A rare and costly few succeed against all rational expectation or explanation. Others may well succeed far more terribly than any disease they might have alleviated, no matter how dire the outlook...

Shrouded
(Abdead Plague-Vector)

No. Enc.: 1d4
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 60' (20')
Armor Class: 7
Hit Dice: 2 (Turn as 4 HD)
Attacks: 1
Damage: 1d4 or by weapon (+Infection)
Save: F4
Morale: 10

Necro-Mesmerists have much to answer for, not the least of which is their role in the creation of the Shrouded.

Former clients of these self professed 'Masters of the Necro-electrical Fluid,' the Shrouded shamble about in an abdead trance-state, lashing out violently at anyone who disturbs their uneasy quasi-somnambulism. Neither fully dead nor alive, and not having transitioned through the actual death-state, these victims of pseudoscientific hubris linger on in a peculiarly fragile form of pseudolife.

The controversial experimental procedure employed in creating one of the Shrouded is a trade secret of the Necro-Mesmerists. Even with a tremendously ridiculous failure rate, they still attract volunteers hoping against hope that they might be that one-in-a-thousand who achieve a form of abdead pseudo-mortality. But even those Afflicted, Unfortunates and Patients whose procedures fail find some relief from the various poxes, plagues or diseases that torment them. Becoming one of the Shrouded is preferable to a slow death wasting away from one of the strange new forms of emphysema, tuberculosis or one of the other infections once thought extinct that have returned with a vengeance. Better some weird pseudo-life than the alternative, at least for some.

There are several academic inquiries as well as several publicly-posted theories currently in circulation asserting the claim that the Necro-Mesmerists are abject frauds, that they have turned their backs on legitimate Mesmerism and have turned to the use some obscure derivative of White Powder in their procedures, an allegation that they vehemently deny. Often at knife-point.

A Repellent Countenance
The Shrouded exude a profuse outflowing of yellowish ichor from their eyes. This yellowish ichor is a highly concentrated and contagious source of infection. The constantly dripping fluid forms a nasty, almost scabrous mess surrounding their eyes, leading some to pluck out their own eyes in a vain attempt to stave off the flow of pestilent ichor, but to no avail. Others simply don the gauzy shrouds for which they have become known and reviled. At least then, in dim light, there is a small chance that they might not be immediately recognized for what they have become. In any case, those who become one of the Shrouded take a -4 penalty to their Charisma as well as a -2 penalty to their Dexterity, and gain a +2 bonus to their Wisdom and Intelligence. Also, no matter what type of HD they might have had in their previous life, they must convert their HD over to D4s. The stats above are for a low-level specimen, there are quite a few Shrouded who possess levels as fighters, thieves, or other classes--and they retain all other class features/experience benefits. They now progress as spell-casters, should they seek to continue adventuring despite their delicate state.

Yellow Ichor Exposure-Effects

1. Save at -2 or contract tuberculosis.
2. Save or suffer a low-grade form of leprosy for 1d4 weeks, after which it clears up regardless/despite any attempted curative regimen.
3. Gray Pox seeps into your skin. It remains dormant until you are reduced to under 5 hit points, at which point it will run rampant, very probably killing you. Many sufferers of the Gray Pox become Shrouded in an effort to save themselves from this terrible scourge. You might want to consider it.
4. Asthma wracks your lungs any time you fail a Save. This hacking, wheezing fit incapacitates you for 1d4 minutes and lowers your current hit points by 1d4. It is said that the Midwives know of a reliable cure for this condition.
5. You've been exposed to some random Plague, Pox or Disease.
6. Maybe you should roll on the Dungeon Funk Table...

Those who choose this 'treatment' remain completely aware of every little change in their condition as their Intellectual faculties remain in tip-top working order up until the very end, when they aren't caught-up in a trance of deep introspection. The Shrouded are a melancholy lot, given to brooding and pondering upon their current precarious condition and what it might mean for their immortal souls or their chances for some sort of an after-life. In fact, they tend to be so obsessively pre-occupied that it can be very difficult to get their attention outside of physically touching or striking them. That, however, tends to drive them into a violent fit during which they lash out in 1d4 attacks on anyone/anything within easy reach. Once the fit passes, they are as normal as they ever can hope to be any more. A few Shrouded, seeking to mitigate the effects of such fits, opt to restrain themselves, either with special jackets, chains or by simply sealing themselves up inside a furnished attic room or asylum cell.

Rendered Wormless
The Shrouded lose all benefits/penalties incurred by parasitical infestation. Indeed, they can no longer support such things, so any worms, leeches or other such creatures are driven out of their system in the course of their treatment, clearing them of all such things permanently. The process is incredibly painful and there is a chance that the would-be Shrouded will be killed in the course of the vermin-extraction precipitated by their conversion. The specifics are left open to DM interpretation, as there are just too many variables to consider. All of them ick-tastic...

Reduced to a Wet Mess
Upon being reduced to Zero Hit Points a typical Shrouded rapidly deliquesces in a fashion similar to the Vile Transformation that reduces a White Powder addict to a Loathsome Mass:

 "...his whole frame at once — within the space of a single minute, or even less, shrunk—crumbled—absolutely rotted away beneath my hands. Upon the bed, before that whole company, there lay a nearly liquid mass of loathsome—of detestable putrescence."

The Detestable Putrescence left in the wake of a Shrouded's demise is a stickly, sickly yellowish mess. Foragers collect this material in order to sell it to the printers of Scandal Sheets and other such purveyors of the lowest forms of so-called yellow journalism. There may be a connection to this rancid ichor and Yellow Wallpaper, but nothing conclusive has ever been proven. It may be possible to reduce the yellowish ichor of a deceased Shrouded to a quantity of Essential Salts, but it remains to be seen if any known techniques can in fact recover anything truly useful.

Inspiration
The Shrouded are based in equal parts upon The Facts in the Case of M. Valdemar and Ligeia, both by the one and only Edgar Allen Poe, with a more than passing nod to the The Novel of the White Powder by Arthur Machen and TheYellow Wallpaper by Charlotte Perkins Gilman, both of which have already been adapted to use in Wermspittle (White Powder, Yellow Wallpaper). We'll be coming back around for another bit of weirdness inspired by Ligeia shortly. And yes, there is a Detestable Putresence table. But we'll leave it for another day.

Bujilli: Episode 33

Previously...
Seeking answers from Sharisse has given Bujilli the name of the person behind the recent attack on him and Leeja. Gudrun. A girl he had only met briefly, in passing. She blamed Bujilli for the death of her twin brother. Or at least that was the story Sharisse told. Or was it the worms that spoke through her? A host to peculiar parasites, the girl might only be a puppet. Bujilli realized that he needed to address the worms directly if he was going to get anywhere, or learn anything meaningful...

Golden light rippled outwards from Bujilli's hands, forming a delicate lacework-sphere that slowly intensified with each heartbeat. The Sphere enveloped the screaming girl on the kitchen table. No one heard her screams any longer. The sphere enveloped Bujilli. Then it began to rotate, gracefully, blurring into a solid shell of light that severed all outside observation, connection, or interference.

With a deep breath Bujilli started the second sequence. Cool violet light criss-crossed the kitchen table, forming a mesh of energetic strands that restrained the girl upon the kitchen table.

He began the third sequence. Green lines of light raced out from his finger tips to form a hexagonal framework of sizzling energy, each node where the lines intersected extended a lance-like projection that presented a formidable array of impossibly-sharp objects, each one focused directly at Sharisse.

No. Not quite. Each of the shimmering green projections was focused upon one of the worms within her body. The worms writhed in agitation. The green lances responded, following their every movement.

Bujilli wiped sweat from his face. This was hard work. But he felt it was the only way to get to the bottom of things once and for all.

"Sharisse," he whispered softly; "You can go to sleep. I need to talk to your masters."

"No! It is forbidden. They won't--"

"This has moved beyond all that now. Tell me, before you go to sleep; wouldn't you rather be free of these things?"

"What do you mean?" She slurred. Drool dribbled from her lower lip. Her eyes were glazing over.

"I intend to remove the worms inside you. You do want to be rid of the things?"

"NO! You Can't! You'll kill us all!" Sharisse struggled to get up from the table. The violet web of light held her firmly in place. She thrashed about like a wild animal in a snare.

"Yes. I can remove them. But..." He hesitated. At least I believe I can.

"NO! Don't do it! You'll kill me. I don't want to die--I'll do anything--"

"Why don't you want me to remove the worms Sharisse?"

"I need them." She began to sob wretchedly.

"Why do you need them?"

"To survive. You stupid bastard. To survive. To get through the Winter..." Her voice strained until it came out as a hiss; "When there's no food for people like me."  

"What do you mean?"

"The worms feed on White Powder..."

She glared at him. Unwilling to continue.

"So the worms keep you, their host, alive over the course of the winter. How?" Bujilli watched Sharisse intently. He had begun this process determined to clear the parasites from her system, to liberate her body from the insidious influence of the worms...but now he was beginning to doubt the wisdom, the very point of doing that. It could be a waste of time. It could make matters worse.

Sharisse closed her eyes. Glistening black fluid seeped down her cheeks. Tears. Black tears.

"But the worms don't just keep you alive, do they?" He reconsidered his plan. Should he remove the worms? Did he have the right?

She didn't move. Didn't react. Black tears her only response.

"You are their slave." Bujilli spat in disgust.

Sharisse turned her head to face him directly. Her eyes were wet black orbs. they looked like holes. Wounds. Bujilli took an involuntary step back.

"It is an exchange of services."

"So you have decided to talk to me after all." He wasn't sure if this was a good development or not. The way the girl's mouth contorted to form the words dictated to her by the worms was painful to watch. Unsettling. Unnatural. Wrong.

"You leave us no choice--"

"And what choice--what real choice--did this girl have in accepting your offer?"

Bujilli closed his eyes for a moment. He examined the scintillating lines of force that his spell had formed. It was a very symmetrical pattern. Elegant. He hoped it would be effective.

/Machine/ He addressed his Counsel mentally, directly; /What can you show me regarding these worms?/

A terrible inhuman wailing erupted from Sharisse's throat. The worms writhed in agitation beneath her skin.

Bujilli opened his eyes and he could see. Really see. He looked deeply into Sharisse's body, past the rags, the filth, the scars and all too frequently lacerated skin into her flesh, her muscles, down to her bones and into her soul.

The worms looked back. As much as anything eyeless and sightless and blind could be said to look at anything. They perceived Bujilli, in their own way, even as he examined their integration and incorporation into their host's body.

In its own way, the relationship was every bit as elegant and symmetrical as the patter of his spell--

Bujilli shook his head. No.

He realigned the spell's pattern. Then he saw the tenuous tendrils extending outwards from Sharisse's form to himself.

They were insidious things, these worms.

He shifted the spell then readjusted things. The violet light flared to orange. Sharisse collapsed into silence, into a deep sleep.

Bujilli severed the tendrils at their source.

He had to methodically destroy each wriggling tendril one after another until finally his Counsel could no longer detect any lingering traces of the things.

Then he gave the signal. The pattern of his spell shifted once more.

Arcs of sizzling green light speared into the girl's body from every direction.

Each searing lance of energy struck deep. Fast. True.

Bujilli felt each impact. It was the only way.

He guided the green light.

He hunted the worms with green fire.

He burned the worms out of her system. They were reduced to a fine black ash almost instantly. It had taken a while for the spell to calibrate each worm's position and placement, but it had been worth it.

He destroyed the worms.

Systematically. Deliberately. Completely and utterly.

The strain of the process took its toll on Bujilli. He was growing shaky. Thirsty. Exhausted. Nauseous.

But he persisted. He saw the purging through to the very end. He used the green fire to expel the fine black ash out of the girl's body. She sweated a gritty, black oily mess. The last remains of the worms that had once dominated her, subjugated her, kept her alive and cared for her.

The worms were destroyed. All traces of them were removed. Expunged.

He used the green fire to gather-up the black ashes and compacted, compressed them into a tight little sphere. A shimmering black pearl. He wrapped the pearl in a loose rag and tucked it into his belt-pouch.

Then the real work began.

Bujilli's dangerous gamble.

He worked with Counsel's guidance to rebuild the girl's shattered and tattered humanity.

It was not enough to remove the worms. Things had gone too far for that to be even close to enough.

Bujilli needed to completely reconstruct her biology; he revised things, using the codes etched into his own bones as a sort of template or guide. He called upon everything he had learned about the White Powder. His memories of being inextricably intermingled with Lemuel. White Powder poisoning. Dissolving into protoplasm. Melting. Recovering his own sense of self. rebuilding his own body. He recalled it all and used every bit of his experience to carry out his plan. He sculpted, shaped and molded things until at last Counsel indicated that the changes were stable, active and viable.

He was ready to collapse. But he pushed himself on.

And on.

He wasn't sure if it would work or not.

But he continued until he was finished.

He had done all that he could.

The rest now was up to the girl herself.

It wasn't freedom, that he'd given her. Not really.

But it was a third option. A different path to take. One that led beyond the confines of anything and everything that the girl had ever known before. There were still restrictions, there always were, but those restrictions were radically different now.

He hoped that he had done enough.

He relinquished the pattern of his spell.

The light faded.

Leeja caught him before he collapsed to the dirty floor.

"What happened? What did you do?" she sounded genuinely concerned. Her hair smelled like copal. It was a good scent.

Bujilli fought to remain awake.

"Did it work?"

"I don't know. I mean I guess so..." He wobbled. Righted himself. Leaned on the kitchen table.

Sharisse was staring at him.

She sat up.

"I...remember...everything..." She began to sob. Clean, proper tears streaked down her face.

Bujilli nodded; "Your memories are a source of strength. You need to remember what has been. What has been done. That way you can make your own choice. Go your own way from this point."

"I don't understand..."

"The worms are gone--" Bujilli began to explain.

"Yes. You took them away. How will I survive now?" Sharisse was growing increasingly agitated.

"They can never return. Your body will never support them now. Your blood is a deadly poison to them. and to anyone infested with them."

"But why?"

"You attacked me, us, while you were under the control of those things. I have removed them. You are your own master now. You'll never be a slave to the worms ever again."

"But I'll starve before the next Winter is passed." She sagged in despair.

"Perhaps. But not because of anything I just did."

"But..."

"Look. I'm tired. I'm hungry. I need a drink. So do you, no doubt." Bujilli stretched his arms and yawned; "I revised your biology. You don't need the worms to process the White Powder any more."

"Have you made her immune to the stuff?"

"No. Nothing that lives is going to ever be 'immune' to the White Powder. It is a powerfully transformative substance, it dissolves old structures and allows for the creation of new ones...so I used it to create something new. Sharisse can use the White Powder to digest nearly anything organic. She can live off of just about anything she cares to consume." He looked back at the girl leaning against the table; "You'll only ever starve if you choose to."

"But..." Sharisse looked confused. Her unease and uncertainty shifted into a coquettish pose. A defense mechanism that remained from her past.

"No more worms. No more starving. Now get out of here and I suggest that you beware your old friends. you're a threat to them now. You'll need to make new friends now." Bujilli leaned against the table. He was exhausted. His patience was spent.

"I'd like to be your--" She started to purr in a manner that she had learned was oh so seductive to certain sorts of potential marks. Old habits die hard.

Bujilli raised his hand abruptly. "No. You don't even exist yet--all you have to work with are the memories of your time as a slave to the worms, and as a starving child before that. There is no 'you,' not yet. not until you get out there and get on with your life. It isn't the life that the worms cheated you out of, nor the life you might have lived had you been born anywhere else, but it is your life now. So go live it."

"But..." the girl pouted. She began to consider what it would take to get past this guy's defenses. She was good at that sort of thing. Damned good.

"I did not release you from one master to give you another. You're free now. Make a life for yourself. But do it out there, on your own, not as a minion or a slave."

"But..." She scrunched her face up in disbelief. Understanding began to trickle into her consciousness. All those words the hairy little man had been spouting at her started to click together like a puzzle. Sharisse wasn't stupid. Stupid people rarely survive the Winter.

"You heard him; get out of here." Leeja raked her claws along the table top meaningfully.

Sharisse looked from Leeja to Bujilli to Leeja then with a small yelp of realization, or possibly a newly restored sense of self preservation, to get moving. Fast.

The outer door slammed shut behind the girl.

Bujilli slumped down onto the floor. He propped himself up against the side of the butcher's table.

"Are you able to move?" Leeja asked softly. Her white, white hair wavered and fluttered as if it were in a slight breeze. Which was funny. There wasn't any sort of breeze in the kitchen. If anything the air was close. Rank. It stank sweetly of corruption. Rot. Decay.

"I'm tired. That took a lot out of me." Bujilli couldn't quite get his fingers to close around the handle of his tulwar. He was so tired. So very tired.

"I can see that." Leeja whispered huskily as she moved alongside him.

What should Bujilli do now?

What is Leeja up to?

Whose side is she on, really?

What is behind Door Number Two?

(Is Unfred still back there?)

Where will Sharisse go now?

How will the worms respond to this blatant provocation?

Will Bujilli get a chance to take a nap...possibly permanently?

You Decide!

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Previous                                                    Next

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Series Indexes

One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six

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Starting Page  |  Central Index

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

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

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

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Episode Guides
Series One (Episodes 1-19)

Series Two (Episode 20-36)

Series Three (Episodes 37-49)

Series Four (Episodes 50-68)

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

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Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion

Random Alley Encounters I (Wermspittle)

Random Alley Encounters in Wermspittle (D30)

1. (1d4) Grim-clown Hunchback(s) [90% chance of being on rooftop]. Why are they following you?
2. (14) Feral Children seem to be keeping pace with you, no matter which direction you take or what route you try. They look hungry.
3. (2d4) Refugees are out hunting rats, bats, or any other easy-to-snare protein.
4. (2d4) Almas traders hoping to sell mangy Yeren pelts to the unwary.
5. (1) Street Preacher with Laryngitis.
6. (1d4) Moldlings [in dark area] or (1d6) Fungids attempting to ambush some pigeons from underneath the overhanging portion of a nearby roof. They are so intent on their prize that they do not immediately notice the small crowd of on-lookers gathering below.
7. (1d6) Slate Slugs pursuing a wounded Drilg who leaps across the alley overhead. The slugs do not make the leap...
8. There is an improperly inscribed Hexagon of Bohz left in the muck and mire here. It might be worth something to one of the antique-peddlers or someone who deals in such esoteric curios, however there is a base 5% chance of a Hexapodalite Polyp being summoned without being restrained every fifteen minutes that the object is being examined, handled or carried by a living being.
9. A large Unseen Beast is wedged into this alley-way, blocking traffic...
10. (3d4) Glimpshells have settled down to rest for a bit before continuing on  as part of a caravan. The Merchant is quite distressed. He knows that he does not have sufficient protection to proceed if he gets separated from the rest of the group.
11. (1d4) Local Merchants) have just returned from an informal meeting of some sort and they are now in a hurry to open-up their shop(s).
12. (2d4) Mercenaries sprawled across the alley, mostly drunk. One is dead. Wake them up and they'll think it was you, trying to steal their hard-earned pay...
13. (1d4) Simulacra quietly keeping to the periphery and observing. They are weak from starvation and in no shape to argue. Or be picky.
14. (2d4) Plaguebearers being driven through the streets by (2d6) Bone Guard who caught them defiling another broken down crypt.
15. (2d6) Penitents stirring up a mob [20% of mob being incited, random target]. They want to 'make a difference,' however most of them are really anarchists seeking to just stir-up trouble. At least one is in the pay of a local handler working for a collapsed foreign power that no longer exists as a nation. Old habits die hard...
16. (1d4) Corbin are trying to roast a single massive grub over a smoky fire. They ripped the wood from a collapsed building without looking very closely. Thus they do not notice the sly advance of a Type III Gobbling Grout that they've inadvertently released from the wreckage of the old slaughterhouse.
17. (1) Filthmonger struggling to push a wheel barrow through the alley. There is something wriggling in the midst of his load...
18. (1d6) Soulless and/or (1d4) Beggars. The Soulless are trying to make their way through the alley disguised as beggars (not fooling anyone). The local Beggars have taken exception to this and are collaborating to ambush the Soulless in order to steal their opals...which they are not carrying, so there are going to be some really disappointed beggars.
19. (1d8) Fruiting Bodies [in dark area] are waiting to ambush (1d4) Wall Patrol coming off tier shift.
20. (1d6) Bone Collectors [Servants of the Tribunal of Bones] are carting a load of recovered bones from an abandoned building where some Feral Children have been stockpiling the things as part of some macabre game.
21. (2d4) Villagers from some Low Land Enclave looking for the entrance to a particular cellar that is actually marked clearly on the map they are reading upside down. They intend to become Adventurers...
22. (2d6) Patients and/or (2d6) Afflicted huddled up against the wall in abject misery. 
23. (1d4) Soulless on a mission for their Mistress. Unfortunately they have gotten lost in the alleys and their enemies are catching-up to them. Would you help them?
24. (1d4) Cullers out looking for something nice to add to their Charnel-Vat.
25. 1 Perdu is prowling this alley way in search of a lost skeleton key.
26. (1d4) Students from the Academy have cut classes and are out looking for adventure. (2d6) Nirlocks have taken upon themselves not to disappoint the succulent little darlings.
27. Someone in a real hurry has spilled 1d4 Gunpowder Grubs along the far wall.
28. A badly dissolved former Jelly-hunter crawls out from the tumbled ruins of a near by building. The trail of blood and viscous goo leads back to a very large and now quite agitated Drab Jelly...
29. Six Soorgim Mercenaries are attempting to cart a very heavy immature specimen of Ferric Blob through the alleys to meet-up with their employer, an ambitious Iron-Wright who has promised them a fat bonus if they can deliver the thing without his rivals being any the wiser.
30. A Gloomswallow has been bound into a dream diagram inscribed in violet chalk on a grimy section of the back wall of a burned-out brothel by some passing Oneirist. Tampering with the diagram will release the thing... 

*Wall Patrol (Day-Shift): 1d4 3rd level fighters, leather armor, (60%) arbalest/(20%) arquebus/(20%) longbow, with short sword, dagger and alarm horn. One in four will also have a spy-glass. They are forbidden to carry money during their time on-duty. Most will be human, with a base 20% chance of some sort of hybrid. See the Random Wall Patrol Table for more specific details.

Welcome to Wermspittle 

Polypous Abomination (Type VI)

"Malevolent Cnidarian beings, the warriors of the [UNTRANSLATABLE] Legions of the Third Decan of the Venefice are not to be called forth save one at a time..."

The Lexicon of Destruction

Third Edition, Expurgated

Polypous Abomination (Type VI)

No. Enc.: 1
Alignment: Undetermined
Movement: 90' (Move Freely/Levitation)
Armor Class: 5
Hit Dice: 4+2
Attacks: 2 (Slash or Pierce, +Spells)
Damage: 3d4 or 2d6, or by Spell
Save: MU 8
Morale: 11

Special: Spell-casting ability as 8th level magic-user, Regeneration (1hp/round), 1d4 random psychic abilities (each ability replaces a normal spell-slot).

Physically sessile creatures, the spawn of gargantuan, planetary-scale reef-colony-organisms that swarm and saturate the vast oceans of hundreds of watery worlds, these Polyps are only known through vague references in a few disreputable grimoires of dubious provenance.

Until only recently even the leading authorities on such matters doubted that these things even existed as anything other than the crude and incoherent imaginings of diseased minds and illiterate charlatans. That all changed with the discovery of a hither-to unregistered and un-recorded tomb-complex deep below Wermspittle. At least, preliminary surveys indicate that it is a tomb of some sorts, so the Sewer Militia has cordoned-off the immediate area and called for Ecclesiastical Support, a standard precaution in such situations, as well as for a Tactical Academic Investigation Team to go in and determine how best to deal with the situation.

It was in the twenty-third chamber that the initial discoverers, a group of Danglers and Foragers who had ostensibly been in the area looking for fungal growths or mineral outcroppings, encountered what has since been termed 'The Black Lake.' Only two of the group managed to return, neither of them intact. One of them attempted to forcibly graft portions of her sorcerously-hybridized body unto six victims before she was destroyed. The other one escaped and is presumed to be lurking in the vicinity of the tomb complex, possibly having returned to the Black Lake.

What We Know...
This particular polypous organism is extremely intelligent, sorcerously skilled, and able to slash anyone who gets within range of its tentacles to bloody ribbons in short order. But what makes these creatures profoundly more dangerous is their practice of forcibly grafting portions of their weird flesh into the wounds that they've inflicted, healing the damage and hybridizing their victims. According to certain unspecified evidence, it is accepted as proven that these things can also repair and restore the dead to a semblance of life, a horrible form of ablife. Anyone so afflicted/compromised is quickly integrated into the solitary consciousness and personality of the main entity, acting as drones or pawns.

Those forcibly hybridized by a Polypous Abomination gain a lesser form of regeneration and display a formidable capacity for rapid biological self-modification in response to stimuli, leading the Sewer Militia to take drastic measures...

Street Encounters I (Wermspittle)

Street Encounters in Wermspittle: Table I (D30)

1. Roll once on Damned Things Table II.
2. (2d6) Ractur have dug out a hiding-spot just above average human head-height. They lurk in this dim little burrow within the crumbling wall of an empty apothecary shop, patiently watching as everyone goes by, waiting for night to come so they can sneak out and work mischief among the merchants, caravans, and feuding bands of looters.
3. (1d3) Giant Roof Spiders looking for easy prey to hoist up onto the rooftop with their webs.
4. (3d12) Stirges swarming angrily around their ruined nest that someone has thoughtfully dislodged from under an old wagon.
5. (2d4) Giant Gutter Toads chasing a flock of goats that had been left to graze in an abandoned garden.
6. (1d6) Carnivorous Beetles have just driven a group of (2d4) Feral Children from their nest within an old well in a disused courtyard.
7. Street repair crews have this area cordoned-off. 3d4 Sewer Militia are watching over the progress.
8. Caravan. [70% they are leaving, 30% just arriving.]
9. (1d4) Local Merchants have gathered outside the shopfront of a recently deceased colleague in order to pay their respects.
10. (1d4) Experts/Specialists from the Academy are looking for a few things on the list that their mentor gave them. They are not to return without these 3d4 items which appear to be only so much Questionable Trinkets and Trash.
11. 2d4 Skeletons march past in bronze armor under cover of magical darkness. These Honor Guard members are pursuing a pair of Refugees who pilfered another broken-down old crypt...only this time there are 3d10 Refugees waiting in ambush for the Honor Guard...
12. Street Performers. (40% chance of pick-pocket attempt)
13. Peddler (20%), Tinker (20%), Unlicensed Vendor (40%), Con Artist (20%).
14. (1d4) Bone Gatherers, (30%) chance to have 1d4 starveling dogs as pets/guards.
15. (1d6) Beggars.
16. Wall collapses. Save or take 3d4 damage from falling masonry and rubble. 10% chance to be buried, requiring 1d4 turns to be dug out.
17. Survivor of an ambushed party of travelers comes riding in, very badly wounded...
18. Roof War between rival gangs. Violence spills over onto street. (40% chance to enrage a Roof Lizard no one knew was sunning itself behind a piece of crumbling facade.)
19. Street Thief attempts to steal something from party in broad daylight as they casually pass by.
20. Giant sighted in valley below the Lesser Keep. Militia called out. 30% chance of being 'recruited.'
21. Fire breaks out in a nearby building. 50% chance it is abandoned.
22. (3d4) group of peasants wandering the streets trying to find someone to help them...
23. (2d6) Mercenaries, on way out to deal with some local bandits.
24. (1d4) down on their luck Vampire-hunters calling on people to join them in ridding themselves of one or another Noble that they suspect of being a vampire or in league with even worse things. (60% chance they are drunk, 70% chance they are working for some rival undead faction.) No one takes these losers very seriously.
25. (1d4) Constables on casual patrol with (2d4) minion-guards.
26. Roof collapses on abandoned building. [30% chance building had something in it.]
27. (1d4) Puritans marking down likely looking nest-sites and generally disapproving of everything they see. [20% chance of (1) Witchfinder accompanied by (1d4) fanatical ecclesiastic-soldiers.]
28. Special Event or New Arrival.
29. (1d6) Locals or Unusual NPCs.
30. (1) Illigom preaching sedition, insurrection and treason to anyone who will listen. Illigom has one or more Companions in crowd.

*Sewer Militia (Day Shift): 1d4 2nd level fighters, max. HP, studded leather armor, heavy crossbows and cold-iron short swords. Most also carry 1d4 random tools (hammers, chisels, small shovels, pry-bars, etc.) They are forbidden to carry money while on duty.

 Welcome to Wermspittle 

Veilsect

'Subtle, stealthy kidnappers and poisoners who have no respect for walls or any other boundaries; the Veilsect make no such distinctions in the course of their transgressions.'

Veilsect
No. Enc.: 1 (1d4)
Alignment: Chaotic
Movement: 120'
Armor Class: 5
Hit Dice: 4
Attacks: 1 (Bite) or 1 (Web)
Damage: 2d4+Aging or Paralysis
Save: T4
Morale: 7


Special: Use Passwall freely, cast Planeshift once per day per HD. Also have 1d4 random spells per HD that they cast at 4th level ability.


[Optional: Treat as a Thief (HD=Level).]


Fortresses mean nothing to the Veilsect. Distance is a meaningless concept, a bad joke promulgated by lesser mortals. Barriers, trenches, pits or mazes--none of them deter these creatures in the slightest. They go where they will, freely and unfettered by such petty considerations as gravity, obstructions or defenses. Veilsects make no such distinctions, nor do they abide by them. They reject all such considerations and constraints.

Veilsects strike when least unexpected and wherever they choose, then simply fade away as they scuttle  back across the insubstantial barriers between different worlds, realms and planes. No one is entirely sure how many limbs a Veilsect has, nor how many eyes it might possess--they are visually ambiguous, surrounded by murky auras that obscure their features and form (treat as perpetual Blur and/or half-strength Darkness spell). Most commonly they are referred to as 'arachnomorphic,' or having the aspect of spider-like beings, but this point is contested vociferously by the Arachnarchs of Lijjidia who vigorously assert that the Veilsects are pretentious, upstart crustaceans with delusions of grandeur and not true arachnids.

Veilsects are malignant, inhuman creatures motivated by an insatiable, invidious desire to accumulate forbidden knowledge. Veilsects prowl the underworlds, interstices and by-ways of countless planes, dimensions and realms in search of scholars, scientists, sorcerers and such-like to abduct, imprison and interrogate. They care nothing for jewels or the trappings of power. They only care about learning new spells, mastering every ritual, solving every riddle or learning the deepest secrets and darkest lore. Thus Veilsects rarely kill their chosen prey, but instead seek to subdue and spirit them off to distant, murky regions known only to themselves in order to wring and wrest each syllable, sigil or symbol from their victim's brains.

Those who do manage to eventually win their release from captivity within the dim domains of the Veilsect are never the same ever again. Some are diminished, lessened in some vital sense. Others are drained of their vigor, or afflicted with distinctive sores that never quite heal and from which tiny iridescent blue-green spider-like mites emerge from time to time. Even those who escape relatively unscathed from the notorious 'hospitality' of the Veilsects tend to have lost years, if not decades from their life-span, having been prematurely aged by the vicious fangs of their tormentors.

The bite of a Veilsect not only inflicts damage, it either ages or paralyzes the victim at the Veilsect's discretion.

A typical Veilsect Bite inflicts 2d4 damage and forces the victim to make a Save (at -2 penalty) or age 2d6 years -or- suffer the effects of paralysis (as with the touch attack of a Ghoul). Note: if the Veilsect attempt to age their victim and the victim succeeds in their Save, then they must roll a second Save (no penalty) to avoid being paralyzed. If the Veilsect is attempting to paralyze the victim and they make their Save, there is no additional effect.

For some, this loss of years is no real matter of concern, having mastered longevity or some other form of self-renewal or survival. To one who does not worry over-much about the loss of a few decades from their lifespan it is possible to negotiate with these creatures...