Friday, January 9, 2015

Bujilli: Episode 114

Previously...
With a little help from their new friend Ulricht, the Privy Councils' Gauntlim assassin has been defeated. now they need to make their way to Idvard's Keep, but which route will Bujilli and his companions take to get there? 

The Ivory Toad watched patiently as the Stretcher-bearer drones adjusted Shael's make-shift travois into something a bit more stable before lifting her off of the floor. The other two drones, both equipped with narrow, rapier-style blades took up positions in front and behind their fellow drones.

"So do we head for this Fountain or leave through the Caves?" Leeja inquire of no one in particular.

Shael didn't hear her. The pain of her accursed condition had grown nearly unbearable from all the movement and strain she'd undergone. Her physical discomfort was nothing compared to her inner turmoil. Ulricht's words had gotten her to question things she had all too readily and easily accepted. Things that need not be so.

Bujilli considered picking up the Morlock's toothsome lash, but it hissed softly and slithered away from his fingers. It clearly wanted nothing to do with him, for whatever reason. Instead he strode over to the Snickering Sword the Gauntlim had dropped. It gleamed and glittered along its razor-notched edge. He had not really replaced the old tulwar he had wielded for nearly a decade...not after it had been ruined in the battle between his mother's geist and his father*. This blade was exceptionally well-crafted, but it reminded him of another such weapon; a scimitar that had tried to wheedle its way into his hands after the defeat of its previous mistress, a mad Princess from some weird city-state out past the seething wastes of the Kalaramar Drifts**. Bujilli hesitated. Caught himself. Withdrew his hand. Stepped away from the sword.

Ulricht laughed; "You seem concerned about the nature of the weapon before you young one. Do you sense some malignant presence lurking within the folded-steel, some vengeful geist looking for a chance to obsess or possess an unwary wielder?"

"I have encountered such things before..."

"Excellent! And now you show a healthy respect and judicious bit of caution when confronted by such a thing. Many never really learn that particular lesson. Greed often overcomes good sense."

"I came here to this place to learn--"

"The exact purpose for which it was first established, thus you are indeed in the correct place. Mind you, your timing could be better."

"What might you tell me about this sword?" Bujilli looked at it once more. It was too good a thing to leave lying around. If it could not be put to use, it would have to be disposed of...somehow.

"Tell you? Very little. But I might tell your fellow student a few significant things."

"Yes?" Leeja came over beside Bujilli and looked at the gleaming sword; "Like what?"

"Examine the pommel-stone if you would."

Leeja knelt down. The pommel was set with a glossy black stone of some sort. The stone was faceted. It had twelve sides. Each face was carved with uncouth dagger-like wedges of cuneiform characters. Even as she looked upon it the stone rotated, tumbled in its setting to reveal a different array of faces.

"Ixaxar!" hissed Leeja as she lurched back and away from the sword.

"Yes. Indeed. You recognize it, as I suspected one of your bearing and blood might. You could wield this weapon, should you wish to do so, but not your friend here. The Pallid are quite particular as to who and what they allow to make use of their things. To them your Almas-blood would render you far removed from what they recognize or accept as human."

"But I am not entirely of the Pallid..."

"No. Indeed. Never the less you have what it takes to wield the blade. If anything, you might wield it far more effectively than its previous master even could. He was not of Deep Dendo and only barely managed to convince the thing to serve him, and then only in so far as he might lead it to a more suitable master. Like yourself."

"Do you advise me to take up this sword?" Leeja turned to gaze skeptically on Ulricht as if somehow not quite trusting him.

"No. I merely point out an opportunity unique to this situation that might be of interest to yourself. Whether or not you avail yourself of it is entirely up to you. I am only  acting in an advisory capacity." Ulricht re-mounted his War Dodo.

Leeja looked back on the sword.

"The blade is ancient. Vinksome in nature, if I am not mistaken. A real head-taker. Originally it was created for the old warlord of Vadomar who had acquired quite a reputation as a monster-slayer before he was deposed by outcasts from Clovia. But all that was long ago and there are no legitimate heirs or claimants to the sword, so it is yours, if you wish to take it."

Leeja looked back at Ulricht; "Will it serve me do you think?"

"As well as anything from your ancestral lands."

"That is an evasion. Not an answer." She glared at Ulricht.

"The blade will serve you, until it finds a more suitable host, as is its nature."

"A treacherous thing. I dislike leaving it behind. It could be a source of much mischief." She scooped the manxome sword up from the floor. It slipped into her hand perfectly, snarled softly, then glittered quietly. Content for the moment. She could feel a pent-up malevolence in her hand, ancient and wicked and perfectly happy to serve her. For now.

"Which way do we go?" Leeja asked Bujilli.

"I say we--"

"We've delayed too long; the Fountain of Darkjean is cut-off from us at this time." Ulricht nudged his odd mount into motion. He hoped they would take the hint. There were far worse things than Morlocks or Gauntlim in the vicinity.

"Let's head to these Caves you mentioned. Are they far?"

"Not when you're traveling with me!" Ulricht spurred his War Dodo forward with a graceful lurch.

Bujilli motioned to the drones and they followed Ulricht. He adjusted his grip on his hand-axe and tried not to worry overmuch about Leeja's new sword. She kept pace with him. The sword snickered softly to itself.

Three passages, four doorways, a hallway, two vaulted corridors and they arrived at the double-wide doors at the entrance to a spiral-rampway leading down to the Caves.

Ulricht sat astride his beast and made sure everyone was past the doors before he motioned to Bujilli.

"I suggest that you close and bar these doors. As a precaution."

Bujilli nodded. Padded over and closed the doors. They were ponderous things, but well-balanced on their hinges. He saw something moving down the corridor they had just crossed. It was large and shaggy and he slammed the bars into place in all three sets of brackets to hold the doors fast.

"Gnoph-vir or some similar horrid thing. Many such things have been set loose in the last few days. Your friend will very likely find her new sword coming in handy all too soon."

"No doubt." Bujilli jogged alongside Ulricht to the head of their little group.

"So long as we remain within the Green Zone we'll only encounter edible, culinary fungi. It's when we cross over into the Blue Zone and then the Yellow Zone that we'll run afoul of anything particularly dangerous."

"Such as a Fungal Tyrant?"

"Perhaps. You have encountered such things previously?" Ulricht regarded him more seriously.

"Yes. We both have." Bujilli watched as one set of cylindrical quartz-lamps flickered then radiated a soft, warm light as they passed, slipping back into shadow once they had all moved on.

"Remarkable. Neither of you bear the marks of assimilation or infection." He was certain of it.

"We escaped." Bujilli did not want to elaborate. The situation had been most peculiar and he did not want to admit that they made a deal with the thing, even if it was in the face of an even worse enemy.

"Many do not. You've both done well." Ulricht seemed satisfied.

"Perhaps. We are heading back to a place where a Fungal Tyrant might very well still be rooted and waiting for us..."

"Ah. Then you will the fractured Trapezoid of Black Attush far more useful to you than the Smoldering White Jelly of Selinoth Yr."+++

"But I am not attuned..."

"No one is, except perhaps for the mad and the dead. You know the basic forms used in accessing Selinoth Yr. It's a simple enough matter to shift your point of access down the plenal scale to Attush. You might benefit from the niceties and intricacies involved in the established methodologies, but you know enough now to make it work for you. If you dare." Ulricht looked into his eyes as if to more closely examine his very soul.

"But it is dangerous, isn't it?"

"Of course it is--it's sorcery."

The rampway ended at an arch beyond which was only darkness.

"You, of course, know of some simple means to illuminate your way ahead?" Ulricht took up position at the threshold. He seemed uninterested in continuing further.

"Yes." Bujilli made a Gloomglyph with his left hand and pushed it out ahead of them all. This time he made it a smoldering orange hue and kept it a good twenty feet forward of his position.

"Excellent. I had planned on accompanying you farther, but that would be most unwise at this juncture."

BOOM!

"As you can hear for yourself. The doors will hold...but eventually that...thing...will get past. I intend to be waiting for it. It shall not follow you."

"But we do not know the way--"

"I promised to serve as a guide. Doing so does not require my immediate presence." Ulricht held forth his right hand, turned it palm-upward and a violet light swirled into a glowing orb that floated out past the archway to dance around the Gloomglyph.

"Follow the orb. It will lead you where you want to go and it should discourage most of the things likely to prove bothersome in the Blue Zone."

"What of the Yellow Zone?" Bujilli demanded.

"Best you avoid anything that might be interested in you there. If you do find yourself in trouble, consider it an excellent opportunity to practice your use of the second glyph. Just remember to relinquish the connection before dismissing the glyph or else you'll do as much harm to yourself as to your foes." Ulricht smiled broadly, bowed slightly towards Leeja and Shael, then rode off back up the ramp to await whatever was trying to break through the great doors behind them.

BOOM!

"Best we get moving then." Bujilli motioned to the drones to follow him. Leeja remained for a little while longer, watching after Ulricht. He wasn't sure if she regretted his departure or if she was relieved.

The violet orb shimmered and pulsed and led them onward into the darkness. They passed many bales and boxes and barrels. Store-rooms. Shelves. Growing-chambers. The air remained cool, but became increasingly yeasty and their skin took on a grittiness from all the spores swirling in the dark.

The floor was damp and slippery, despite gratings and drains and other improvements.

They traveled down a sloping, curving passage then slogged through a partly flooded chamber, up a slight incline and past several very rough, barely-worked chambers where clumps of dripping yellow-green ooze gave off a sickly phlegmic light. The violet orb followed a set of rusted metal rails across a bridge or aquaduct of some sort that spanned a deep, dismal gorge.

Abruptly the Gloomglyph popped. The violet orb faded out.

"Who Goes There!" barked a Corporal's voice as four galvanic lantern-lances clicked on, flooding the section of the bridge they were on with a harsh actinic radiance.

"Scheiss!" grumbled Leeja; "It's the fucking Sewer Militia."



What should Bujilli & Leeja do next?

You Decide!


* A climactic show-down that took place in Episode 67.
** Who could forget the insane Princess Jamildra from Episode 14?
+++ See Twenty Deadly Planes.


What should they do now?

First we need to Roll for Initiative (1d6 each): 1) Bujilli, 2) Leeja, 3) The Sewer Militia, and 4) Their actual quarry.
(as per p. 50)

A Reaction Roll (2d6) might be nice as well. (as per P. 52)

Three or four d20 rolls would be useful to determine if anyone spots anything or notices anything before the lights go up and everyone gets busy doing whatever you decide they're going to be doing.

Once all that is taken care of...what should Bujilli and his companions do next?

Should they stand their ground or flee or go on the offensive?
Do you think they ought to attempt to communicate, possibly parley with the Sewer Militia, maybe convince the patrol to let them pass...or should they demolish the patrol, unleashing spells and/or trying out Leeja's new sword?

Do they dare allow the patrol to recognize Shael?

Maybe they can convince the patrol to go after whatever is trying to break down the doors upstairs and behind them?

Should they try to bluff their way past? They are escorting someone who is obviously in need of medical attention...

Or do you have another idea or suggestion?

Feel free to ask questions or to discuss the situation. I'll do my best to respond to comments in a timely manner.

Let me know what you think they ought to do in the comments below, or via email and we'll resume things next week!

What do they do next?
You Decide!

Previous                            Next

Series Indexes
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six  |  Seven


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

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 - 111)
Series Seven (112 - ongoing)

Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion

Friday, January 2, 2015

Society for Truth (and Understanding)


"If you tell the truth, you don't have to remember anything."
 Mark Twain


An unrepentant splinter-group composed of fragments of several lesser, unsuccessful conspiracies, cliques and cabals, the Society for Truth (and Understanding) have far too many interrogators and inquisitors in their ranks and too few recorders or administrators. They have all been issued elegant badges and have an elaborately worked-out hierarchy of ranks and offices, many of which are necessarily vacant at this time due to a dearth of suitable, acceptable candidates. Their Constitution, Charter and Articles are made up of several hundred pages of densely-scrawled hand-written script in six alternating cyphers, all heavily revised and much marked by the red pens of various committees and commissions of delegates elected haphazardly at their irregularly scheduled meetings at various beer halls, rathskellars and ale houses.

So far they have not managed to get much past the riotous ferment of overwrought rallies and heated discussions. It is very likely only a matter of time before someone, some charismatic speaker or ingenious rabblerouser will arise from within their ranks to work either terrible mischief or to bring about unspeakable horrors. But until then, people tend to ignore them as just another debating society. Perhaps they are. For now.



Thursday, January 1, 2015

Bujilli: Episode 113

Previously...
Bujilli and Leeja with Shael had just escaped the fury of the no-longer-delayed-or-abeyed wards placed by Gnosiomandus on his now abandoned rooms. They are headed to their friend Idvard's Keep...they just need to get through the not entirely empty halls of The Academy first...

The Ivory Toad burbled something untranslatable from atop the rail. There were some spindly-looking drones standing in a line directly behind it. Two had wicked blades affixed to their insectile fore-limbs. The other two were cobbled together from broken crates and other things, bound in wire and wrapped with blood-soaked rags--Pruztian battlefield constructs. Stretcher-bearers. Each one stood blankly waiting for orders.

Bujilli wrenched his hand-axe free of the Morlock's skull with a gout of foul-smelling blood. He yelled at the drones the Toad had led back to him; "Get down here and make yourselves useful."

He re-drew the glyph for calling forth the Ivory Toad in his mind's eye. The creature croaked in approval. He smiled; it might be a minor casting, but it could come in handy someday.

Leeja drew out her stiletto as she tried to pull Shael back and away from the figure in cerulean velvet and black silk wrappings. For her part the supposedly Ex-Headmistress stared at the hunchback-in-chainmail who sat astride his well-barded Dodo with silver-shod talons grinning wolfishly in expectation of impending mischief and mayhem.

"No Authority?" She mouthed the words over and over again to herself in shock. Ulricht nodded his extravagantly-plumed head, waiting for the truth to finally soak in past her skull and her scars. It sometimes took mortals oh so long to realize such simple things.

The tall, thin figure drew forth a narrow-bladed long sword notched the entire length by slightly tilted W-shaped double-indents making it look fiercely toothsome, even manxome. It's almond-shaped eyes glared with baleful, pentoxulent malevolence as it regarded its given prey; Shael.

"As I said; the old pacts are not so fragile as some would have it. Some of us still keep the Old Ways." Ulricht shifted in his ornate saddle and addressed the Gauntling raising its snickering sword; "Avaunt Horror. Your masters have no say over this place and you are unwelcome in my presence. Your sickly countenance offends my delicate sensibilities. Begone."

"You have no authority over me--"

"Milady Headmistress, might I prevail upon you for your kind permission to dispatch this offal-chewing corpse on your behalf?"

"Yes." Shael struggled to stand upright; "Yes! By the Old Pacts Yes! Drive this thing from our Academy Ulricht!"

Ulricht smiled three-times as wide as was possible then goaded his mount into motion with his spurs.

"Not enough clean meat left on you to catch the point of a good spear, nor would a sword be particularly satisfying as it would merely cleave you into disparate pieces your masters would only stitch back together again. No, that will not do. Not at all. I suppose there's nothing for it then." He sighed as he reached forth with his mail-gloved hand, gestured, and brought forth a heavy three-headed flail. Each head sculpted into the shrieking visage of a hideous figure drooling deep red flames.

"I have no quarrel with--"

Ulricht drove home his spurs. The Dodo leaped. The flail smoldered and roared as it crashed down upon the Gauntlim.

The snarling, snickering sword howled as it swirled through the air.

The flail came back with a jerk only to snap forward and down again and again.

Ulricht laughed heartily.

The flail screamed as it slipped out of existence once again. He dismounted and began to pick through the brittle, blasted remains of the Gauntlim, setting the choicest bits into a small pile.

"With your leave; the spoils go to the victor."

Shael nodded once, wincing in great pain from the notions; "As it is written of old. Thank you Ulricht." The hunchback bound-up the carefully chosen fragments of his dispatched foe in the rags left from its own wrappings which he wound tighter and tighter, crushing it all down into a sort of lumpy ball that he then slipped into a saddle-bad on the dodo.

"No need to thank me Lady Shael. I was only doing my appointed task. But, of course, it is always nice to be appreciated. Shall I accompany you? There is much turmoil within the place of late. Many outsiders. Too much conniving and meddling. You really ought to clean house." He let a look of anger and disappointment slip across his countenance then resumed his grinning mien.

"Yes. You are right. Too right. I will...I would greatly appreciate your help in doing what is necessary and needful Ulricht..."

"Then you shall have it, as it is in the nature of the Pact that binds me to this place. And what of these two stalwart youths? I can see that you both are marked as students, so I will instruct you in something you might have use of later. Observe." Ulricht strode over to the section of wall where the Gauntlim had entered the hallway. The wall still fluctuated softly, slowly, like a rippling pond of thick syrup.

"You," he pointed to Bujilli; "Young Man, you know of a spell that might be made more useful in addressing intrusive phenomena of just this sort. I can see it glimmering in your brain. Do you have some idea of which spell I am referring?"

Bujilli considered his repertoire. One spell made more sense than the others, though for a moment he considered suggesting a variation on 'Listen to the Walls,'

"Protection From Aethyrial Intrusion?" He wasn't keen on finding out what Oneiric Bubble would do in this situation based on his previous experience back under Zormur's Palace.* His attempt at modifying that spell under those circumstances had yielded some rather spectacular and quite unforeseen results. He had been fortunate to escape the worst of it.

"Good. Very good. Cast it, if you will."

"What? Now? Here?"

"Yes. Now. There." Ulricht pointed to the spatial instability in the wall as it slowly congealing closed.

Bujilli nodded. Closed his eyes. Adjusted his breathing. Prepared himself. Cast the spell.

"Now open your eyes and pay strict attention--we do not want to spoil this opportunity."

Bujilli felt his spell transform itself before him as Ulricht reconfigured it, transformed it, modified it to sieze upon the flickering liminal edges of the instability and interpose itself between the HereNow and the ThereThen. It held the thing open, formed a transitional space that could easily be adjusted and pushed outwards to form a passage...or...with a twist the whole thing could be set into motion to form a vortex that would either wind itself down into a miniscule point before slipping out of existence or conversely it could be set going in the opposite direction, fed more and more power until it broke down the barriers and boundaries it was anchored within...a dozen more permutations and elaborations flashed through Bujilli's mind.

"There. That gives you some idea of what can be done. I'll leave it to your imagination and ingenuity to investigate the possibilities for yourself." Ulricht nodded in approval then strode over to Shael and offered her his arm for support. She reached out and her pain eased as he propped her up.

"Thank you Ulricht." Bujilli felt dozens of connections and new direction suggesting themselves to him, each spell he knew led to dozens more that he could learn, could discover if he only applied himself, explored his own repertoire. It was a heady, invigorating realization that blew away the last few lingering vestiges of his Uncle's sabotage and deliberately cultivated bad habits intended to weaken him and make him a better servitor, a more useful slave.

"But of course young sir--you came here seeking knowledge. It is the sacred responsibility of all who serve, who are bound, who hold office in this place to assist in the ongoing process of instruction, revelation and exploration. To do anything less is to dishonor the institution and all those affiliated with it." Ulricht stared directly into Shael's eyes even as he was addressing Bujilli.

"Ahem. Now your turn young lady. I see that you know the root-spell for ghoulish aspiration--Charnel Breath. that particular spell we won't be using today as it would open the way to a rather undesirable place and draw unwanted attention. Likewise your Pale Shelter spell would only delay us and not serve our interests quite so well at this time, however in the future know that it can be modified to provide refuge from all manner of unfriendly and untoward forces with but a modicum of reworking or revision on your part. But for today, let us make use of your Protection From Shadows spell, if you please."

Leeja looked to Shael who grinned assent. She stepped away from her Aunt and moved into place before the sorcerous breech in the wall and cast her spell.

"Ah good. You see how it draws the edges back like eddies of ink within a pool of wermoil? That is where your spell and theirs both come into contact, a sort of interference layer. Perhaps it is not dissimilar to some forms of weather, but that is something I'll leave for you to reflect upon in-between your studies."

Another Gauntlim moved into the breech. And another. Another. Eight of the dry, vengeful things were entering into the breech.

"And now we shift things like so. What do you see now young lady?"

The breech was sealed. No. Not so much sealed as closed-over, trapping the Gauntlims in-transit.

"But..."

"Shadows are negative spaces created by the passage of opaque objects through the light. Affecting the absence of something implies some measure of identification with the thing itself, after a fashion. Enough to extrapolate from and in the case of subjects who voluntary allow themselves to enter into your frame of reference...well...I'll let you ponder that for another day as well."

"Thank you." Leeja felt her spell fade, the residual shrieks of the entrapped Gauntlim echoed across her mind only momentarily before they too faded into oblivion.

"Now. Where were you headed Milady Shael?" Ulricht set her gently down onto the stretcher strung between the two constructs. He made a small gesture and imparted a small spell to the rough canvas that it might ease its passenger's discomfort.

"We are on our way to see an ally. We need to leave by the nearest exit, preferably one near the Burned Over District on this side of the Film Repository."

"It is good to have allies in this place. I know of three such exits that might serve you; One is nearest the Fountain of Darkjean, one is at the very threshold of the Red Tentacle Inn, and one is well within the Caves where culinary mushrooms are raised by the Vesgal, who also still keep the Old Pacts."

"I do not know these places, at least not by those names..." Bujilli looked to Leeja--she'd been in the place longer than him and knew her way around far better than he did.

"The fountain is the closest. I'd as soon avoid the Caves if we can. There's just the two of us, and the drones, and I'd rather not risk running into a pack of Voormis or worse down there just now."

"But the Caves would take us near more allies..." Shael considered her options.

"Do we still want to go to Idvard at this time? If there are more like Ulricht here at the Academy, perhaps we should round them up, remind them of their Pacts and get them to help us restore order..."

"A tempting thought. One that has occurred to myself as well. But alas, no matter how many of the Pacts we raise...we're woefully outnumbered and out-maneuvered by the Privy Council and their allies. For now."

"Return when you are ready. In the meantime I and my compatriots and colleagues will make the intruders regret their folly and remember just why this place has endured for so long as a beacon in the midst of horror and apocalypse. We have been invaded and subverted before. We know what to do and we'll do it. Now that we have a Headmistress again."

"I am ashamed--"

"Hush Milady. You were lulled into vulnerability, misled and subverted by pleasant, well-measured words. The enemies of this place are legion and some are far more patient and subtle than others. Your vigilance could only endure so long. It was inevitable that you or one of your successors would fail, that is the nature of mortals and that is exactly why the Old Pacts were established. We'll buy you time enough to attend to your needs and prepare yourself and whatever forces you intend to call upon to re-take your rightful place. These are the worst of times for you, but they are the best of times for myself!"

"So do we head for this Fountain or leave through the Caves?" Bujilli considered picking up the Morlock's toothsome lash, but it hissed softly and slithered away from his fingers.

"I say we--"


What should Bujilli & Leeja do next?

You Decide!


* See Episode 6.

Which way should they go?

Exit One: The Fountain of Darkjean
Exit Two: The Red Tentacle Inn
Exit Three: The Caves (with mushrooms)
Option Four: Go someplace else. (Where?)

So, we have four options to consider and it is up to you, the readers just which way Bujilli and friends go next. If you want them to go in a different direction than one of the Exits suggested by Ulricht, then where do you think they ought to go? 

They certainly could go to Hedrard's Rooms, or Bujilli's room, or go looking for Mistress Eberhard...or somewhere else within the Academy. If that appeals to you more than heading off to Idvard's Keep, but wherever they go, Shael needs help and they might want to see about removing the curse that hinders her from being effective, and even if Idvard does not know how to remove the curse, he does know how to research things and find an answer.

Besides, Hedrard has been going through some changes of late...so we do not know how she'll deal with them now that she has returned to the Academy. It might be better to get Shael fixed-up before confronting the transformed Hedrard...or maybe She can remove the curse? But would she? At what cost? Hmmm...lots to consider.

Feel free to ask questions or to discuss the situation. I'll do my best to respond to comments in a timely manner.

Let me know what you think they ought to do in the comments below, or via email and we'll resume things next week!

What do they do next?
You Decide!

Previous                            Next

Series Indexes
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six  |  Seven


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

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 - 111)
Series Seven (112 - ongoing)

Labyrinth Lord   |   Advanced Edition Companion

Thursday, December 25, 2014

Seasons Greetings, etc.

Happy Holidays to everyone,
It has been good to spend some time with family and friends and we're looking forward to what we hope will be a much more productive and pain-free year ahead. I've been recovering from re-injuring my back. I'm off the meds and mending decently and expect to be back to work on our various projects and blogging more regularly in a few days. We may or may not get around to posting a 'Year in review' sort of thing, or a greatest hits list, or something, depending on how much time we have before the year ends...and how we're both feeling. In the weeks ahead we'll be returning to Joy's Adventures and rolling out a whole lot more Wermspittle-stuff and wrapping-up the Gravelands series. Bujilli will resume as of January 1st and will be our first new post of the New Year. I'm going to be drawing one new monster each day in order to help get my hands working better again and I plan on doing a lot more writing [outside the blogosphere] as well. 2015 looks like a fun year from here. I'm looking forward to it.


Saturday, December 13, 2014

Purple Spiders

"The scrubby brush was almost like a grove of small trees, for it reached as high as the heads of the two girls, neither of whom was very tall. They were obliged to thread their way in and out, until Dorothy was afraid they would get lost, and finally they were halted by a curious thing that barred their further progress. It was a huge web—as if woven by gigantic spiders—and the delicate, lacy film was fastened stoutly to the branches of the bushes and continued to the right and left in the form of a half circle. The threads of this web were of a brilliant purple color and woven into numerous artistic patterns, but it reached from the ground to branches above the heads of the girls and formed a sort of fence that hedged them in..."
Glinda of Oz
by L. Frank Baum

Purple Spiders (Enormous)
No. Enc.: 1d4 (2d6)
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 120' (40')
Armor Class: 5 [14] (as Chain-Mail)
Hit Dice: 4+
Attacks: 2 (claws) or 1 (bite)
Damage: 1d4 (claw), 2d4+poison (Bite: Save or Sleep for 1d4 Turns per HD of spider)
Save: T4 or MU4 (see below)
Morale: 9 [+3 bonus if led by King / -6 penalty if confronted by White Crabs]

Special: These spiders are intelligent and may advance as either thieves or Magic-Users. They all have the ability to cast Charm once per day.

No one knows for certain when these massive tyrannical arachnids first made their way from the Purple Forest into the woods and copses surrounding Wermspittle. Highly intelligent and eminently social creatures, these spiders possess unusually big heads, wicked sharp claws, small yellow-glowing eyes and fuzzy hair all over their massive purple bodies. They typically communicate by means of a peculiar whistling--speech, but a few have taken the time to learn other languages from their slaves.

They prey upon the unwary and imprudent by weaving partially incomplete domes or sacs of vivid purple webs strung between trees, working together as a group to quickly and quietly finish the web-trap behind those who have crossed the threshold, cutting off any chance of escape. The vivid purple silk of these spiders glows slightly in the dark and is incredibly tough, requiring +1 weapons or better to cut through it. Lumberjacks working the deeper, darker parts of the Purple Forest have been harvesting the webs from old traps and defunct enclave-nests in the hopes that someone can eventually figure out how to use the stuff to make durable fabric or something equally useful.

All those captured by the spiders are thoroughly inspected and either delegated to serve as cattle or relegated to particular work-groups according to their obvious characteristics or qualities. Any captive willing to teach the spiders new languages or fresh spells will receive preferential treatment over those who can only serve as dumb-labor. The spiders will bite their slaves daily to keep them pliable and weakened and hence more manageable. Some of the spiders' slaves have been in their service for centuries--regular doses of their venom apparently can prolong the victim's physical longevity, but often at the cost of their minds. The venom of the Purple Spiders is also very valuable to various distillers as it lends itself to the formulation of a potent violet liqueur much sought after by Oneirists and other dreamers.

Those prisoners deemed unsuitable for whatever reason are massively envenomated, wrapped in webs and dragged through the Purple Forest to a place of gnarled old standing stones on the edge of a bleak and deadly desert region prowled by nightmares, phantasms and vicious figments. Few ever wake up; those that do are rarely seen again.

Purple Spiders greatly fear White Crabs since the crabs are one of the few creatures that can slash through their webs with their pincers.

It is unknown just what, if any, connection these spiders might have to the Purple Clouds...


Purple Spider King
No. Enc.: 1
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 120' (40')
Armor Class: 5 [14] (as Chain-Mail)
Hit Dice: 9
Attacks: 2 (claws) or 1 (bite)
Damage: 1d6 (claw), 1d8+poison (Bite: Save or Sleep for 10d4 Turns)
Save: MU9
Morale:11

Special: Can cast Charm once per day in addition to the normal spell-casting abilities of a 9th level Magic-User (Spells per day: 3,3,3,2,1.)

Suggested Spells First Level: Comprehend Languages, Detect Magic, Magic Missile. Second Level: Amnesia, Mirror Image, Ray of Enfeeblement. Third Level: Feign Death, Hold Person, Protection From Normal Missiles. Fourth Level: Arcane Eye, Charm Monster. Fifth Level: Feeblemind.


Bloated and corpulent, the King of the Purple Spiders maintains a harem-kraal where he imprisons dozens of female spiders, both purple and other types. Any females that show signs of becoming any sort of a threat to the King are summarily executed. He greatly fears a return to the Old Ways that would put a Queen on the throne...a Queen who would almost certainly kill Her male consort in the midst of their mating...a prospect that gives the aging King nightmares that He suspects may be something more...



Source: Glinda of Oz by L. Frank Baum, with a wee whiff of the infamous spiders of Tolkein's Mirkwood and those notorious nasty-brutes that dwell in the cold wastes of a host of Dreamlands beyond the plateau of Leng...


Friday, December 12, 2014

Gleiben

"...Rats. Rats. Rats! Thousands! Millions of them! All red blood! All these will I give you if you will obey me."
Renfield's Journal

Gleiben
No. Enc.: 1d4 (3d4)
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 120' (40')
Armor Class: 7[12] (as Leather)
Hit Dice: 1 (Can advance as Thief or Minion)
Attacks: 1
Damage: 1d4 or by weapon
Save: As zero-level human
Morale: 6

Special: No Resistance to Mind Control. Vermin Affinity--Gleiben possess a peculiar rapport with vermin and often bond with rats, bats, and all manner of other vermin. They can cast Charm Vermin once per hour as a standard ability. 

Peculiar, eccentric, off-beat would-be thespians and performers, Gleiben dress in out-of-date styles, smell like moldy cheese and always have dirt of some kind under their untrimmed nails. Awkward both physically and socially, Gleiben prefer to dwell in caves or in cellars and attics in abandoned properties, and occasionally dilapidated old windmills or crumbling, overgrown keeps that have been stricken from the tax-rolls or otherwise left open to squatters. Unlike Moundfolk, the Gleiben desperately want to make their mark, any mark, on whatever village, town or city they can sneak into and not get kicked out of.

Fish-belly pale and slightly hunched, the Gleiben tend to congregate around theaters, show-houses and cabarets desperately trying to snatch-up even the most insignificant roles in any production. They will take any menial job just to be close to actors, playwrights, or anyone else even slightly involved or connected to the theater. While few of them have any talent or aptitude for the stage, they also have no shame and will do anything they are commanded, which makes them appealing to directors, producers and managers who often hire-on one or more Gleiben as flunkies, minions and valets.

Born followers and henchmen, the Gleiben have no defenses against Hypnosis, Charm, Suggestion, Mesmerism, or Somnambulism. They willingly serve as thralls to anyone they recognize as 'their' master, quickly developing an empathic awareness of their master's deepest wishes and darkest desires that they then use to guide their efforts to please, appease and earn praise from their masters. They will do anything for their masters. Anything.



Source of InspirationThe Vampire Bat (1933) which can be seen at Youtube or at the Internet Archives, has a character named 'Gleib,' (played by Dwight Fry) who is hounded to his death by a mob who believes he's behind the 'vampire killings' in town. Mr. Fry's performance in The Vampire Bat was more than a little reminiscent of his portrayal of the unfortunate Mr. Renfield in Dracula (1931), and then there is his turn as Fritz in Frankenstein (1931). There's also more than a little bit of Willard and Ben which takes the whole Pied Piper thing down a very creepy path. Add to that a touch of The Eloi from The Time Machine and HPL's The Lurking Fear and the in-bred troglodytic Martense Clan and you have a Gleiben...which is also a bit of nonsense-German that made quite a splash back in the day...so not only do these poor souls hang around hoping to pick-up some bit-part in a play or performance, they really like loud music...which means you could bring in a little bit of Erich Zann's unearthly music as well if you like...oh and they hand-craft very well-made bone flutes...

Wednesday, December 10, 2014

Grotesk: Zaalu

Modified Version of
Drie monsters, by Anonymous, Arent van Bolten, Pierre Firens, c. 1604 - c. 1616.

Zaalu
No. Enc.: 1 (1d4)
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 60' (20')
Armor Class: 8[11] (as Leather)
Hit Dice: 2
Attacks: 1
Damage: 1d4 or by weapon
Save: F2
Morale: 9 [Improves by 1 each time they roll a natural 20 to hit.]

One of the more commonly encountered forms of Grotesks, the Zaalu are typically covered from hoof to head in light gray, white or yellow-white hair and never willingly wear clothing, preferring to charge into battle naked. They possess a pair of stunted wings that form a protective mantle about their shoulders. Despite the wings they are flightless. Sure-footed and excellent climbers, they cannot swim and generally avoid bodies of water. They are often mistakenly categorized as sexless, but this is not exactly correct; each individual is an egg-layer and they can produce 1d4 eggs every three months with or without the assistance of any other Zaalu. They do not sell their eggs to non-Zaalu, but have been known to cook and eat their own eggs while engaged in long-term guard duty or military service.

Zaalu prefer to wield short-spears that have spiked-hafts just behind the diamond-shaped tip that can be used as long-handled maces. They also carry short swords or daggers as secondary weapons and tend to rely on slings as their preferred missile-weapon as their hands tend to be too small for anything other than a light hunting bow or child's prodd.

Zaalu claim to be descended from ancestors who were abandoned, lost or trapped in the Low-Lands and while most do try to see their deformities as a mark of distinction and pride, as they have been taught by their elders, there has always been a lingering sense of resentment among the Zaalu for those who were able to leave the Low-Lands and whose ancestors escaped the ravages of the plagues, poxes and pestilences that have so twisted and changed them into what they have become...which is still a matter of strenuous debate among scholars, surgeons and other authorities.



Source of Inspiration: Drie Monsters, a print from the 1600s. The Zaalu and numerous other varieties of Grotesk-kin can be found all over the Low-Lands outside Wermspittle thanks to the lingering effects of ancient weapons that still pollute the soil, water and air with strange teratological compounds... 

Tuesday, December 9, 2014

Ahool

Thank You Ernst Haekel
“I can't say I'm unhappy about it,' added the bard, 'I get along well enough with mice, and I've always been fond of birds, but when you put the two together I'd just as soon avoid them.”
by Lloyd Alexander


Ahool
No. Enc.: 1d4
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 60' (20')
          Fly: 180'
Armor Class: 7 [12]
Hit Dice: 3
Attacks: 1 (bite or claw)
Damage: 1d4 (Save or suffering Bleeding [see below]) / 1d4 (Save or be knocked prone)
Save: F1
Morale: 8

Special: The victim of an Ahool's bite attack must roll a Save or suffer 1d4 points of damage per round for the next 1d4 rounds from excessive bleeding. 

Huge bats covered in mouse-gray fur with ten-to-twelve-foot wingspans, the Ahool are notorious for carrying off small children and young farm animals. They also are fond of fish and have been known to actively hunt Fog Fish such as Red Herring. The Ahool are nearly as quiet as an owl, and often strike with surprise as a Thief (+4 to hit, double damage on first attack).

All other types of bats avoid the Ahool. On the other hand owls will attack them until one or the other is dead. When the owls win they carry off the eviscerated Ahool carcass deep into forested areas where they drop them into steep ravines or other trackless, difficult to find areas. If the Ahool wins they consume the owl then hunt-out its nest in order to devour any eggs they might find. It is for this reason that Strixin have come to loathe and revile the Ahool, and why they have begun to trap the beasts using special snares and nets in order to feed them to giant owls.

Winged Monkeys suffer a -4 penalty to Morale when confronted by Ahool, especially when they make their infamous 'AHHhoooooollll!' cry that can be heard for miles.

Ahool are not native to the region. Those encountered around Wermspittle were originally brought into the area on the Airships, sometimes as pets or mascots, other times as experimental test-subjects. There are numerous travelers' tales and unsubstantiated rumors of larger specimens being encountered in the Septagoorean Archipelago where their guano is an integral part of the manufacture of gun powder.


Source of Inspiration: The Ahool is a type of flying cryptid that may or may not be native to one or more of the islands of Indonesia. 

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Bujilli: Episode 112

Previously...
Hedrard, in her shiny new cocoon and accompanied by her entourage of Marching Morons has gone off to her rooms. The authentic Sprague has left. That old Rat-Tosser Putney has made his exit as well, leaving Ex-Headmistress Shael, Bujilli and Leeja behind in the shambles of what used to be the residence of Gnosiomandus with the bodies of four dead mercenaries scattered across the floor...


Shael coughed. A trickle of blood rand down her chin where her flesh melted into hazy glass. She struggled to get up off of the couch. Her quilt slipped out of her grasp, fell to the floor. Most of her left side was slowly crystallizing into some weird form of milky-glass. It was as elegantly grotesque as it was painful. And inconvenient. Leeja moved to help her aunt rise to her feet. At first she refused. Then she had to allow her niece to help her up.

"We're not going to get very far this way..." Leeja adjusted her grip.

"No. We're not." Shael closed her eyes as a spasm of pain jolted through her body.

"Before we worry about that...how did these mercenaries get here? I mean, how did they get all the way to Gnosiomandus' rooms without having to fight their way past whatever defenses or guards or wards there might be in this place?"

"Check the officer..." Shael made to gesture but stopped herself. She was already bleeding enough and they hadn't gotten started yet.

Bujilli hunkered down and looked over the corpse of the Tsalalian officer. The heavy over-coat looked shabby and worn in places, badly patched in others. Shael's spell had caved-in his chest, killing him instantly. His trench-pistol lay mere inches from his cold, dead fingers. The strange purplish gills wriggled slightly along the side of his neck. There were more of the growths along portions of his chest that protruded around the tatters of his uniform, harness and armor. It reeked of stale wine and cloves, which was better than the usual bowel contents and blood.

Then Bujilli saw it. A blue-enameled band around the officer's right fore-arm. He used his hand-axe to lift the dead man's arm to show off the device to the others.

"As I suspected; a Transition Mechanism. It was improperly attuned, otherwise they would have barged right into the room from wherever they came from, much as you yourself did when you first arrived." Shael grinned lop-sidedly at Bujilli.

"Can we use this?" He looked more closely at the band. It shimmered.

"Get Back!" Shael yelled hoarsely.

VLLLLLLLLIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPPP!

The corpse, most of it, was gone.

"No. I guess not. So do you have any suggestions for how we're supposed to get you to Idvard's place? I don't think that dragging you along on an improvised travois is going to work any too well..."

"No." Shael scowled at the thought of what such a jarring mode of travel might do to her.

"Urmigan. Do you know of a way that we can contact Urmigan?" Bujilli had the beginnings of an idea. It might even work. Maybe.

"Why would you want--"

"I should have some credit on account with Urmigan, if Idvard kept his word*. When I returned the amulet to him that controlled his drones, her promised to have Urmigan set aside a few drones for my use."

Shael started to nod. Stopped herself. Grimaced. Her right hand reached out and performed an almost calligraphic figure in the air before her. Three soft words wheezed from her clenched mouth. An ivory toad plopped onto the ruined carpet from somewhere else. It stared at her with gleaming topaz eyes.

"Take a message to Urmigan. His message." Shael waved to Bujilli; "Then guide them back to us."

The toad hopped in front of Bujilli and stared at him expectantly.

"Tell it what you want it to repeat for you. It will find Urmigan." Shael sank back down onto the couch with Leeja's help. It had been a minor spell, but it still taxed her.

Bujilli thought about what to say then just told the toad that he needed some sturdy drones to carry a grievously wounded friend back to Idvard's place. The toad solemnly nodded once then hopped away through the broken door and was gone.

Leeja and Bujilli set about rigging-together some sort of palanquin for Shael. something that the drones could carry and that would not jar or jostle her too badly.

It was amazing how empty the place was without all the books he remembered being heaped and mounded across the shelves and floors.

Gnosiomandus was gone. Everything had shifted, changed out from under him. He had come here to learn things he needed to know, to study new spells and refine his technique, to become a better spell-caster, a more powerful sorcerer.

He thought that meant enrolling in classes at the Academy.

But now he wasn't so sure.

In all the time he'd been here, he had not attended a single class.

But he had learned a few new spells. Made friends. And enemies.

He'd changed things, met and changed the lives of Sharisse, Gudrun, Idvard, and others...and Leeja. He'd changed himself. And this place, this Wermspittle, had changed as well.

"Scheiss!" Shael sat up abruptly, disregarding how much it hurt, or caused her to bleed; "We need to get out of here--"

"Congratulations. You've breached my defenses. Fat lot of good it will do you!" Gnosiomandus stood in the middle of the room. Lambent orange light smoldered around the edges of the image. It looked younger, better groomed and taller than the original.

Leeja and Bujilli helped Shael get on her feet and the three of them hobbled as fast as they could toward the ruined door.

WWWWHHHOOOMMMMPPPPFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFFF!

Golden flames swirled through the room, a turgid tempest of noise and fury signifying the former occupant's indignation at having his privacy violated.

They only just made it out the door before the flames roared forth.

"Putney had spoofed the wards so we could meet here. When he left, it was up to me to maintain the subterfuge, but I let them slip..." Shael looked more miserable than ever.

"We're fine. We got out in time. If anything, this will make it harder for anyone else to get much out of there..."

"And it ought to make following us a bit more difficult, at least remotely." Leeja quickly glanced down the hallway in both directions before nudging them forward in the direction of the Main Hall.

"Remotely?" Bujilli considered the prospect of being spied-upon at a distance. His Uncle had used several different such spells to explore deep dark places Bujilli could not reach easily as a child. He had used a spell that let him see what was happening miles away and across the great black sea, even on another world. All were based on Extra-Sensory Perception or some form of Clairvoyance. He himself knew the most basic form of a spell for both, but he'd not yet learned the more advanced forms his Uncle used. His hand slipped to his collar. Hedrard's Amulet**.

Did he want the hag knowing where he was, where he was going? They were...what? Friends? Allies? He wasn't entirely sure, not after their time in the Gormenstille and the drastic transformation Hedrard had undergone. She was an enigma to him now, floating inside a big red cocoon and attended by a tribe of Morons, some of whom spoke on Her behalf as though she were some little tyrant-goddess.

Perhaps she was. Now. Maybe she always had been and he never realized it.

There was a lot about this place he did not know.

They reached a marble staircase and Bujilli was jarred from his thoughts as they focused on assisting Shael down one painful step after another.

It wasn't ideal, not by a long shot, but they all three felt the need to keep moving.

The Main Hall was empty.

Their steps echoed.

"Where is everyone?" He was taken aback. He only ever saw this place when it had been packed with people hustling and bustling past one another on their way to classrooms, lecture halls or wherever.

"Ah. Fresh meat." A Morlock in antique banded-mail dropped down in front of them. He wielded a jagged-edged hacker's blade, some sort of basket-less airship-men's cutlass in his right-hand and a toothsome lash in his off-hand.

SSSSSSSSnnaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaakt!

The lash bit Bujilli on the cheek, drawing blood.

"We have no argument with you--"

"Piss off pretty-pretty. My children are hungry and with Winter coming in early and sharp, a father's got to do what needs to be done to provide for them."

Bujilli tugged at his hand-axe--TTTTHHHHWWWIIIIIIIPT!

The lash stung his hand. He jerked it away. Blood spattered onto the marble floors.

Leeja pulled Shael back to give Bujilli more room. Shael groaned in agony.

"Shame you haven't much meat on you hairy-barry. But you'll do for a start." The lash streaked out once more. Bujilli almost ducked aside. Instead he grabbed the lash. Teeth interspersed along the length of the thing bit into his hand. More blood flew from his punctured flesh. He gritted his own teeth against the pain--it was intense--and drew forth his hand-axe.

The Morlock slyly loosened the lash, flipped it to one side, rudely jerked it back nearly taking off one or more of Bujilli's fingers with it.

"Stop this. Don't you know who this is?" Leeja pointed at Shael incredulously.

"Do you interview the cattle you eat? I don't much care if it's that bitch Shael herself--you're all three meat for the pot."

"Idiot! This IS Shael."

The Morlock held back his next strike of the lash to look more closely at Shael.

Bujilli split his skull with the hand-axe.

"In the flesh." He wrenched his weapon free from the Morlock's head.

"The Old Covenants are null and void until someone takes my place and renews the pacts and restores things..."

"And someone has been chosen to handle this matter, right?"

"I...do not know. After the Privy Council punished me, I was sent away. I have no idea of what happened afterward, nor what the Regents, those left of them, are doing or have opted to do. The Senior Staff are scattered, some dead or imprisoned, others have left..."

"So everything goes down in flames while you all bicker and argue?"

"For the most part, the answer is yes.Maybe one of them will play the violin..." Shael sagged and would have fallen to the floor if Leeja hadn't steadied her.

"That's not entirely true and you know it." A voice roared from above.

"Ulricht. You are still here?" Shael sounded incredulous. It was some sort of hunchback or dwarf in chain-mail riding on a Dodo. Both sported elaborately plumed head-gear, but only the bird's included a bit fitted to its beak and reins.

"I remain. I endure much. The old pacts are not so fragile as you would believe." The figure spurred the plump bird forward and it hopped atop a rail then jumped down before them, its silver-shod talons scittering slightly across the marble tiles before it regained its balance.

"But...I have been removed from my position--"

"Really? Truly? And yet I remain. How is that possible, hmmm?"

"The Privy Council--"

"Have no real authority in this place." He nodded to emphasize his disdain for such interlopers.

"Then..."

"Don't dwell on it over-much madam." A tall, thin figure wrapped head-to-toe in cerulean blue velvet and black silk stepped out from a section of wall that held no door. "It was merely a simple oversight. One I am here to correct."

The ivory toad burbled something untranslatable from atop the rail. There were some spindly-looking drones stood in a line directly behind it waiting for orders...


What should Bujilli & Leeja do next?

You Decide!


* See Episode 49.
**Presented to Bujilli in Episode 26.

What to do, what to do?

First we need to roll Initiative for 1) Bujilli, 2) Leeja, 3) Shael, 4) Ulricht, 5) The Gauntling, 6) The Ivory Toad.

Second, if someone would be so kind as to roll 2d4 to determine how many drones were sent along with the Toad, that'd be much appreciated. 

Thirdly, could use a few d20 rolls. Because well, impending violence. Or something.

Then you the readers determine what Bujilli and his friends do next. Should they attack the Gauntling? Seek to evade them or run away? Order the drones to attack? Cast a spell? (which one?) Or should they try to parley with the would-be assassin?

Let me know in the comments below, or via email and we'll resume things next week!

What do they do next?
You Decide!

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Series Indexes
One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Six  |  Seven


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

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