Index: Low-End Loot

Low-End Loot: An Index to the Series

Scavengers and Foragers dare the dangers of the Burned Over District, sifting through wreckage and crawling about in ruins in search of forgotten or buried stockpiles of food or medicines, caches of useful things left-over from before the last war...but those sorts of finds are increasingly more difficult to uncover or discover. A lot of what they find tends to be so much Trinkets and Trash or Low-End Loot...

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Low-End Loot I
Low-End Loot II
Low-End Loot III
Low-End Loot IV
Low-End Loot V
Low-End Loot VI

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Lone Survivors II (Encounters/Kalaramar Drifts)

Lone Survivors: Table II (D12)

1. A filthy, smelly old man with long, bedraggled hair and grizzled eyes. He has no fingernails left, as he has spent countless hours trying to dig himself out of here by scratching away at the bare stone. His mind is broken. All he sees around him any more are slithering little Triss, each taunting him with a slow, painful death by rotting. He holds a folded leather map in his jerkin. It shows 2d6 rooms of some unnamed dungeon in great detail...but shows none of the interconnecting passages.
2. The smell of putrescent meat is incredible. Anyone with a CON lower than 14 needs to Save or vomit uncontrollably for 1d4 rounds. A shambling, massively decayed figure of what once was some sort of humanoid being lurches towards you. Over a third of this thing's body is skeletonized, the rest glistens wetly as it drips, dribbles and peels off of the bones with each movement. It holds a roughly one foot long section of a black metal javelin or spike or blade that seems to have broken off in the process of impaling the mostly undead former adventurer. He wants you to have it...
3. A laughing green hyena follows you for 1d4 turns. It seems to be laughing at some sort of inside joke. Arrows and other missiles harmlessly go through the thing's body with a wet popping noise. It will fade away at the end of its time and leave behind a patch of greenish phlegm-like stuff on the wall where it walked through. The patch is a perfect outline of the hyena.
4. A tall, regal-looking woman in heavily corroded chainmail lies dead on the floor. Her entire left arm and part of her left torso is missing. There are 1d4 Gore-worms incubating in what is left of her abdomen and they will burst forth if anyone disturbs the corpse. She has 2d6 silver coins in her belt pouch and a dagger that is still in decent shape. There is also a slender bone scroll-tube capped with platinum in her pouch. This scroll-tube contains a contract with a Revivalist in one of the near-by City-States who is bound to resurrect and/or recover this adventurer's body in the event of its untimely demise. If you can transport the body to this place, there is a fair-sized reward involved.
5. A dwarf in full plate armor sits in the corner. His head is in his lap. Literally. He will request a drink of wine, or anything stronger if it be available. Anyone giving the dead, decapitated dwarf a drink will receive a +1 bonus to hit with their chosen weapon, permanently. The dwarf fades away after a riotous belch.
6. A duck.
7. A translucent, greenish worm is gobbling-down the remains of a robed figure. The worm is the magic-user's familiar and it is attempting to absorb all of its former master's knowledge, intelligence, spells and abilities by devouring the master's corpse whole.
8. Someone is crawling towards you. They are obviously exerting themselves terribly and you can smell blood. It is what is left of a scale-mail clad man-at-arms from the waist-up. There is nothing left of him from the waist down any more. He is going into shock and will die from extreme blood loss in 1d4 turns. He has left a trail back to where he received his terrible wound...
9. A mauled-looking mule stands off to the side. It stares at you accusingly for 1d4 turns then disappears, leaving behind only a patch of wet blood and the scent of worm-spit. Investigating the patch of blood will reveal 1d4 random items of Low-End Loot. (Roll on any of the Low-End Loot Tables.)
10. A Harpy on a 12' length of chain can be heard grumbling, as well as smelled, well before you see her. Her wings have been expertly clipped and what was once a well-tailored maid's outfit is in tatters. She was a domestic servant to some gentleman adventurer who has since gone missing and she is at loose ends. She might have references...
11. A skull. If asked a single question, it will respond truthfully then crumble into dust.
12. Three sheep and a goat. They were desperate. Afraid. Besides, they'll never talk about what really happened after the party got scragged by whatever that thing was...uh...yeah...they kinda do talk...a lot. They're not very bright and they've seen a lot. They've seen too much. The goat tends to just shiver uncontrollably and babble fragments of blasphemous spells or rituals that it might have observed or participated in--it's unclear and the sheep don't know nothin' about any of that weird crap. For crying out loud, they're nervous and want to go home. (Double Wandering Monster checks as long as these critters can still jabber freely.)

Low-End Loot III (Random Table/Any System)

Low-End Loot: Table III (D30)

1. Six Morlock molars lightly carved to serve as crude dice. Two are loaded, having a plug of lead inserted to make them produce a pair of sixes more often than not.
2. (1d4) small sacks of cured worm-hide filled with greenish grain. The grain is meant as seed to be planted. It will take root in nearly any soil and grow into toxic thistles that can be eaten, if you know how to harvest them.
3. One massively heavy (3,000lbs minimum) ingot of a curious blue-green metal that is otherwise very similar to hardened bronze.
4. (3d6) dull gray bricks of tightly compacted sand bound with Garganta-Slug-mucous.
5. A splintered Jabber that has been bent nearly back upon itself.
6. A Gronk Sword.
7. (1d4) wax-lined barrels containing small Drab-Jellies.
8. A bolt of whitened linen.
9. A broken lantern with a splintered pane of purplish glass on one side. You can still smell the corrosive acids of an Ochre Jelly nearby.
10. A bottle of Brown Jenkin Whiskey, only two-thirds gone. (30% chance of this being a doctored-bottle of Dim Ichor elixir.)
11. Three large, heavy glass bottles filled with a formaldehyde solution. Each one contains a perfectly preserved larval-drone spawned from a Queen Lobster. (Base 20% that one is still alive...)
12. A bucket of Fly-Taur vomit. Don't Ask.
13. A lump of translucent, whitish obsidian that holds an oily finish when polished but still tends to cast 2d4 conflicting shadows at any given moment. This is a piece of debris from within an autonomous, persistent area under the effects of a spell of Malign and Particular Suspension of Natural Law, and as such it might have value to a collector, a naturalist or sorcerer...and could be very hazardous for anyone else to keep on their person.
14. A well-made and rugged slug-saddle.
15. (2d6) sacks of cement, each one solidified into a substantial lump.
16. Six un-cut quill feathers wrapped in waxed-paper and stuffed into a torn and bloodied leather sack.
17. One empty ink-pot.
18. (1d4) cans of off-brand pre-ground coffee.
19. A jar of pickles. Lid requires combined STR of 22 to get it open.
20. A small paper box containing 2d4 lumps of waxy-blue pellets. Each pellet has been enchanted with the Dimfire spell which will activate when tossed into a fire.
21. A medium-sized gray worm. It apparently choked on a mostly intact halter for a mule. Of course the arrows in its backside didn't help matters any...
22. 43' of wet, squishy rope that reeks of garlic and salt water taffy.
23. A ten foot pole. 1d6 feet of it is buried for some reason.
24. 16 torches in a tightly bound parcel of tarred sail-cloth.
25. A pair of armorer's pliers and three snapped bolts.
26. (1d4) small wineskins filled with vinegar, one of which also contains a few sprigs of marjoram.
27. A snuff-box filled with Necro-Pixie dust. If exposed, make Save or suffer Confusion for 1d6 turns.
28. A wretched-looking human thigh bone wrapped in multiple scalps and carved with crude runic-looking gouges that have been sealed with oil-melted amber and what appears to be someone's blood. For some reason the bone repels harpies within a 360' radius.
29. (2d4) Almas pelts. Several have holes in them from cross-bow quarrels and are thus lower quality.
30. Sixty-two replacement heavy crossbow strings wound on separate spools and neatly stacked inside a water-tight cedar box.

Low-End Loot I (Random Table/Any System)

Low-End Loot: Table One (D30)

1. (1d4) Animal skulls stuffed with dried grass.
2. (2d6) Pounds of coarse rock salt.
3. (1d20) Assorted humanoid fingers, slightly chewed (10% chance of a random ring).
4. (1d4) Poisonous toadstools (Save or nauseous for 1d4 rounds).
5. (5d20) Feet of rope, all in 1d4 foot sections, mostly frayed.
6. (1d8) Stubs of candles recovered from lost adventurers.
7. One broken mirror, silver-backed and otherwise in fair condition.
8. (2d6) Flagons of rancid cooking oil.
9. (2d8) Assorted bones of questionable provenance, all heavily gnawed.
10. (4d10) Pounds of unidentifiable rusty metal scrap.
11. (2d4) Hinges from what must have been heavy wooden doors.
12. (3d4) Slightly bent and corroded iron spikes.
13. (2d6) Completely squashed helms and helmets only suitable for use as platters and plates.
14. One Trident-head, third tine is broken-off halfway.
15. (3d6) Hilts from a variety of antique short swords.
16. (4d10) Sling bullets, never used.
17. One half of a very well-made composite short bow with string.
18. (1d4) Hand-decorated quivers with no straps (each worth 2gp).
19. (1d4) Large sacks with holes all through them.
20. One Roman-style javelin (pilum) in three easy pieces.
21. (1d6) Handles to various short melee-weapons. Just the handles.
22. (4d10) Rivets and pins recovered from various broken pole-arms.
23. One dagger sheath completely picked clean of gems.
24. (2d4) Partially intact covers to slightly moldy spell books (10% chance of 1d4 spells still intact).
25. (1d6) Map cases stuffed with what appears to be excrement.
26. One grappling hook, no rope.
27. (1d6 x10 feet) Rusty old chain.
28. (1d4) Bedrolls (30% chance of vermin infestation).
29. (1d6) Locks, no keys.
30. (1d4 feet) of a formerly ten foot pole.

Low-End Loot, Table V

Low-End Loot: Table V (D30)

1. One slightly crushed silver snuff box, missing the lid.
2. Bundle of 22 bungs. The cord they've been bound with is frayed and about to give way.
3. Saddle blanket.
4. Four small animal traps on a single rusty chain. The third one doesn't work quite right.
5. One box of 3 dozen candles. They've all melted into one dense brick, but with some patience each candle can be chipped out of the waxy block in 1d4 minutes.
6. 122 feet of stout cordage wrapped willy-nilly around a rough stick.
7. Simple lead plumb bob or plummet in a velvet draw-string bag.
8. Lodestone, snapped in half.
9. Cobbler's needle-punch. Can be used as a weapon inflicting 1d2 damage.
10. 2d4 assorted files in a leather sack. The ones that aren't chipped or cracked are rusty.
11. Three heavy pig-iron wedges used in splitting stumps, etc.
12. A draw-knife that has a wobbly handle.
13. Bronze tripod meant to support a ceremonial incense brazier.
14. 1 seriously nicked-up Peavey-hook.
15. Heavy wooden cutting board removed from a near-by tavern.
16. 32 feet of thin cord rolled-up in a sack of powdered chalk.
17. One heavy, left-handed glove crafted from extra-thick leather, scorched along the edges and pitted across backside.
18. Wooden bucket. Expertly repaired bottom. No handle.
19. 20 pounds of rendered fat in a covered pail.
20. Small wooden box containing 43 horse-shoe nails.
21. Poorly repaired war hammer, used as a meat-tenderizer.
22. Rug-beater.
23. 12 pounds of borax packed into a small barrel.
24. 43 grooved lead runners carefully stored in a flat, wide wooden box with a side compartment for various tools used in repairing stained glass.
25. A single 104-pound block of rock salt.
26. 6 pounds of vivid blue limojes-style vitreous enamel in a sealed wooden canister.
27. 1d4 chisels. No hammer.
28. 3 bottles of clear fluid. One is denatured alcohol. The second is distilled water. The third is Prussic acid.
29. A dwarf or child-sized auger.
30. 3 pair of mis-matched metal-working tongs.

Low-End Loot IV (Random Table/Any System)

Low-End Loot IV (D30)

1. Human Skull. The entire outer surface is covered with amber that has been melted and smoothed into a seamless layer over the bone. It holds a lot of static.
2. Flyblown ostrich egg decorated with half-finished skrimshaw-style carving of dancing skeletons and some sort of flower that has a toothsome mouth.
3. Random stuffed animal.
4. Empty glass fish tank. Fish appear to swim in the thing in moonlight, despite their being no water in it at all.
5. Fishing tackle. All of it grimy, dirty, and heavily used.
6. (2d4) pieces of raw ivory that might or might not be from a mammoth.
7. Stuffed Marmot in a waist-coat. It will mysteriously disappear in 1d4 hours. Not that anyone would necessarily notice.
8. An imperfect set of chessmen (Kaldane-style).
9. A box of beads (60% chance of spilling contents when opened). 
10. (1d6) Animal Skulls of various sizes. All of them lacquered and mounted on a cleverly-constructed rack that allows them to be displayed or folded-up and carried with ease.
11. Human Skull, slightly animated by a faint dweomer so that it tries to bite anyone near by.
12. One box of assorted eyes. Each one is carefully packed in its own fluid-filled membranous sack.
13. Stuffed Monkey (40% chance to hold a lamp). Mostly intact.
14. (2d6) cases of mounted moths and butterflies, all hand-labelled in Etrurian.
15. (1d4) random bits of gaudy, partly chewed jewelry.
16. (3d6) assorted scroll tubes (empty).
17. (2d8) random containers, mostly dirty, dusty and with a 10% chance of containing something disgusting.
18. (1d6) dirty, smudged bottles of various sizes, each with a note, manuscript or map inside it.
19. Random treasure map (30% chance of being non-spurious).
20. (1d4) books from this Table.
21. (1d4) chisels and a mallet in a heavy cloth apron.
22. Six dried lizard claws in a sack tied shut with a green ribbon.
23. A trenching tool that folds-up for use as a spade or chopping blade, with canvas carrying case.
24. A tin cage meant for a Koponu. People buy these things in order to use the Koponu as a non-flammable light source.
25. A well-used fish-scaler wrapped in a scrap of oil-cloth.
26. Sixteen 11" long rough iron forks.
27. (1d4) ingots of pewter.
28. Empty powder horn. Slightly gnawed, still reeks of sulfur from frisky Soorgim.
29. (1d6) pounds of rancid Verdrum Dough in a fish-belly bag wrapped in burlap. It might still be viable. (base 25% chance.)
30. A small silver mirror that can only show the reflection of vampires.

Low-End Loot II (Random Table/Alternative Treasure)

Low-End Loot: Table II

1. One case of 5d20 arrows, all snapped neatly in half.
2. A wine-skin filled with stale bog water and 1d4 Toader eggs that will hatch into toadpoles within 2d6 hours if kept warm.
3. One half of the bleached-white skull of a very large sea serpent. 2d6 teeth could be extracted, but require making a Save or else suffer 2d4 damage in extracting them. The teeth could be used in making +1 arrows or possibly other weapons.
4. A leaky wooden barrel filled with 37 gallons of rancid oil. It is slightly flammable, but extremely smoky and unsuitable for burning in closed-quarters, unless you want to fill a space with cloying, noxious smoke.
5. A waxed packet containing 1d4 pounds of Shrieker spores.
6. (1d4) broken wooden boxes with enough pieces available to cobble-together one reasonably intact 3'x3'x6' crate, should anyone wish to invest 1d10 turns hammering it together. It will not be water-proof and will fall apart on a roll of 1-4 on a D12 whenever jarred, dropped or struck.
7. (2d6) sharp-edged sea shells covered with blood and what looks like scraped-off human flesh.
8. A small pouch of 1d4 ounces of granulated amber worth 1d4 gp.
9. A torn burlap sack that still smells strongly of potatoes.
10. The left hoof of a war horse. Shoe is still intact.
11. Three disparate, nearly worn out and grievously smelly sandals devoid of any straps or thongs.
12. A drastically crumpled full helm half-buried under a pile of dirt, debris and rubble.
13. A 4' pole of stout maple sheared into a point by what might have been a terrific chop from a battle axe or some other bladed weapon.
14. (1d4) slightly smoldering round shields coated with a caustic digestive acid that is still slowly dissolving the things before your eyes.
15. A small package of 4d4 short, fat, off-white candles. They're only slightly melted together.
16. A large wooded club, broken into three pieces.
17. The leather sheath to a knife that isn't here.
18. (3d6) pounds of wormy flour in a paper sack that has burst at the seams.
19. One studded dog collar, completely chewed through and still dripping with saliva.
20. A slightly dented tin lantern packed inside with what appears to be a compressed micro-colony of yellow mold.
21. A lodestone that can no longer determine which plane it is on, let alone a consistent direction.
22. A set of (1d4) hand-carved wooden bowls.
23. A ladle cast in pewter and stamped with some sort of monogram, mostly worn off and illegible.
24. One intact alembic still packed in straw within a pried-open box.
25. A slightly bent and sand-caked tin whistle.
26. (1d8) bolts of rotten cloth.
27. (2d6) bottles of deep red wine, each one contains a Gore-worm suspended in a blood-derived solution.
28. A heavy, bronze key shaped like a mermaid.
29. A small leather case containing a selection of only partially crushed colored chalk and charcoal pastels.
30. One worm-parchment treasure map inscribed from a Grobbly-Bonk map. The ink on this map can only be seen if it is smeared with fresh blood in moonlight...

Low-End Loot: Table VI

Low-End Loot, Table VI

1. A ball of grotty yarn dripping with saliva. It used to belong to a very big cat.
2. The hardened steel at the middle section of this crow-bar has been turned to lead. No refunds.
3. Three screw-drivers in a heavy oil-stained canvas roll-up case. All of the tips are chipped, twisted and bent.
4. Airship goggles; the left lens is cracked, the right one is missing, otherwise in fine condition.
5. One very ugly scarf knitted in uneven stripes over thirty feet long when stretched out. It might hold as much as four hundred pounds, for a little while, before splitting apart.
6. Jeweler's loupe packed full of reeking black mold. The mold is fairly harmless, though it is incredibly flammable.
7. A single boot, completely waterproof and with a very good bit of tread, but no laces.
8. This letter opener was hand-carved from Boreal Sea Beast ivory and glows a subtle shade of pink when it is exposed to most poisons. In desperation it can be used to inflict 1-2 points of damage with a base 60% chance to break and ruin the piece, if you insist.
9. The scratched-up and tarnished frame of an antique hand-mirror. The mirror itself was removed long ago. There is dried blood on the handle.
10. It's a unicorn horn...made from papier mache filled with 36 dried orange beetles. The beetles release a fragrant smoke when burned that has the tendency to made those exposed ravenously hungry.
11. Spackle Knife; +1 to hit and damage versus all Gobbling Grouts. Takes on a dim green glow whenever an Attack Spackle is within 100'.
12. Six small tar-stained burlap sacks that spontaneously unravel into a tangled mess of fibers when exposed to water, creating a nasty, sticky plug.
13. A case of 142 medium-sized corks. One corner of the case shows signs of having been chewed by rats who quickly lost interest.
14. Four blue-tinted wigs packed inside a partially-crushed hat box. Very much out of fashion.
15. Zinn-plated canteen that fumes and foams over with a putrid ochre slop that reeks of rotten peaches for half an hour every time water is poured into it.
16. A wooden bucket that holds twelve gallons of water as though it were only one.
17. Elegant black mask. Anyone donning it must Save at -2 or be burned horribly by acid across their face. Requires a combined STR of 22 to remove the thing. For every round it remains in place, the victim must Save at -1 or lose 1 point of CHAR. Anyone losing 3+ points of CHAR to the mask becomes permanently scarred.
18. Six pair of rubberized Line-Man's gauntlets, still bundled together by a rubber band. Grant wearer +2 to all Saves vs. Electrical/Galvanic effects.
19. Glass-cutting tool, well-worn and inscribed with the initial P. Q. T.
20. Top hat containing three doves, two rabbits and a deck of blood-soaked playing cards. The animals are all dead and the cards all stick together and are ruined. Examining the hat-band reveals three small yellow-green gems that might not be paste.
21. Femur-bone flute that grants the bearer a +4 bonus to all reaction rolls with Winged Monkeys, so long as they never actually play the thing. If the proper tune is performed using this item, the flute casts Charm Winged Monkey (at 8th level) once per day, however at the expiration of the spell they incur a -4 penalty to all reaction rolls with Winged Monkeys for the next week.
22. Beetle-Ward stamped in cheap tin on a thin red cord. Continually repels all Beetles within 30' radius. Each beetle repelled by the thing costs 1 charge, it currently has 3d10 charges.
23. Morlock Cod-Piece. Wearer ignores first 6 points of damage from hostile spells every two hours.
24. Black Lamp. When lit, the lamp creates a 12' diameter globe of Darkness for as long as it remains lit.
25. Pitch-fork, +2 versus all Soft Automata, but has a cumulative 5% chance to break each time it is used in combat.
26. (1d4) Green Pearls in a pouch crafted from translucent fish-hide. Each Pearl will remove all poison effects if it is pulverized into a fine powder and mixed with beer--never wine. Mixing the pearl dust with wine will make it into a virulent toxin that will reduce the victim to green sludge within 4 rounds.
27. Four tiny mole-harnesses. Each one has a little brass bell attached.
28. Small rectangular wooden case covered with brittle black velvet. Inside the case is an oblong lens of some sort of unnatural crystal that allows anyone holding it to see into walls to a depth of 2d6 inches. The visibility shifts every two minutes. It only works on walls and similar architectural structures, not on people or beasts.
29. Brass horn. The jaunty blue tassels are worth a fair bit to a collector of militaria. Even if it is a replica; very few of these survived the demise of the Great Kapitain Thaliss and his failed attempt to take over the Privy Council nearly three hundred years ago.
30. Ivory-inlaid planchette from a missing talking board. Anyone touching this thing is compelled to lie for so long as they remain in contact with it.

Sewer Salvage I (Random Table/Wermspittle)

Illustration from The Sewer System Concordance & Cthonic Ephemeris

Questionable & Potentially Objectionable Items Recently Found in the Near Sewers of Wermspittle

Sewer Salvage Table I (D30)

1. Three medium-sized flasks of diluted Drab Jelly solution.
2. A surprise encounter with Exotic Molluscs has resulted in a nice catch of large Black Shells (see entry 3).
3. An empty wooden box. It hols things really well.
4. A tin lantern and Koponu.
5. Roll once on the Strange Ovum Table.
6. A ten foot pole fitted with a clamping hook on one end and a folding blade on the other, used by boat-tenders.
7. A slightly bent hazel-wood wand inset with cracked malachite cabochons. It casts Forestall Collapse and still has 2 charges left.
8. Three empty barrels in sound condition, but with no bungs.
9. A tangled talisman that will ward off Yelg Froth for one hour per 1d4 hit points invested.
10. Some random Low-End Loot; roll 1d4: Table 1, Table 2, Table 3, or Table 4.
11. (3d6) arrows in a soiled quiver. (1d4 ) have Splinter Arrow infused into them.
12. A waterproof pouch of Green Salt (does 3d6 damage to slugs/molluscs), it tastes wonderful on aged Gore-Worm Sausage.
13. One-third of a ten-year-old copy of The Sewer System Concordance & Cthonic Ephemeris.
14. A mostly illegible Grobbly-Bonk treasure map scrawled into a severely burned patch of Bruthem Hide. It may be possible to recover the map, if you know whom to ask.
15. (2d4) random books mentioned on This Table, all of them cheap forgeries.
16. A Gronk Sword.
17. Partial-Corpse of a Scarletscale Serpentfolk--the hide alone is worth a great deal to leather workers who aren't squeamish about working with such exotic materials. There is a big demand for this sort of thing among certain patrons quite willing to pay handsomely to get their hands on such dubious material...of course it also tends to incur the enmity of the ancient reptiles...
18. Greenglass bottle of rancid perfume sure to drive off harpies for 1d4 hours when unstoppered.
19. A forty-three pound blob of congealed iron left behind by a Ferric Blob.
20. A piece of Krampus Koal left-over from the solstice, sixteen years ago.
21. A tarnished silver key that does absolutely nothing.
22. A full bottle of specially-prepared Dim Ichor from the cellars of the Pissing Wyvern Inn.
23. A Drilg-horn dagger. (-4 penalty to all reaction rolls concerning Drilg.) Whoever fashioned this particular weapon botched the job and it is non-magical.
24.  (1d4) Toader fishing-spears.
25. A corroded bronze disk on a leather thong that causes Flidders to make a Save or move off 2d10' in a random direction.
26. A tightly bound package containing a lumpy mass of spores, nodules and mycellium that will develop into a Crudiv if it is allowed to mature (2d8 days).
27. (1d4) immature vilg in a wooden cage. Someone had plans for them...
28. One boot. Size 12. In really, really nice condition as long as you don't mind the foot that's still in it.
29. A very nice vest made from the cured hide of a Blatherer. Everyone who wears the thing begins to worry that they talk too much. It may just be all in their head. What do you think?
30. A small bone whistle that will attract (1d4) Polyps within half an hour of using it. Might we suggest beginning with Monodril Polyps for the first course...

Schroedinger & Cave--Dealers in Discrete Curiosities

"There was, until a year ago, a little and very grimy-looking shop near Seven Dials over which, in weather-worn yellow lettering, the name of "C. Cave, Naturalist and Dealer in Antiquities," was inscribed. The contents of its window were curiously variegated. They comprised some elephant tusks and an imperfect set of chessmen, beads and weapons, a box of eyes, two skulls of tigers and one human, several moth-eaten stuffed monkeys (one holding a lamp), an old-fashioned cabinet, a flyblown ostrich egg or so, some fishing-tackle, and an extraordinarily dirty, empty glass fish tank. There was also, at the moment the story begins, a mass of crystal, worked into the shape of an egg and brilliantly polished. And at that two people, who stood outside the window, were looking, one of them a tall, thin clergyman, the other a black-bearded young man of dusky complexion and unobtrusive costume. The dusky young man spoke with eager gesticulation, and seemed anxious for his companion to purchase the article."

From The Crystal Egg by H. G. Wells

The Premises
Over the doorway to a scruffy and dingy shop in a seedy part of the low streets, on the bad end of the Burned Over District, there's a cracked and peeling sign that reads 'Schroedinger & Cave: Naturalists, & Dealers in Curiosities, Prodigies & Antiquities. (discrete).' The part where it used to provide the date they were established is worn away, possibly through weathering, more likely from being damaged in a riot or from a lingering miasma. It's a dingy, cramped, piled and messy place. No one has cleaned or dusted the shelves for decades, if anyone has even attempted such a thankless and futile task, which is highly unlikely. Dozens of cats prowl the shop constantly, but only one is ever seen at a given moment and never the same one twice.

The Proprietors
Schroedinger is a third-generation Paranaturalist. He studied at the Academy in Wermspittle, as did his parents and grand parents before him. His family has been here for nearly a century, and still they are seen as upstarts and interlopers by the Established Families. An accomplished dowser, Schroedinger is often consulted in matters regarding Ley-Lines and Weak Points. In his youth he discovered, cataloged and mapped over a hundred Weak Points, but that was before the wars and prior to his unfortunate encounter with a Horla that left him with a slight limp. He doesn't go exploring any more. Those days are over now. He has a business to run and a wife to consider (She is rumored to be a Midwife...). His expertise in matters of the paranormal and knowledge of anomalous phenomena often brings in more money than any of the peculiar artifacts or items that he has collected and made available for sale. There are many students who come to the shop to discuss things with this old man who seems to be far more knowledgeable than their own professors, or at least far more approachable and personable. There are overstuffed chairs, a fireplace and hot tea in the back for those who make a suitable impression on old man Schroedinger. He dearly loves to hear about the exploits of those actively engaged in researching the Weak Points, Ley-Lines, Nexii and related matters. He also acts as an informal mentor to a few exceptionally gifted young people who have all but adopted him.

Where as her partner's obsession with Weak Points has ushered-in a new era of genteel poverty for the shop, Mrs. Cave is much more down-to-earth. A born Praeternaturalist and a trained archaeologist, she has spent a considerable amount of time digging through cellars, tunneling into burial sites and scraping dirt, dust and muck off of many of the more mundane specimens and items scattered about the shop. Her gift for Psychometry is uncannily accurate and has led to her unraveling several imposters, frauds and hoaxes, much to the disappointment of her colleague and co-owner. Her husband, a mid-level non-commissioned officer in the Sewer Militia, disappeared three years ago. He is assumed dead, or worse. Lately she has been contemplating taking a trip down along the Cold Roads. There has to be someplace better than Wermspittle. But under no circumstances will Mrs. Cave abandon the shop, at least not until after her daughter graduates from the Academy, then Mrs. Cave might finally leave this place once and for all. Of course, she expects her daughter to take her place in the shop, as she took her mother's place, as is tradition within their family. Her daughter, however has gotten strange ideas into her head and may break with tradition, effectively stranding her mother in the shop, a situation that has generated much friction and tension between mother and daughter.

The Policies
'Caveat Emptor' is engraved across the ceiling tiles, prominently displayed on dozens of little placards dangling from nearly every shelf, box or display case. Nothing is guaranteed, no claims of authenticity are made, no questions regarding provenance are asked. Much of what they have on display appears to be so much junk and rubbish, but mixed in with the debris and dusty relics are any number of strange and sometimes incredible things. Spurious specimens, anomalous archaeological finds, objects from places unknown to any map or geographer, bizarre artifacts that couldn't possibly be real; the stuff that dreams are made of mingles freely with the fictional and the fraudulent upon the shelves, within the display cases and stacked within the bins and boxes piled willy-nilly anywhere there is room for the stuff.

They do not buy books. The shop has a long-standing agreement with several of the local map-makers, book-sellers and scroll-vendors, originally negotiated by their great-great-grandparents who first established the shop here in Wermspittle after having transferred their operations from another city. There is a framed portrait of the two families disembarking from an airship hung behind the old, manual cash register. None of the faces ever look exactly the same due to a fluke in the preparation of the colloidal baths used by the photographer, or so they'll tell anyone who asks.

The shop does a regular and often brisk trade in reacquired properties, unclaimed goods, lost luggage, found objects and the like. This is a discrete shop after all, so a lot of things pass through here that it were better for all concerned that the fewer questions asked, the better. Unless Mr. Schroedinger or Mrs. Cave wish to volunteer some morsel of lore or make an off-hand observation, completely off the record. Of course in the event of their accepting a 'consultation fee,' the casual prohibition against making indelicate inquiries is waived, to the extent that the money is good, real and of respectable valuation.

Not A Pawn-Shop
Both Mr. Schroedinger and Mrs. Cave would be scandalized and offended were anyone to refer to their operation as some sort of hockshop filled with so much cheap bric-a-brac. Anyone uncouth enough to offend either co-proprietor earns themselves a permanent +20% 'non-discount' on any purchases they might wish to make and the back-rooms are off limits to them. They will also receive low bids (just short of insultingly so) for anything they wish to sell to the shop, unless it is truly exceptional.

That said, they will sometimes make private loans against certain rare heirlooms held in trust against the eventual repayment of the balance, interest free of course, they are not usurers. But this is an exceptional service only offered to certain select, regular and reliable customers who have made a positive impression on one or both of the co-owners.


Some of the Things you Might Find in This Shop

• Back Alley Magic (Index  |  Label Search)
• Damned Things (Index  |  Label Search)
• Found Objects (Index  |  Label Search)
• Low-End Loot (Index  |  Label Search)
• Questionable Trinkets & Trash (Index  |  Label Search)
• Sewer Salvage (Index  |  Label Search)

Fruggar: A Minor Servitor Fungi for Petty Gods

Fruggar

Minor Servitor Fungi

No. Enc.: 2d4* (1d100+100)

Alignment: Chaotic Evil

Movement: 60' (20')

Armor Class: 3

Hit Dice: 1+2

Attacks: 1 (weapon)

Damage: As weapon

Save: F1

Morale: 8

Hoard Class: Random Low-End Loot

XP: 12

2-3' tall bipedal mockeries of humanoids, Fruggar are mindless fungal foot-soldiers in service to any number of Petty Gods of Fungi and related things. Blind, bulbous and boneless, they are immune to Charm, Fear, Illusions, Sleep and most life-draining attacks. They Move Silently and Hide in Shadows as if they were 4^th level Thieves, an ability that they use frequently and often to ambush likely looking victims in the deep dark places.

One or two Fruggar are of little consequence and can usually be ignored, especially while still close to the surface (1-4 levels below the ground). When Fruggar are first encountered only one or two are likely to be seen, but there almost always are more near-by. Unless these scouts are destroyed or run off, the Fruggar will follow any adventuring party that appears to be lost, weak or vulnerable.

Fruggar are entirely incapable of speech and go into battle quietly and calmly. They wield whatever random, often broken weapons and armor they have been able to recover from their past victims.

Upon being slain a Fruggar collapse into a 3' diameter pool of frothy ooze that remains pungently active for 1d4 hours, during which time anyone coming into contact with the wet frothy ooze must Save or have their skin become horribly mottled and break out with 1d4 colonies of tiny fungal masses that can only be removed by use of a Cure Disease or Remove Curse spell, but otherwise are mostly harmless. The dried powder made from these secondary growth can be consumed in order to experience a Commune With Fungal Gods effect (treat as Cleric Spell Commune, but with triple chances of insanity).

It is believed that every purplish patch left behind by a slain Fruggar somehow extends the vile reach of their masters into the world.

Goblinoid shamans are known to gather-up or otherwise extract the purplish froth (often called 'bruise broth') from captive Fruggars and use it to remove the flesh from carcasses in order to get at the bones they then shape into various magical implements. Some suspect that they also use this horrid froth in the brewing of their most noxious potions and distillations, but that is a tightly-kept secret few will share outside of their immediate kin.

---

* Every subsequent check for wandering monsters, there is a 30% chance of an additional 1D4 reinforcements have been successfully called-in by the Fruggar tracking the party. They tend to wait until the odds are more than 6-to-1 in their favor. They also are more likely to let a well-equipped party to pass and lie in wait for them as the party attempt to return to the surface.

Wermilok

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

Malgramar The Xenosophist

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wermilok Secretions

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

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

The 'Other' Wermiloks...

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

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

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

---

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

Tomb of Gadra: Actual Play Summary

Recently we were able to run a second session for our friends who had their first adventure just outside the village of Kridlist. This time we started off safe within the bounds of the camp set-up by Gnosiomandus. After a good night's sleep the party did an inventory of their loot and considered where they might want to go from there. The old man and his two companions were headed off to Wermspittle with the newly-captured tiger (the same one that the party had managed to avoid previously). Since it turned out that the tiger was in fact pregnant, Gnosiomandus was in a good mood and offered to barter with the group to help them get themselves together so they would be prepared to face whatever lie ahead of them. Q took advantage of the opportunity to unload some of the bulkier items he was lugging about and was interested in acquiring a good short sword or something along those lines. When J's character, a run-away from one of the three circus families in Wermspittle, offered Gnosiomandus the little pouch of White Powder she had recovered last time, he was in a tremendously good mood and offered everyone their personal choice of any three weapons or what-not contained within his traveling fold-box panoply (literally a tesseract-container fitted-out as an arsenal filled with all manner of weapons, devices, mechanisms and such-like).

While the group did a bit of shopping, the winged-monkey that they had found earlier took off to go scout a number of limestone formations in the vicinity that might have caves or some other sort of explore-able locations in, on or around them.

In short-order the group finished-up their various transactions, said farewell to the sleeping (and very pregnant tiger), and headed off to a likely looking location discovered by the winged-monkey, who led them to the spot, pointed it out, and left to rejoin its master Gnosiomandus who was in the process of trundling down the closer spiral of the yellow brick road on his way back to Wermspittle.

The location in question was none other than The Toxic Tomb of Gadra, an adventure that has been in dire need of some play-testing for a good long while now. Oh, to be sure, there were several other possible locations available, but this was the one the group settled upon, so it is where they went. The only rail-roading around here is underground as part of the Unter-rail...and they have not yet found a way down to that yet...

So...here are J's notes:

Here are my raw notes for Gadra. They're numbered to make them a little easier to follow.

1. Gnosiomandus's flying monkey scoped the area for us and pointed us to the outcropping where we found the tomb.
2. On the way there we went through some ferns and avoided a poppy field.
3. We found a cave opening that had been sealed with glazed yellow bricks. Most had been removed and stacked to the side.
4. There was an inscription at the entrance that said Gadra and the words for "toxic" in Pruztian, Franzikaner, and Achuin. They glowed purple.
5. There was a pit with spikes that had already been released. There was a dead child's body.
6. There was a chamber with a vent shaft to one side.
7. The corridor went down and up. We used R's pitchfork to trigger another pit trap and used rope to cross it.
8. New chamber. Walls have been scraped clean. Floor did have mosaic tiles. Three spiral mounds. One mound chipped at the top. Chipped area has had something removed.
9. R (the Archer) found a gold and silver pendant with a teardrop pearl. Pearl has a purple sheen. Chain is unclasped. She keeps it.
10. We opened a mound. It's a Minken barrow. Bottom falls out, no one hurt. We pull the casket out. Dart trap sprung. Each person takes 1hp damage. Open the casket. Spider-hand symbol on inside of lid. N thinks it's moving. We move the body. Casket has a false bottom. We count 14 hand spider eggs in it. 7 are crushed in extraction. R has other seven eggs.
11. We hear second party come in. We wait to ambush them. They get as far as the gas trap. They trigger it. Two looters dead, the kid leading them leaves quickly (Scared). Gas sinks, is heavier than air, leaks through cracks in lower walls, revealing a chamber below.
12. Open third mound. Uncover then open an ornate casket. Smash another nasty hand spider. Take six more eggs.
13. Come to a spinnable door. Room behind it is weird, "feels bad." Door shuts once we're in. Open chamber, painted white, metallic under dust. Cinnabar carvings, mercury dripping from ceiling. We break through a wall section. Air quality in here is really bad. Something in the walls hurts our eyes when we look at it, especially N (the spell-caster).
14. Chamber with pool of mercury and a man-sized sarcophagus. Q figures out how to drain pool and raise sarcophagus. R's pearl necklace is pulled toward the sarcophagus. We decide not to open it and it's too heavy to take with us but we have info to sell.
15. Tomb is spirally. Use rubble in final chamber to build ramp to entry corridor so we don't have to go back through everything, then re-seal hole in corridor wall and leave.

---

As you can see, this place included some nasty traps, some of which were already set-off by previous explorers...and one of which was set off by a trio of opportunists who followed the party into this place.

The level of mercury fumes in this place varies a bit, but no one can last for very long before showing signs of mercury poisoning. Luckily for the group, they managed to open some ventilation and moved past the worst of the traps--even avoiding a couple of deathtrap situations by using good, common sense and a bit of intuition and strategy. For first-timers and newbies, this group played more old school than I've seen in ages and it was truly grand. They managed to get a lot of loose low-end loot here and there, which made the Thief-in-training very happy, but they also managed to acquire some very valuable information regarding this tomb that they can now sell to some interested party, including a rough map outlining the known hazards, identified traps, and the spots best left alone by the next group...unless they come prepared with gas-masks and hazard-suits.

Now I am at work revising the adventure a bit to take advantage of the group's feed-back to make things run a little more smoothly in places, and to incorporate some of the changes they've made into the final version of the manuscript.

Thank you to all the members of our little adventuring crew. I hope you all had as much fun as I did exploring Gadra's Tomb!

Don't Look Under the Bed...A Random Table for Wermspittle

We are never so vulnerable as when we fall asleep. What dreams may come, nightmares that prowl and stalk through the frenzied brains of the fearful, un-pretty things that go bump in the night; many are the terrors and wicked delights to be warded or warned-off if one has the money or the means. But not all such hazards seep in through the hastily-secured walls or wriggle past a lapsed shutter-ward. Some things prefer to lurk quietly in places most tend to overlook...

---

What Could Be Under the Bed?

1. A well-gorged Brain-Snail, sluggishly digesting its most recent meal.
   
   [(1) Brain Snail, AL N, MV 30', AC 7, HD 3+1, #AT 1, DG 1d4 or Poison (Save or paralyzed for 2d4 turns), SV F2, ML 8. Special: Suffers a -2 on Initiative due to being bloated with last meal.]
2. Dull brown toadstools have sprouted from what appears to be a recent blood-stain. They exude a pleasant-smelling musk that will promote very sound sleep in anyone spending more than an hour exposed to them.
   
   [Save or experience effect equal to a Sleep spell. Incur a cumulative -1 penalty for each consecutive hour exposed. If disturbed the toadstools will wilt into a nasty, worthless black sludge that reeks of rancid meat.]
3. Three slightly-moldy dried-out Ourang fingers wrapped loosely in blue thread. It's probably not a back-scratcher. For some reason Ourangs suffer a -4 penalty on all Reaction Rolls in regards to whomever holds this item.
4. A small Weak Point has lodged down there. (2d4) Giant Ants attempt to push their way through every couple of hours. That'd be the scratching noises you've been hearing.
   
   [(2d4) Venomous Giant Green Ants, AL N, MV 180' (60'), AC 3, HD 4, #AT 1, DG 2d6+poison (Save or paralyzed for 1d4 turns), SV F2, ML 7.]
5. That's quite a pile of broken shells from some sort of Exotic Bivalves. They're all picked clean. Wonder what has been sneaking in here in order to eat the things?
6. The gnawed and splintered bones of at least six different victims of some clandestine carnivore, perhaps the former tenant? They're not all animal bones, either.
7. Lots of dust. Save or sneeze fitfully for 1d4 turns.
8. The mummified remains of a dead Harpy Tormenter. She made her nest under your bed a long, long time ago. Something must have killed her in her sleep.
9. Something glints ever so slightly back in the far corner. It's some sort of amulet or medallion stamped from a curious gray-purple alloy, heavy as lead but very hard. There is some sort of winged hound depicted on one side, a skull-faced king (or is it an ugly queen?) in a crown of bones on the other side. There's a base 40% chance anyone seeing this thing will recognize it as a cult-object associated with ghouls. Even the Jaladari trinket-peddlers won't touch the thing.
10. A reanimated skeleton, missing the skull, wrapped in black chains.
    
    [Headless Skeleton (1), AL C, MV 60', AC 7, HD 1, #AT 1, DG 1d6, SV F1, ML12. Special: Lacking a skull, this skeleton must make all attacks at random and all attackers gain a +2 bonus to hit it. The Keepers of one of the Sanctuaries, Shrines or Chapels might be interested in seeing this...]
11. Someone's well-worn and slightly blood-stained pocket journal. Each page is crammed with the same word repeated endlessly: Ligeia.
12. There is a Sallow Stain left-over from someone's Vile Transformation into a Loathsome Mass...most people will tell you to forget about it, try not to let it get to you. This sort of thing happens all the time. Especially in Winter.
13. Sixteen bottles, all but one empty. That last one holds a rolled-up manuscript written in Vrilyinese detailing a cipher used by the underground resistance movement during the Second Franzik Occupation. Possession of such a thing is currently proscribed and punishable by death. But it is probably worth a good deal to the right collector.
14. Three dud Black Smoke cylinders. The kind meant to be launched from a crossbow. Careful examination will reveal that they are not just duds--they were deliberately emptied. Handling the things with bare hands requires a Save, fail and suffer 2d6 damage, succeed for half. Those who've spent time around the Baffles, served in the Trenches or fought against the Tripodal Hussars at Avernalle, know to douse the things with water or steam before doing anything else. Hard won knowledge. Best heeded.
15. A sealed jar of green-tinted glass. Inside is a small Gray Ooze. It has been left here for years, ever since the Jelly-Hunter who captured it left to buy some more jars, never to be seen again.
    
    [Gray Ooze (1), AL N, MV 10' (3'), AC 8, HD 1,#AT 1, DG 1d6, SV F1, ML 6. Special: This particular oozelet has suffered from its isolation and on a positive Reaction Roll it will attempt to bond with whomever releases it, effectively becoming a sort of pet.]
16. A slightly-damaged taxidermied sea snake.
17. Bulging and writhing, it's a very large spider's egg-sac with only minutes to go before it hatches forth a lot of spiders.
18. (3d6) dead striped-back bats. Someone closed-off the hole in the wall after repairing the chimney, trapping them in here.
19. The armless, headless body of an Almas Glandculler has been stuffed under this bed. It's starting to smell.
20. The spleen of a vampire, pinned with excruciating care into the correct position inside some sort of anatomical mannequin, very much like a smaller version of those used in teaching anatomy at the Medical School. The spleen is wet, and seems to pulse every now and then. The whole thing is part of an elaborate ward-mechanism meant to repel Sanguinovores. Perhaps it might even work. Care to try it out?
21. The half-eaten carcass of a Blue Eel was wrapped in yellowing newspaper and stuffed down there quite a while ago. Unwrapping it would allow you to determine just how long, by finding the date on the newspaper. But...did the thing move just then?
22. Yellow Mold (LL. p. 103). Leave it alone, it'll probably leave you alone. Probably.
23. That strange shaped mass of burlap and canvas? It's a whaling gun. A bit rusty and in dire need of polishing, but it ought to still work. There are three heavy harpoons wrapped-up alongside it. The gun itself weighs over two hundred pounds, comes mounted on a pivoting truss and still has a working reel assembly for handling the specially-treated rope that usually gets used with these things...too bad there's no rope in the pile.
24. A crudely-scratched treasure map, courtesy of a Grobbly-Bonk demon, awaits the curious. Is it a legitimate map, or is it more of a trap? Only one good way to find out...
25. The severed head of a gargoyle, mounted on a malachite and black oak pedestal. Those who feed the thing blood can ask it three questions in the light of a full moon.
26. One of the boards beneath the bed is quite atrociously warped and distorted, not from moisture or any sort of spell, but somehow there is a person's leg protruding from it. The leg itself is more like wood than any sort of flesh, but it is not carved. It appears to have grown from the wood.
27. Eight pieces of Dead-Lead Shot in a small paper box.
28. Corpse. There's a 30% chance that it is an Indwelling Predatory Projection. Otherwise it isn't much of a conversationalist. You might want to get rid of it. Just saying.
29. A cracked and slightly blackened lens still holds a tenuous link to a Lens Flayer. The lens was stolen from a local artist by a trained monkey working for a small-time burglar who has since met a messy end falling into a cellar illegally converted into a cess-pit by an unscrupulous land lord. The monkey ran off and is lurking in the rafters of some Abandoned Property, unless something else ate it already.
30. A Gloomswallow is squeezing through the floorboards by way of its innate Passwall ability. It is attempting to flee a small group of Contrarials or Simulacra that are intending to harvest the thing's hide to make leather armor. Unfortunately it has slipped their bonds and is desperately making its escape, right under your bed.

---

We offer several other Random Tables that could be appended to this one. For example there is a table for Swarms, another for Strange Ovum, and of course one of our favorites; Those Aren't Rats in the Walls, as well as the You've Got Demons in the Closet (or something) Table that will be coming along shortly.

You may also find the Low End Loot, Good Things/Small Packages, or Found Objects tables of use as well.

Irving the Impressionable Young Shoggoth

This is Irving.

He wants to be an adventurer.

Irving is a youngish shoggoth, whose bud-parent only shed him just a short time ago (362 years...). In shoggoth terms Irving is the equivalent of 13 years old. A precocious 13 years old. He'd like to join your party...

In fact, that small, timid and oh so child-like voice calling out from the darkness "Is there anybody out there?" just might be Irving.

Irving isn't like the other shoggoths. At least not at first.

He's a little bit shy, at first, but after a bit of conversation and some wheedling, and a CHAR reaction roll or three, Irving will eventually ooze forwards from the shadows and try to prove himself to the group.

He's young, inexperienced, and very naieve. Or so it seems. At first.

Did we mention that he's a shoggoth?

Yeah.

You'd have to be insane to let such a thing join your party...but how do you turn it away without really getting it angry? Chances are, you wouldn't like Irving when he gets angry...

After all, he's a frikkin' shoggoth...

Irving's character sheet for Labyrinth Lord:

or



A few of the Pros in accepting Irving into the party:

• The half-ton or so of this dim-witted blob of praeterhuman plasticity won't attempt to eat you, yet
• The thing can extrude sensory organs and appendages at will, enabling it to spot things you'd never think of checking for. Of course you might not have words in your language for some of this stuff...
• You could have a shoggoth to help break down doors, lug around godsawful-heavy piles of loot, and intimidate the goblins
• It floats
• Irving loves to learn new tricks
• He is terribly loyal to his friends
• His flesh is a lot like silly putty and has a 40% chance of reproducing any scroll you mush into it (with an additional 10% chance that the spell becomes lodged in Irving's brain and he's now a multi-class Fighter/Magic User...with just that one spell, so far...)
• He's practically indestructible, regenerating even if reduced to a thin coat of slime by some particularly wicked trap or major demon...

Some of the Cons incurred by accepting Irving as a fellow adventurer (and by no means all of them):

• It's a frikkin' shoggoth
• It will eat you. It's only a matter of time...
• There's something very wrong with this creature
• Irving has wild mood swings depending on how long he goes without eating human brains -- the more brains he eats, the more human he thinks he is -- its a strange allergic reaction that he'll eventually grow out of before he gets too much older...
• Every time Irving gets reduced to zero hit points, his brain has a 30% chance to reset as it regenerates and he loses all trace of his previous pseudo-human persona instantly
• Never, ever let the shoggoth bind someone's wounds...
• That's probably not water in your canteens/water-skins any more...
• This thing can eat several horses in one go and might ask for seconds
• Irving has a base 25% chance to go berserk if his most favoritist friend of all time gets hurt...
• Detect Lie won't work on this creature -- its brain(s) are too alien for it to register properly -- which is an automatic red flag right there...
• Irving may just be too incredibly clever for your puny intellects and this has all been a malevolent ruse that has allowed him to herd your party into a diabolical trap...
• These things are older than your entire species...
• He's practically indestructible, regenerating even if reduced to a thin coat of slime by some particularly wicked trap or major demon...

Last, but no means least -- keep in mind that this is the kind of creature that could get a human as one of the low-end options for its familiar...

TEKELI LI!

Bujilli: Episode 98

Previously...
Bujilli brought Leeja to the Grampus and Krampus Tavern where they met green-toothed Triddel and Vushka, who was now the owner of the place. Vushka promised to help, gave them a room, and went off to carry out some errands, leaving Bujilli alone with an unconscious Leeja. So he put the time to good use and started reading through one of the Little Brown Journals he had stolen from his Uncle, who had in turn stolen them from Bujilli's father...

"We need to go n--"

The outside wall flashed red. Stone screamed and wood charred into ashes that reminded him of Triddel. Bujilli squatted down and retrieved her pistol. It was heavy, with three triangular barrels. The lock-mechanism looked like some sort of gyroscope. It reeked of something foul that he couldn't quite place.

He looked at the cleaver stuck more than an inch-deep in the floor where Triddel had dropped it. Bujilli wanted no part of that thing. It reminded him of Unfred and bad things he'd as soon forget.

Then it struck him; the smell was Salted Shot, like he'd been hit with back at the Beast Pens*.

Vushka turned and ran. She didn't have time for discussion. She intended to do something.

Leeja tugged at his hand. She was headed to the access-point where Sprague was waiting for them.

"Hold it. Why? Why should we go to Sprague right this minute?"

"He's waiting for us--"

Red fury screamed through the back wall. Plaster erupted in a cloud of hot dust. Draped burst into flames despite being labelled 'flame-proof.' The bed was beginning to smolder.

"Let him wait. We need to do something about those Tripods--"

"That's insane!"

"Letting them burn us down while we argue is what's really crazy. I'm going out there. With Vushka. You do what you think is best." Bujilli hefted the odd pistol and shifted his hand-axe into a comfortable grip as he headed out the door. Once down the stairs he began to run and he didn't look back.

BOOM!

A red ray had penetrated a near-by building that must have had a methane pocket built-up under it. Maybe it used to be an unlicensed cess-pit.

The door exploded in a red haze of splinters and flames. Bujilli tucked and rolled through it--he was running too hard to stop himself.

A moment of heat and chaos.

He picked himself off of the cobblestones. Leeja was next to him. Her hair was slightly singed along the left side.

He nodded, turned to face the oncoming Tripod, then charged the closest of its three segmented legs.

His hand-axe bit deep into the yellow metal, especially where there were patches of pinkish corrosion.

The Tripod halted in its tracks.

Bujilli jammed Triddel's pistol into his belt, then shimmied up the metal limb using his hand-axe to hack-out hand and foot holds in the metal.

SKREEEEENNNK

He looked up. A hatch was splitting into three sections as it pulled back to reveal--

Bujilli grabbed the pistol and fired. Fired. Fired again. Satisfied it was empty, he discarded the pistol and started climbing in earnest.

Drip. Drip. Blood spattered his shoulders as he climbed. A body tumbled past him. Shaggy white mane, over-large eyes; it had to be some sort of Morlock.

Someone jabbed at him with a five-tined fork. Bujilli ducked under the wicked weapon and lunged in through the hatch. He towered over the morlock with the fork. It was a funny feeling. He was usually shorter than average.

The morlock stabbed at his guts. Bujilli chopped the morlock's weapon in two. Then he slid forward and slammed the haft of his hand-axe across the morlock's throat. He'd learned how to do that fighting Yeren as a child, as a warrior allowed to join the fighting, but whom no one would ever help or back-up. Quite a few of his mother's folk had been openly disappointed every time he managed to return from fighting the yeren.

He pushed. Hard. The morlock tried to scramble backwards but only managed to trip over something. The body of another morlock. Bujilli seized the advantage. He pulled out the manticore-pistol and jammed the barrel into the morlock's forehead. He hated to bluff, but it seemed like it might work this time.

"Yield or die!" He tried to sound as threatening as he could manage. It came out raspy, like some awkward adolescent playing air-pirates in the wood-lot. a game he was never allowed to take part in as a child.

"Yield!" The morlock shrieked in all too obvious relief.

Bujilli stepped back. Holstered the pistol before his prisoner might spot that it was unloaded. Gestured with his hand-axe; "Why were you hunting me?"

"Who are you?" the morlock pilot scowled in confusion.

"Why did you attack the tavern?"

"We were eliminating dangerous elements from the street. The tavern and other buildings were merely collateral damage." The pilot wriggled to the side, trying to adjust their position so they were not jammed up against some sort of machinery.

A huge explosion violently shook the Tripod.

Bujilli went to the gaping hatch. He could see one of the other Tripods completely enveloped in flames and slowly teetering over against a burned-out temple of some sort. He suspected that was Vushka's handiwork.

Leeja grabbed at him. He dropped his hand-axe and pulled her through the hatch. No sooner was she through than she tripped him.

The morlock pilot snarled as he fired his palm-pistol.

The glass dart missed Bujilli's head by a hairsbredth.

He retrieved his hand-axe and advanced on the pilot who was frantically trying to reload the small gun.

"Please. I have children..."

"Drop the weapon."

It clattered across the rigid mesh floor. Leeja picked it up and slipped it into her belt-pouch.

"What should we do with her?"

Bujilli took a good look at the pilot. She wore an old-fashioned uniform. The red epaulettes and triangular badge on her sleeves were from the Red Army. He recognized them from the recruiting and propaganda posters he'd passed in the alleys and streets. There were a lot of old posters and broadsheets in this place. Perhaps no one ever took them down.

"It depends on how truthfully she answers my questions."

"The real Tripods will be here in less than a day. We received word of the attack and were given special orders to seek you out and eliminate you by any means necessary."

"How did you receive word?"

"Courier pigeon. We've stayed in contact with our forces for generations using those birds."

"Why target me? How did you find me?"

"We are trained from birth to not question our orders. It is a luxury we can not afford in these difficult times. your elimination was posted as part of a list of over a hundred other agitators and trouble-makers specified by the General as high priority targets as part of emergency measures now in effect."

Leeja snapped her hair across the pilot's wrist before she could grab hold of a particular lever.

Bujilli smacked the pilot with the flat of his hand-axe; "I'm not sure whether or not we're ever going to get anything useful from this one...but I am fairly certain that we can't afford to linger here much longer. He looked around for some way to sabotage the Tripod. He went up the ladder to the control pod. It was cramped, but he managed to release all the pigeons from their cages. Then he found the Anti-Capture Protocol lever next to the seat labelled 'political officer only.' It had a timer set right above it, so he pulled the lever until the alarm sounded. Then he scrambled down the ladder and grabbed Leeja; "Let's go!"

They got half-way down the leg with the hand-holds before the main body of the Tripod erupted in green flames.

Neither of them stuck around to watch what happened next, instead they both dropped to the street and started running towards the third Tripod.

They got there just in time to watch Vushka smash a boarding pike into the rear resonator assembly.

The Tripod--and Vushka along with it--faded out.

"Scheiss!" Leeja hissed in disgust. They only just avoided getting pulled along after the Tripod to wherever it was going to wind up next.

"We're running out of time. The Red Army is on the way to attack Wermspittle inside of a day, if we can believe what the pilot told us."

"We need to get to Sprague."

They both looked back at the Grampus-and-Krampus tavern. Neither of them were thrilled about running into a burning building, but a lot of the damage appeared superficial.

"Do we go back in there? Will Sprague still be holding the access-point open for us?"

"There's only one way to find out." Leeja grabbed Bujilli's hand and they started running back towards the tavern together.

The main room was smoky, but the flames had died out already. A lot of the stuff in there was somewhat resistant to flames. They headed back up the stairs. There was a gaping hole blasted through the wall of their room giving them a view of the ruined Tripods and the swarms of people trying to put out the scattered fires.

The access-point was still there. Still open.

Leeja looked at Bujilli.

"Let's go see Sprague then."

They stepped through the shimmering lozenge of purple light and stepped out into a gentle rain. Majestic, ancient trees surrounded them. The sky overhead was deep violet and filled with rain clouds. At first Bujilli thought that they had been betrayed to the Purple Clouds, but these were only rain clouds, not malevolent world-killing miasmas. He hoped.

"Good. You've come." Sprague relinquished his hold over the access-point and it shrunk down to nothingness.

"We've come, but I want to know why you brought us here. Wherever 'here' is."

"Welcome to the Purple Forest." Shael croaked from her make-shift pallet. She was in a bad way. Her left arm was missing. Someone had very nearly taken her head as well.

"What happened?" Leeja's claws snapped out as she rushed to her aunt.

"She was given a choice. Same as you two." An old man in heavily mended and mis-matching armor leaned on a heavy walking stick to get a better look at Leeja. His eyes were hard, dark, cold, but he seemed to approve of what he saw in her eyes and leaned back ever so slightly. With a chill she realized he had been prepared to put her down if necessary.

"What choice? Who are you?" Leeja demanded.

"I'm not important."

"Silas! You promised that you'd be honest with them." Shael scolded the grizzled old man whose armor smelled bad.

"Yes. I did. I am. Ahem. My name is Silas Grompf. You might have heard of me by now."

"I've heard of you. A little. you run the Sewer Miliita." Bujilli looked away from the old man and his shabby armor. He scanned the trees surrounding them. Some of them were moving in decidedly non-tree-like ways. He mentally nudged his Counsel;

/Machine?/

//Yes?//

/Have you been paying attention?/

//Yes.//

/I need your help./

//Yes.//

/Can you help me determine what the best course of action is going forward? How I, how we, might make things better without making them worse, without getting killed trying to do it, either./

//Yes.//

/Then get to work./

//Working.//

"Good. If you've heard anything about me then you know that I'm a right rotten bastard. That will save us some unnecessary frivolities."

"What is this choice you're offering us?" Leeja hissed.

"I'm here to ask you both to join the fight--"

"Scheiss! Another recruitment attempt."

"No. Not just another attempt. Your last chance to do something worth the doing and the dying. I hope."

"That sounds ominous. Are you making some kind of threat?" Leejas' gold-green eyes were slitted like an angry cat.

"No threat. You've both accumulated plenty of that sort of thing already."

"Why should we join the Sewer Militia over any of the other factions that have already tried to get us on their side?" Bujilli considered the old man...there was something very different going on here. He wasn't sure what, jut yet, but he had a sense that this was not simply some sort of attempt to get them to come over to a particular side.

"You shouldn't."

"But?"

"Leeja. Bujilli," Shael coughed, wiped away blood; "Silas is not here to get you to come over to his side. Nor am I here to get you to take up the cause of the Seamstresses."

"Then what..."

"You two have stirred-up the hornet's nest something fierce. I, for one, appreciate that a great deal. But I'm a bitter old curmudgeon with a powerful hate for the status quo, so that's probably as could be expected."

"I don't--"

"The Rebellion is over."

"What?"

"The Midwive's Rebellion is irrelevant and it needs to end. We must settle things. Once and for all."

"You two? Here? Now?"

"We can start the process. Finally. But it will take time. And we need help." Shael glared at Silas Grompf. He hocked a wad of phlegm and spat it towards the nearest tree.

"So you two have made some sort of deal--"

"Not quite as much of a deal as what we need to make with you two..."

"Oh really?" Bujilli was distracted by a swirling mass of icons and glyphs that were resolving themselves into some sort of pattern within his field of vision. Counsel had some extrapolations of possible choice-paths and consequence-streams for him to examine. Each one shifted in response to his attention and morphed into a brighter, more coherent set of options as he explored options or rejected obvious dead-ends.

Seamstresses. Midwives. Sewer Militia. The Corruption Trade. The Academy. The Medical College. Morquin and the Athenaeum. Confectioners and Candy-men. Butchers. Comprachicos. The Gardeners. The Farm Enclaves. Idvard and his private library. The Perdu and the Unseen. The Arena-keepers. Yellow Journalists. The Desert Fathers, Purple Clouds and their Purple Hordes. Hedrard and the forest-folk. Beatrice Eberhard. The Wretched and their bitter lords. The meddlers from Latterkamp. The Ignobles of New Chillon. The Toy-Makers and Doll Houses. The Wermic Host. Tsalalians, morlocks, eloi, and all the other refugees and ethnic groups struggling to survive in this place. The number of factions and players and meddlers active in Wermspittle was well beyond anything it could ever be expected to support.

The place had too many concurrent wars running simultaneously. Too many voices competing to be heard over the screams of their victims.

"Yes. Really." Old Grompf eyed Bujilli suspiciously. As if he could see the projection Counsel was presenting to him.

"What sort of deal?" Leeja came over and took up her place beside Bujilli.

Broken. Everything was broken. He could see that more clearly than ever before. All the competing, squabbling and feuding factions were locked in hundreds of pointless, ultimately destructive conflicts.

Each one turned against another by...

"I think young master Bujilli just might be on the verge--"

"Colony. They've colonized Wermspittle. Infested it. Poisoned everyone until they can't function without their toxins..."

"Who? The Corruption Trade?" Shael sounded vindicated, despite the raspiness in her voice from her damaged throat.

"Their masters." Bujilli saw it now.

"Masters? But I thought that the Corruption Trade were the real masters behind everything in this place..."

"No. They serve the Wermic Host." He could trace the lines of confluence and conflict mapped out for him by his Counsel. The central factor wasn't the ghouls, the morlocks, the cults, the ones everyone blamed or held liable. One group was behind all the others, clever manipulators, insidious, they were the true masters of Wermspittle. He felt that he ought to have realized that when he purged their influence from Sharisse**, when he was offered some sort of truce by the chorus of voices speaking through Triddel back at the tavern.

"But the host make it possible to survive through the winter..." Shael parroted the old familiar lie. It tasted like bitter ashes in her mouth even as she spoke.

"No. They don't. They make it impossible to survive without their 'help.' They keep poisoning the low lands, which means all those farm enclaves have to send their children into the city before they go sterile or start to develop worse defects." It was a sinister, yet elegant pattern. The Wermic Host were seen as necessary to the survival of everyone, and they had made it so by their constant poisoning of the water supply, the soil, the food...

"But the low lands were affected by the old weapons..." Shael began to piece it all together for herself. She had been accustomed to the carefully woven tapestry of assumptions and implications maintained by the Werms...as the daunting realization settled upon her, she grew increasingly uneasy.

"Yes. Centuries ago. The Wermic Host have tainted, tampered with and sabotaged every attempt to clean-up the low lands ever since." Silas Grompf bowed his head; "We drove out the Fetidians. We cleared-out the slither-mobs and mold-cultures wherever we could reach them. At least we used to, before the treaties with Yellowholm and the fungal congress put a stop to that. Now we're riddled with vermin sympathizers, crawling with infected collaborators, addicts sick with yellow fungi and infested with werm-kin above and below the Near Deeps. Everything we fought for has been taken over from within by hook and by crook thanks to the Ignobles and their treachery and there hasn't been a damned thing we could do about it. Until now."

"What has changed?" Leeja scoffed. She wasn't sure she trusted old Grompf.

"You two." He snapped his walking stick into a spear and made a gesture with his left hand, a sort of circular motion overhead. The spear unfurled a banner; the gray disk on black field of the Sewer Militia. Bujilli hadn't noticed it before, but the disk was actually an ancient coin of some sort.

Hup Hup Hup  Sergeants bellowed and officers directed underlings. Abatis-works were set into place. Barrels were rolled into place. Heavy stakes were set into the soggy ground. The clearing became a fortified staging zone.

Armored soldiers from the Sewer Militia and the Wall Guard took up positions along the perimeter of the clearing. Each group of five had one flame-thrower, one of the galvanic weapons crackling with pent-up electricity like the one Bujilli had left with Idvard, and at least one heavy prod-type crossbow fitted with what might be captured Black Smoke cannisters. Here and there among the troops could be seen a blue toque or a rusty-red stocking-cap. Spinsters wielding bodkins and crones carrying antique fowling pieces had attached themselves to various groups. Some would act as medics, the rest would do what they could with needles, hexes and other things.

A small corps of red-breasted skirmishers took up position on either side of Bujilli and Leeja. Elite werm-killers. Their unit insignia was a robin pulling a toothy-werm from the ground.

"We've spent generations fighting, dying, bleeding and entertaining the werms. Now it's time to change that once and for all. Will you join us?"

Counsel rearranged the flowing mass of icons into one configuration after another. Each permutation, every projection showed mass chaos, devastation, destruction...death. The estimated odds of survival were extremely variable and never remained constant. Each time some piece moved, another faction shifted, the odds had to be recalculated.

The only certainty Counsel could determine was that Silas Grompf, Shael and all these soldiers were very, very likely to all be dead or worse within the next four hours unless Bujilli worked out some sort of an arrangement with them...and even then...things looked grim. Except for one thing.

Bujilli smiled broadly. He wasn't alone in this place. He had friends. He had made the mistake of looking at it all from the viewpoint of what made him valuable in this conflict, and that was a mistake born of ego. It was never about him; it was about his connections, his friends.

That was when Bujill knew that nothing was ever going to be the same again.

"So are you in, or are you out? Times a'wating and a lot of us have some dying to do..."

Bujilli could feel more than one set of eyes focused on him...

What should Bujill do next?

You Decide!

---

* Bujilli woke up being dragged through the alleys by Unfred after being shot in Episode 34.
** Sharisse was part of the group that ambushed Bujilli and Leeja back in Episode 29, was captured by Bujilli in Episode 30, was revealed to be Werm-Ridden in Episode 31. Sharisse had the werms removed in Episode 32 and Episode 33, (it was in Episode 33 that Bujilli put together his spell of Purging Green Flames, one of the new spells to be featured in our forthcoming grimoire), and Sharisse was then sent on her way. She re-connected with Gudrun, who was being manipulated to wrongly blame Bujilli for the death of her brother and ever since then Sharisse and Gudrun have become friends and followers of Bujilli. Both young girls were featured in the short story Of a Feather. Sharisse and Gudrun were both involved in the battle with the MirrorBorn back at Sprague's offices in the East Wing of the Academy that kicked off around Episode 74. We'll be seeing more of Sharisse soon...as she has gone off with Gnosiomandus as one of his grad-student/bodyguard/agents...

Should Bujilli join forces with Silas Grompf? Would he be better off trying to contact Mistress Eberhard? Should he go rescue Hedrard? Try to contact Gnosiomandus and get him to come back? Or do you have a better idea or suggestions? Let me know!  

Initiative: Roll 1d6 each for (1) Bujilli, (2) Leeja, (3) Silas Grompf, (4) Sprague, (5) Shael, (6) The Wermic Host.

Reaction: Now we could use a Reaction Roll for Commandant Zulmer who is coming up along the path to address Shael and Grompf about the disposition of their combined forces. Roll 2d6, and consult the Monster Reaction Table on p. 52 of Labyrinth Lord. He's spoiling for a fight...

As always, if you have questions or suggestions let me know in the comments, or via email.

What happens next is up to you, the readers.

You Decide!

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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