Nine Dreadful Eminences

 

One: The Sphinx

She's called Amsu-ashka. Or rather, the body built for her by Mokbalatar artisans, made of stone and sand and the last limit of sculpting and carving skill, is named this. It's said the body was a vessel to house a sort of cold fire, that holy phenomenon some call Fire Without Change. Not a simple, random stray thought made manifest, but the very tear of one of Them in the throne of heaven who awoke for however short a time and regarded creation and itself. Really, though, all of this is just a rumor: an Angel of extreme potency is stuffed into a great statue, reclining feline, folded wings, and beautiful, serene face. She is curious about things, and so will demand knowledge, and the answers to questions, and sometimes seems unfair requiring responses to puzzles, but she knows many many truths, and if you aren't eaten, and you aren't flensed clean from her pure fire, you will gain your one answer.

 

Three: The Ogre

Up above the heavy clouds that are the garden beds of giants who live upside down in the sky (as weather-watchers, and old weaving-women know), some of the highest peaks clutch crumbling stone piles to themselves, and in one of these he lives. Since it is nearly impossible to learn which one, he sleeps safe. But, with only two of his three eyes ever restful in the embrace of sleep, he sleeps uneasy, aware. If you do find his castle, up above the clouds, he'll rise, and stomp, and dance a heavy beat, and the boulders will rain down. He'll walk across the rubble, then, and out amongst the lands of men. And his name is Thunder and Avalanche and Malevolence. He carries in one hand a glaive called Dawn Above the Spindrift which casts down armies with single sweeps, and his blue face breathes out gales. In his other hand he carries Dusk In the Glade of Blossoms, a great black leaden rod which unerringly slays what single champion might step to battle, and his burning third eye calmly looks into the well of time, and he knows when it is time to leave the lands of man. Then he is warm and hearty, and may assist the broken beggar or weary traveller with fair weather and direction to roads home.

 

Nine: The Stalker

It's a constant trick of perspective. A growing rustling in the eventime trees, whippering the leaves. Huge, large as the sky above the forest, the sweeps of wings or of shouldering tendrils, or a cloak, scattering firefly stars too early in the purple above. But, no! not huge, near, stolen up while you gaped, taking up the same width on the horizon, but only because it's so near. So, when the warm wind that feels like breath is on your cheek (or on your neck, bristling the hairs!) flee fast to your home, to your bed. Because if you don't make it there first, thinking that it's smallness means you've escaped it now, you'll see it's just the right size to fit in the shadows of your door, and you'll run right into it's waiting jaws. But if you are swift and are in bed before it arrives, it will forget that you weren't already there. See it fill up the threshhold. Beware the six? seven? claws, the whipping things on it's shoulders, the bright smiling teeth. Feed it what milk you have. Maybe, for a night, you can sweep along unafraid, into doors and crossing-places, uninvited.

 

Seven: The Hydra

The admixture of elements from vastly different spheres: a vast network of mycellium, an eversprouting night-garden waiting for nutriment; and a porous rock crumbling into the earth, oddly crystalline reverberations echoing a terrible something from its path beyond the sky; and a simple slithering snake caught in the fall. In the warm dark loam, a hungry knot grows. Writhing masses, soft like fungal fruiting bodies, and pale, seek the sky again. If it cannot gain the nebula clouds and stars, it will grow large, screaming a horrible song up! up! And if the things that walk on the surface, that are food for the night-garden, strike a stalk off, why, it will grow a new one. Somewhere. (And a dangerous by-product of its otherworldly heritage mixing with spore-like effluvia is that it so easily distorts the mind and senses, seeming like a nightmare, or forgotten altogether.) It is also delicious in a dark sauce, apparently. And if you ask the right chef or the right midwife, they'll tell you how people have had lost limbs grow back and grave injuries restored.

 

Eight: The Vampire

It's old and hungry and fast and, if you're a scientist who studies such things, elegantly streamlined, and hungry and loves the things that you are that feeds it a little too much. And hungry. It burns so much energy existing at such feverflame intensity. Since it wanders between moments like that, though, it ponders things slowly, savoring a sort of mismatched flow of time like honeyed purrings across its skin, noticing every pore on your thigh, noticing every nuance in the exhalation you produce warm into the night, noticing every heartbeat. It doesn't understand people anymore, not really. It's just a smear across reality for those it wants so badly to savor, to be savored. And then it's still. But, if it's sated, and found, at that moment that it's still, its mismatched time and yours jitter close, and your yearning jutters close, and you can't help but to get near, and ask for that golden moment to go on forever. Ask it. Ask it now for the merest sip of forever.

 

Two: The Black Knight

There's often something guarding The Way. Spaces in between, gates portcullised, river crossings, borders. That's where you may find him. Mors Intepestivus, he is an impassible martial forbiddance. He is a challenge at the threshold that can't be refused, he waits implacable, shrouded in iron and darkness and flame that licks like sunset behind his bascinet, the seams of his vambraces. Boundaries are what he knows because he exists on a boundary. He is unkillable because his will rages hotter than death, but he no longer lives because nothing can thrive in the wasteland between moments. However, it is possible he can be defeated. It is possible that he has some intrinsic weakness, or a key to pass, or a mercy that can be dredged up from some time-forgotten memory. Step to the pas d'armes of the Death Knight, and attempt the token, and take the Olifant Horn to call down his iron fury to you in a time of need, to destroy all who stand in your Way.

 

Five: The Wolf

Howling at the borders of the settled lands, running wild but hungry always hungry; not in the impoverished way of so-called civilized creatures, but the hunger of a smile, the hunger of a welcoming warmth, the hunger of rending, and of breath. He's bigger than you think, and you think he's familiar, and he is, but he's bigger. His breath is the storm. His claws are the shattering hail. His eyes are the lightning. You hide in the basement, in the cellar, only to emerge to the whole land being flattened, only bricks remaining, powdered and exploded right to fundamental dust. In the open, unmatched, a fell wind screaming across the plains, the snow, the fields, even the mightiest fall to the rending, dropping exhausted, torn apart. In the forests, the tight spaces, even the cities, a wrong seeming toothsome smile invites you to be swallowed whole where the only way forward is to become part of the pack, a wolf too, rending your own way out. Then, howling your blood red song you can call down the storm around you, breathe desire.

 

Six: The Devil

There's a handsome figure, you heard he deserted his battalion (they all perished anyways), that you can consistently find at the crossroads out in the empty fields, or by the lone inn, or in the strange town (but only at midnight; some say just on the full moon, others say only once the tavern or bar has made it's last call of the night). He carries: a stringed instrument that makes sounds no one had heard before, a deck of obviously marked cards, a bottle of amber heaven, the smile of your closest friend. Sit a moment, listen to the song, that's alright. Share a sip of sunshine, that's a little more alright. Play the cards, talk about things past and future, and wants and wishes. You know this tune. If you can win (you can't win), if you can outplay him (you don't know the tuning), if you can outdrink him (it turns to fire then madness), if you can just stay up the night, you might get your fondest wish. More likely, though, in a week or a clutch of decades, you'll find yourself at another cross-roads, another place, and hear the growling of something on your trail, coming to take you down down down. But, there's always a chance. There's always this one particular time. There's always the gamble that you might be different from all the rest. 

 

Four: The Insect Queen

In the end she is triumphant. She is in all of her children. They all sing to her, and she to them. They adapt, they proliferate, they thrive, they evolve into the myriad of forms necessary to sit atop the remains of everything at the end of all things. She is horror in the flesh, and locust upon the fields, and and fang and mandible warring upon sad, lonely, isolated-thinking meat things, and death. She is all iridescent beauty, and perfect engineering, and grace, and her song leans close to the all encompassing infinity, harmonizing waves floating along a million million children, ecstatic with purpose and love and efficiency. The Queen is reborn with each new environment, each new world to conquer, pulling herself and and her triumph along with her, beautiful and adaptive. She may not be bargained with, and no one can ever seem to quite eradicate her. But she can be allied with for a time, a dangerous diplomacy, if only you open yourself to her song, her implacable, benevolent command. Perhaps disguised as one of hers, or invisible, forgotten monstrosities and omnifactorial invulnerabilities and weapons forgotten in dreams may be grasped from the very materials of her children, and the humming soulsong of the Queen who will walk upon the end of time, triumphant.

The Bright Spans Pt 4: The Rise of the Orchidium and the Era of Wizard Oversight

 Part 1

Part 2

Part 3

Farms collapsed, crops perished, communities were erased from both the implacable ice sheets moving south, as well as the howling winds blowing dry sands northward.

The noble houses, without heirs, and without marryable children to reinforce ties to other nobles, went into disarray. The structures of governance were in many cases left to languish, instead funds were often put into the arming of knights and the equipping of expeditions to search out and find the missing princesses and heirs. Or to fortify themselves against the catastrophes of weather and monsters. 

The strongest centralized countries had cities their populations could retreat back to. The northern mountains, especially Lys Yraht shielded the worst of the final march of glaciation, the land rising up to nestle the Valelands and their mighty forests. Zelemja, bordered by the tall peaks of Lys Vyreth, and sitting on a high plateau dotted with it's own forests, absorbed a large population of refugees. However, even these relatively verdant sites became frost-rimed, and difficult to farm. The feeding of the people within the Spans became of paramount importance.  

Near the location thought to be the last place the twin forces of sand and ice would converge upon should the worst occur, a large estate grew. It was comprised of many buildings conjoined as if from a town where there were no streets, but courtyards opening up from only the surrounding buildings, a labyrinthine mansion with a taller tower-like edifice in the center, and glass panes covering gardens protected from the elements spanning rooftop to rooftop. This was the expanding tower-site of the first Gardner, the wizard Yan Afelsam. 

Yan studied plants extensively, and although a Wizard of Greate Power, was also a devout follower of the Goddess Miara, and was known to have divine favor. This rare combination allowed him to explore natural sciences especially in the means in which one may allow life to flourish. Most of which he originally used to grow flowers. However, along the way he learned some rare combinations of the Elemental Languages (that holy types as well as mages speak), gained many students, grew flowers, and divined the coming of a woman to replace him, who he called the Orchid (he was fond of the flowers anyhow, so most people just figured he was unsure of who exactly this successor was going to be). His Tower, as well as the always growing maze of buildings and greenhouses, he therefore named The Orchidium.

Understanding the necessity, and with magic formed from language that tapped into the generative forces (and a good sprinkling of the knowledge of Shevóram sorcerers he had the foresight to bring into council), Yan was able to grow and cultivate extraordinary amounts of fruits, grains, and vegetables. Swelling the ranks of his Gardeners, they nearly single-handedly fed the Spans during the worst years when the sun barely crept from behind blowing clouds of snow, and the sands buried much of even the once huge Salt Sea, also known as the Zorál, that once extended far to the south. 

With the survival of the peoples of the Spans hinging on the production, and eventually dispersal of the bounty flowing out of the Orchidium, the Gardeners, Yan's council of magic-users, became extremely powerful, both in temporal power, as well as arcane power. More arcane knowledge gravitated toward his demense as students and diplomats were sent from neighboring regions. One, the Nilatese orphan called Uma of Alsates, rose into the ranks of the Gardeners, then into Yan's inner circle. Younger than most of the others within his council, she brought ambition as well as skill and a drive to gather spells from other magic-users. This, then, was Yan's Orchid. 

He retreated to chambers at the top of his inner building, living with Uma, and seeing only his closest friends and highest ranking Gardeners. Eventually he closed the top chambers to all, with the instructions that Uma should inherit the Tower and responsibilities of the Orchidium. 

Now known as The Luminous Petal, Uma of Alsates became the most powerful individual in the Spans. And with the resources at her command, she found that the works of the Rectification were healing over; the wobble was slowly but inevitably returning and the world was shifting. Her astrogeomancers assured her that the ice and sands would soon be retreating. Despite her earlier ambition, she had no wish to become mired in the duties of a despot. She knew that the nobles and governing bodies of the various regions would become a constant headache, an ongoing responsibility when the worst of the emergencies were past. 

So, although the strongest wizards could certainly become absolute rulers, she set down that the major Towers would have oversight in particular areas and activities in the Spans. This would allow the wizards to be able to do what they most wanted to do (gain magic knowledge and power), while still being the wisest people around (as the Archmages all think themselves to be, obviously), and theoretically keep any one Tower from becoming to powerful (like Balthazar and the catastrophe of the Rectification). 

Tower L'Athos would have the region of Pridwia pretty much to itself, Nicodemio and his apprentices free to deal with whatever horrors pressed in from the north. Tower Dharsati would keep an eye to the desert, as well as keep the Iridescian Wakes under observation. The Dharsati family graciously agreed to this, as they were making gold hand over fist siphoning the raw magic and materials to the Merchant Families of Nilato. To the west, the stolid, battleready mages of the Tower Svedra, lead by the enigmatic wizard known by the callsign Falcon 1 keep a weather eye on the unknown quantity of Balefire and it's alien inhabitants, the Tropæan Ocean, but especially upon Azageer's ambitions upon Nilato and it's wealth. Tower Orchidium remains near the center, close to the Queen's Cross where the major roads meet (and the area that remained untouched by either environmental extreme) settling disputes, and keeping the lines of communication open between the Archmages, and being the last recourse when things get really out of hand by adventurers, meddlers with powerful artifacts, and princesses' curses. 

Hey! My janky map! It has more scribbles on it now!

Next?! Powerful Princesses, Masterful Monasteries, and Ass-kicking Assassins!

 

 

The Bright Spans Pt 3: After Balthazar

 Part 1

 Part 2

 

 

So, the Archmages stopped the wobble of the world, ending seasons (more or less). The elves continued to spirit away princesses, spooky hags cast them into endless sleeps, and dragons indiscriminately ate whomever they were brought or could catch easily. (Dragons are notoriously lazy unless roused from their obssessions by knights or adventurers, halflings or seekers-o-things, after all.) Drastic changes came over the land, both politically and environmentally.

The unforeseen consequence, not planned for in the study-rooms of Wizards contemplating the fate of the peoples, was the land itself changing, and the harshest environments closing in on the relatively temperate region north-midworld in Orbis. 

The south was exposed to the sun now all year, drying out, the soil blowing away as little fresh moisture blew in, with dunes forming and overtaking cities and towns. The desert called the Shevóram, after the tribes who lived there, buried the entire region up to and including most of the Zoràl Sea, now also known as the Salty Sea. The tribes took in everyone they could, absorbing the populace to the south, teaching the myriad peoples how to survive in the dry, sandy regions. The Shevóram consist, even now, of seven loosely organized "tribes" all speaking Shevrám, a conglomeration of the original tribal language as well as many once independent languages from the regions lost to the sands. 

Bordering the creeping sands of the deserts, Nilato with her mazy canals, and a propensity for seeking out solutions (and one-upping each other), secured a deal with an envoy of the strangers who had settled near the Tropæan Ocean. Commonly called the Mok, from the lands they claimed to hail from, they had resemblance to the dangerous elves. These Mok-elves, though, were taller, more alien, and of a more eldritch bent than their apparent relations. They claimed to have knowledge of processes by which machines could be built, towers planted into the ground, to change the environment at the whims of the operators. 

So a tower was built to the south of Nilato, extracting some strange energy for the Mok as their price. But the wonder also caused a cool, moist atmosphere to permeate the area near the City of Mazes. But when the desert surged in a huge sandstorm seemingly out of nowhere, the tower was heavily damaged, and exploded in a fury of raw generative magic. The shockwaves sent a transmutive effect deep into the desert, scattering tiny sand-grains of unmeltable ice to mingle with the desert, making the sands for many hundereds of miles strangely cold even as the air was hot, and the sun burning. Of the site of the Mokbalatar power-rig, only a haze of cracks and rainbow mirage remained, coming to be called the Iridescian Wakes. A place the Nilatese have made great profit from extracting the raw magics, the Wakes have given huge profit margins to the ruling Merchant clans, and power to the Dharsati family of wizards.

The explosion was seen hundreds of miles away.

 

To the north, in a state of perpetual twilight, the cold overtook the land, moisture trapped high above sending snow snow snow, heavy and continuous for many years. Glaciers formed and crept across the wildlands from the constant compacting snow turning to ice. With the glaciers came the terrible denizens of the cold. The Isigi-gan, ice giants, with blocks of iron hard ice to throw into the fragile walls of cities brittle from the freeze. And the worst flurries, storms that were walls of snow and wild air, carried with them the howling song of great white dragons, sounding like the harmonizing of the very winds layered atop one another, until the fatal breath locked the unlucky listener in permanent frost. 

To the Northwest, Azageer mustered the men and materials, tightened strictures of governance under the Imperator, and (with alliances with the strange dwarven Stonemen under Lys Yrvan) held the line, keeping the frozen monsters from storming into the Spans. Most of the Northeast fell to terrible glaciers and was wiped out. But one man, already old, feared and hated for his ruthlessness in accumulating mystical power took to himself the whole region of Pridwia in return for keeping the threats living there at bay. This was Nicodemio L'Athos, now most often referred to as The Old Man, or that Evil Bastard. 

Still, in regions even The Old Man, nor his three powerful apprentices deign to patrol, out on the Pridwian glacier, people tell tales of a land thriving in perpetual spring. It's specific location seems murky, and most who speak about it mumble into their cups a bit of truth: it's not heard of anyone actually returning from there. But there is a consensus among the hardiest rangers, and the few barbarians who still stride the ice out there, that a hardy party could be lead out there. For a price. And no guarantees of safe return. 

Beautiful, until it's implacably flattening your town. Also, monsters surfing that stuff.

 

 

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

With ice from the north and sand from the south, the area of habitable, farmable land was getting swiftly swallowed up. But, there were those who had taken the studies of the Archmages to heart, and a few had plans on how to survive the coming apocalypse. 

Next: the Rise of the Orchidium and the Era of Wizard Oversight.

d30ish Table of Things That May or May Not Be Safe or Beneficial While Traversing the Fray

Guess I'll call it the Anchor table. In the depths of Gloom City, an anchor might help keep reality together, or at least a small bit of stability in the shifty shadows. They're like mini-relics for the individual, de-abstracting the world just enough to get your all too human ass back to where things are things you know. Unless you're not human really. Then nothing will help you.

 

1. A Golden State license plate from the hot-rod era that has never been destroyed regardless of all the complete wrecks the cars it's been on have suffered. R34 P3R.
2. Silver .45 with painted grips: Our Holy Venerated Teen Mother looking serene, hands in the typical prayer position. Said to belong to a guy who managed to actually retire, but the guy he gave it to was killed first time out.
3. Currently unopenable briefcase. Something is rattling around inside there. Sounds different every time it's shaken.
   
4. Aviator shades. In twilight the polarization causes the wearer to "hallucinate" things that probably used to be there.
5. Card for lifetime meals at Drive-N-Burger. Accepted at all locations forever.
6. A Carcosa County library card for one "Carter, Rand." paperclipped to a book request fulfillment at the research desk. The card is old as fuck, and the request expiration date is written for Feb 31st of next year.
7. Dusty bottle of old old scotch with a faded label that tastes like hell, but people who like spirits seem to love. Used at important meetings of that sort, the parties involved unusually never seem to choose deception. There's around 2/3s left.
8. A mini magic 8-ball on a key-ring. The icosahedron inside usually seems to be blank, but every once in a while displays a faded message.
9. Lucky tie with a red sheen. Someone always compliments it a few minutes before violence breaks out. But sure seems like it's always noticed by anyone assailing the wearer. Even through massive chaos or whirling melee. Might be a problem.
10. Hand made dancin' shoes. Never slip on even the slickest surfaces. The blood won't quite clean off though.

11. Magnetic key card for Metropolitan Hotel and Resort, in an envelope upon which "It's still in there" is handwritten.
12. A leathern foldout wallet pyroscripted with the name Del Lorenzo. Inside are old-fashioned lock picks of surprising usability.
13. That tire iron you carry in the car. The engraving of the brand name must've gotten pretty screwed up in manufacture; whatever those odd symbols are seem almost intelligible.
14. Yellowed piece of lined paper with most of a shopping list on it written in a hand unlike your own. Ends with your name and "See you when I wake up. Love y..." The rest is torn off. You don't remember who may have written it.
15. Fancy pocketwatch. Runs backwards and a bit fast. Always meant to get it fixed, but it's been fun to open it up when something's about to go down, and see how often real time matches the hands when things go topsy-turvy.
    
16. Lucky dice. I mean, they're lucky, right? Just don't bring them back to that casino.
17. The World War trench lighter on the old chain you wear works about half the time normally. But it always lights in the dark. Said that's how grampa got sniped lighting his Chesterfield during a wartime blackout.
18. An honest to goodness Denku Beacon Pro+ flip phone. It's slightly big, heavier than it ought to be. Speaker's shitty, your voice comes out staticky, and the battery life is terrible. But it always works as long as it's charged, and seems to be effectively indestructible.
19. You got the skull. Everyone wants the skull. Someone else might even say they have it, but you know this is the one.
20. Post free-love era Top-Floor Adult Magazine. Nothing of real interest except a letter in the "Reader's Open Window" section, wherein a typically surprised tone leading to a porno worthy liason couches oddly accurate descriptions of a modern Department secure location. It really veers into the uncanny when the adult acrobatics are mentioned to "awaken something in containment" and implies that the ecstatic ritual is replicable. Fantasies, huh?
21. Sealed vial of clear liquid with gold flakes. The flakes continuously swirl in a clockwise direction. Except sometimes they don't.
22. Sweet skull grin gaiter style mask. Smells mildly of gasoline and oranges. Effectively filters out most toxic bullshit that might be expected to permeate the air in situations of conflict.

 

23. A pocketknife you've had since you were young. You got a nasty scar across one finger when it closed accidentally after slipping in the groove of the initials you were carving into the handball court backstop. That scar right there...wait maybe the other finger. Well, at least the blade's always sharp.
24. Hells yeah Championship ring from that sports team you love. Serious gems, expensive as sin. They may win again someday, but collectors and jewel heads and money hungry types find that ring irresistible.
25. Cuff-links of the Special Operations Director, World War era. The scratches on the back obviously have to mean something right? It's said he's still alive in a warm West Coast sanitarium.
26. The highly confident agent that presented you with the mirrored flask insisted it would be useful in more than one way. The water it contains is guaranteed to come from the Mission San Ode Legere, blessed and pure as it springs from a crack deep below the church and bubbles up into the font.
27. That sleeve dagger you have, a black iron spike with a heavy head-thumping ball on the end, has always slipped from its sheath. Truth be told, it's sort of a fidget now, to let the round iron drop into you hand, then tuck the dagger back up, let it drop, push it back up, let it drop, ....
28. Couple of tickets to the Symphony Hall, reserved way in advance. Everything ought to be neatly finished by then, and you can meet again there. The Promise said you'll come together once again no matter what happened before. If you can just make it there.
    
29. Garage decal for Jothell Spacewerks, yet to be applied to your vehicle. Weird name, but excellent custom work.
30. Been holding onto that handmade fishing lure. The thing reminds you of the cabin out there next to the Slizare River. Probably a nice place to retire; pretty safe, out of the way. Wonder if the old lure-maker is still there?
31. (Bonus!) A single yet to be scratched $1 Golden State Lottery ticket called "2nd Chance Tonight." Losing tickets can be scanned for possible rewards at participating locations; the only participating location anyone has ever seen is a lonesome Fas-Gas Qwik Mart out in Carcosa County.

 

[(From a curious point in time, different then when I first made the table): thank you to a particular awesome individual who noticed the formatting somehow doubled number 5! Which means groans I had to go back and renumber the other 21 grr entries. And cut one! (And I didn't! Take that extra entry!)]

At the time I made the first 10 entries, and I had 20 more entries to throw in there, I realized to my utter horror that the system I tentatively had in mind only used d6s! Ye gods! (And if that one didn't work, there is a 0e game that I rather like that might have served my uses. d100. Stress and panic stuff....Fine. It was Mothership; I's talking about hacking Mothership. Sheesh.)

But now? It was obviously already floating toward my own weird system Zeroturn, since the whole thing is already Gloom City adjacent. I haaaaave to get that (re)written up. Slick it up a bit. Rebrand it Zerolite or something. Or SWIFT. (It'll make sense later.) 

It also occured to me today that Glare World might not work, because of the intitials "GW" which just might already be used. Hah. So the big weird setting that includes the Backstage of the Universe stuff is probably going to be called Gloom City, Glare Country. Means all of this mythic West-y highway stuff could just be Glare Country. Hm. Geecee-geecee?

But still, Gloom City: Mayhem is what's been rattling about on top so far. Maybe it ought to be The Fray. I like that one with it's double-meaning, but I don't like that one because I have no idea if the band with that name sucks or not. SAUS (say it out loud, you know) for Subtle and Unsubtle is a close contender though. But then it should be like Violence SAUS or something. Man, that would be fun to say.

 

 

 

Gloom City: Mayhem

 

That, but all fuckered up.

You're driving. Fast. They're right behind and mean you no good. Your car is a bad-ass...

1. 71 Plymouth 'Cuda in "sassy grass" and the sweet racing looking shit on the sides,
2. 69 Mustang Boss 429 Fastback in black with black on black everything,
3. generic year Ford Police Interceptor Utility Hybrid, nondescript slate, all tinted, heavy ramming frame, very very customized,
4. red 22 Maserati Ghibli Trofeo. It goes really fast,

but wind is whistling through bullet holes in the side door, one headlight is out, and...

1. the hood is missing. A grinding noise comes out of the gearbox when you shift down from 4th. Good luck on that whole slowing down-speeding up thing.
2. going over the center divider back there did something. Getting really hard to turn (50%) right/left.
3. when was the last time you filled up? Tank's just about on E.
4. hope you didn't need that fluid that just sprayed all over the windshield. Oh yeah wipers don't work.

You glance over at the person in the passenger's seat. Last you looked, it was really bad. It's...

1. your partner.
2. your lover.
3. that fucker you picked up, because of the thing.
4. empty; there's just you shaking your head. There was someone there, right?

The ballistic armor you're wearing that's identified by...

1. the Federal Bureau of Investigation...
2. Special Weapons and Tactics...
3. Department Of Analytics...
4. nothing, you sketchy mfer...

is chafing like crazy and barely useful after...

1. getting hit with those burning rounds. The only person you know who uses those hit you dead center, and that after you had been so close for all those fucking years.
2. buckshot real close from a door-buster by an assault squad dude storming the building you were vacating. Ouchies.
3. like everyone went berserk and started the cavalcade of carnage. That whole meetup between everyone could have gone better.
4. the four parallel gashes that ripped straight through the material and sheared the plates, barely missing your flesh and likely vitals. You don't know what did it. You're not even sure what could do that.

Driving is gonna get tougher, though; you're feeling the aftereffects of the initial conflagration:

1. wait, is it blood dripping in your eyes from a gash across the forehead (1-3), that you can't hear shit from explosiony things right next to your ears (4,5), or is it that your taste and smell are screwed after the faceful of whatever noxious bullshit that was (6)?
2. a concussion. It's probably a concussion. Good news is you don't really have time to fall asleep.
3. your arm feels nasty and you notice a grinding feeling from some of the bones on that side. You were winged, better get used to driving with one hand.
4. you're feeling a little something on your side, reach down and come away with a handful of sticky redness. Your clothes are going to be ruined that's for sure. Oh yeah, you probably want to get that checked. Soon.

Oh well, at least you managed to keep

1. that clip half filled with those special bullets.
2. the probably cursed silver and platinum crucifix missing the one emerald out of the 5 inset onto it. You should probably try to remember if they're looking for the thing, or if you're looking for the last gem from them.
3. one file cabinet, labelled with 5 letters, having letterhead (from which Department or Office?), a bit of redacted black bars, and completely unintelligible language obviously written with an otherwise standard if old fashioned typewriter.
4. the skull. Everyone always has to have the skull, right?

If you can just get to the Freeway, you're pretty sure your car knows the way. And you can always count on

1. Diego at Mission Santa Clarissa halfway up the coast. He did say he'd probably have to kill you if he ever saw you again, but you have what you need to apologize now. Hopefully.
2. One of the Triplets in Alpina all the way up the Rockies. But only ONE of them, the other two are batshit crazy. Now, was it Roman, Yulia, or Stefania? Wonder who's at the Chateau right now.
3. the Crow-girl's nest or roost or whatever she likes to call it. Spotlight City, top floor of whatever high-rise going up on the Strip that's not-yet totally open to the public. The unsafest safe-house ever, but since everyone will see you, no one ought to make any moves.
4. Blake at the Agency office in Sin Angeles. You're really hoping that the invite a while back wasn't for a retirement party, so his grimacing visage will grace your unannounced arrival in likely the dead of night.

 

 

You don't actually need one of those ear thingies; it just came with the suit.

[And now the postlet from the old berg!]

Well, alright! I thought this might be a fun way to generate a fast start for my Violent Dudes thing*. On one of my more or less daily runs, a bunch of option this and option thats were flitting about my thought-space, and I realized that a short menu table of options might make for some instant flavor. A chase, some stakes, and possible timers tbd by the Director (that's what they call the GM in Night's Black Agents I think!)**, and with plenty of wiggle room for input by the player ought to connect everyone into the Westlands Amerigo*** right away. And with options I figure random is most fun, but obviously if someone wanted to pick and choose down the lists, or even ignore the heck out of much of it, one or two things might be inspiring.

I probably forgot a whole plethora of options I wanted to use originally, but a few got added on while I was tossing down the mini-tables. I might come back to it if more basic options come to mind that would be worthwhile. But these things give a lot to work with, since most of it is opened ended, player flavor, or just hooks left to be fleshed out in the future. And if there's one thing I personally don't have trouble with, that's adding details to existing material once that rpg-ball's got a'rolling.

Speaking of details, I don't know if the alternate naming of everything will stick yet, but it's pretty easily returnable. I've had one person say they'd rather have real world place-names, and another say they liked the weird but familiar names most everything's getting as of yet. It's probably...a little goofy when I'm really aiming for slightly disconcerting, but reasonably serious, so I'm about 40% to keep it like that, and 50% to change back. I always like to leave a bit back, so 10% is a sacrifice to the gods. Just in case.

*oh, silly me. Gloom City: Mayhem is what I've thought of this setting for a while now.

**Night's Black Agents? Wow, I'd still like to play that, but I figured I'd probably maybe brew up something, probably Zeroturn for this stuff. Or find something really fighty. 

***That's what I was calling it? Hm. Maybe Westland works for me, actually. But I figure at heart this is for Gloom City Glare World, just with the desert and highways between the....City.

The Bright Spans Pt 2: The Great Rectification

 Part 1

 

So, world ending prophecies no one has the precise details about any longer, fae bastards with unlikely non-morals stopping princesses from cavorting about, and very likely keeping the prophecies alive for their own strange ends, and a wizard who is abso-positively sure he has the solution to save everything. As wizards and people often do, which never end in any problems ever. 

So, Balthazar of Azhonagh, the author of the Great Rectification, through multitudes of calculations and stellar sightings (accidentally more or less solidifying astronomy as physical seer-craft), realized great forces must be causing the world, Orbis, to wobble. He posited that, if through great magics, the world were to be held in a smooth course, like a newly spun children's whirlabout, the Great Wyrms who lived behind the Gates of the Winds would be less likely to eyeball the various lands and breathe down the conditions that change the warmth and weather throughout the year. In this way, the High Archmage would keep the seasons from rolling over to the one that would signal the final catastrophe, even if the precise temporal situation had been unknown for some ages. 

Binding the world looks eerily similar to time-lapse starstreaks.

Upon the floating mountaintop where he and the strongest mages with any capacity to actually work together resided, in strange towers, and mazy edifices, world-changing magics were researched, prepared, and, eventually, executed. The effort of simply setting up the final bindings caused most of the students to simply vaporize, caused the Infernals to look to this world and close the available Way in semi-respectful awe, caused every single article of clothing to turn inside out, demagnetized the iron filings that kept the Servitors of the Iron King functional, brought the Zil fits of giggles, and, of course, blew the mountaintop fastness of the Archmages from it's moorings, causing Azhonargh (as all good floating mountaintop lairs eventually find themselves) to be set adrift, and lost for many, many lengths of indeterminate time. 

Sirantha the Uncaller, Kwadeth Eezenar Endjinn-bound, Fell George, and Populous "Pops" Lotsofsongs were found in various states of bodily incompleteness across a wide swath of land near to the epicenter, all perished. First Wing of House Starfall, Felizia Orocampo was later spotted amused but unspeaking upon what had transpired and retired to a small mansion in an out of the way swamp. Jarstred Zenthe was simultaneously seen at every one of his relatives locations, gathering them up with untold riches to found the city that bears his name, holing up for the upcoming changes in the world. And Mirsha Daggerseer the Three Handed, called such because of a proclivity to dancing blades which made it seem as if one would be fighting a three-armed opponent, and said to truck in sorceries which pierce the seemingly impenetrable nothings that separate whole Worlds, was spread through the bindings latticing Orbis itself, perhaps having attempted to flee the fallout of the Great Rectification, and can be heard still by those who know the ways, whispering on the winds, screaming in the gales, and thrashing through thunderstorms, awaiting one who could rewrap the soul of her being back into the body of an Archmage. 

Of Balthazar there was no trace.

Fiveee Is Coming Back?; or I Thought I Needed Something to Post So Here's A Barely Updated Repost from My Old Blog

Something has been on my mind recently. A possible setting that inspired me to compile a truckload of books, myths, ideas, random-ass PDFs, and a vague impression of a game I'd like to run in the future. Now, this is always the kind of thing that crops up with me right after I get a game going. That makes me nervous. It's hard to get buy-in on a steady game with a particular system, much less bouncing from game to game, rules to rules. But, I do get that "looking to the next thing" feel pretty often.

 To be fair, my current setting The Bright Spans was originally an exercise on making a somewhat vanilla D&D setting to launch some Old-School adventures (particularly since it's basically the 50th anniversary of the little brown books). And actually it's not too bad. I can run stuff out of there for quite a while. In fact, I hopefully will continue to be able to run dungeony goodness in that setting. I would definitely like to keep running OSD&D with at least one of my groups for the foreseeable future, and I have some tentative plans to do a focused online meetup thing with friends missing from the immediate vicinity (and any of my homegame players who want to get some extra gold hopefully). If for some weird reason I do any pickup games, or *gasp* eventual Cons, I think The Spans and whatever BX-OSRish system my players like work very well for me.

But, my danged brain-box does think about things, and for some reason I've got an image in there of sun-drenched fields, and deep-blue seas, and bronze, and weird smoke coming out of ancient censers, and the gods literally interfering in the affairs of mortals. I'm actually not sure how I got glommed onto the idea*, but I do know a few weeks ago I was suddenly watching tons of Tube-you vids and reading wikis (and a few actual sources) on the Iliad. Which translation was favored by various people and teachers, which was clearest for a modern ear, which kept the sense of the original Greek. 

Since then, I've been gathering books and game-stuff.. And I have much of a region already mapped out: Filios. Granted, Filios was originally made to be more Anatolian, trade routes, and much much later, but it also was only historically accurate in the vaguest sense of the word. Indeed, most of it is only sketched out in broad strokes. It feels right as a jumping-off point for the Late Bronze Age of Heroes sort of setting I'm contemplating. That may very well be because it's the only map I've made with vaguely old-fashioned-y sounding place names, but nonetheless, I believe I'll be using it as a jumping-off point. I may extend out the area to the East, Kexos (as the name of a caravanserai outpost near the mountain pass into the main desert), and there is definitely jungle jungle jungle to the north on the other side of the sea there, but I think this will be workable for now.

Originally, I was going to use something something OD&D-clone, like Whitebox from Matt Finch and pals, or The 7 Voyages of Zylarthen, Mazes & Minotaurs, or one of a few other rules-sets I have lying around. (Ok I bought Swords & Wizardry -Whitebox but I've had others hanging around, and besides, I've played and run a bit of Swords & Wizardry Complete you might say. Heh.) I noticed there wasn't a huge amount of Greek-inspired material in the OSR. I picked up the pdf from AD&D 2nd edition's historical series. Some random things here and there to peek at later. I started noticing material in other systems. I started thinking about specifically what system I wanted to use. If I wanted to kit-bash, houserule, hack, build anew, use whole-cloth old-ass D&D, or do the same with something like Dungeon Crawl Classics (no; after a long thought, I mainly wanted to use it for 1) Lankhmar, 2) the fighter's Mighty Deeds die, 3) funnels, but this loses the appeal of the kitchen-sink sci-fantasy feel I get from it, so it still lingers on the shelf). 

Something else? There's a few "bespoke" games out there that deal with the right time-period, and lend themselves to a *ahem* story-focused approach, but I always bounce off those, even as creepingly, long-fingers grasping, and eye-balls widening at the allure of some some of their mechanics. But, no, I can't do it. Anyhow, if I'm going to play something weird, it'll probably be my own thing, or something from like Rowan, Rook, and Decard (I'm looking at you, Heart). 

Then, I looked back at my book shelves. And sitting there, neatly stacked away were those heroic, high-powered, character-y, combat oriented  black and red spined D&D books. The thought crept in: maybe, just maybe....

* I just remembered why I got on this kick. I was reading old blog-posts from In Places Deep about a Hollow Earth setting with ancient cultures and city-states and like dinosaurs!  And probably building the game up from OD&D! Of course, her inspirations are like 100% more original than what I am duffing about with, but, nevertheless my delving into 13 year old blog-posts is where this whole thing originated from, so if my players need to blame anyone, they can blame her.

And now, BEHOLD, the repost from whenever WotC tried to revoke the OGL I guess. I am unsure what the specific uselfulness of all of this will be, but at least it's a small snapshot of my previous thoughts on hacking up and starting a new modern-D&D game. Maybe I can scrape some of the relevant thought-residue from it for my current build-up of idea slop.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------->

So, I did say there'd be at least one Fiveeee post. And then, there was the fiasco that is this OGL stuff on like every RPG-adjacent site. Also, my players chose Symbaroum and Mothership as the games of choice for the foreseeable future, so there didn't seem to be as much of an urgency for me to fix up my houserules.

However, I needed to post something within my self-imposed 7-day window, and a brief table, along with a bit of a blah blah ramble was sitting in drafts, almost ready to be called into action. Now I don't know if it shouldn't just be the initial stages of a whole d20 based D&D-like thing to suit my own uses. Obviously based on mechanics from that pretty popular version that one or two people played the last few years. But JJ-ified. And trimmed way back. And like dragged through various unmentionable substances, and dirt and oil and whatnot. Then wiped off and voila! Something that I'm pretty sure I won't be able to (oooh-so-amusingly to just me) call Fiveeee.

Anyhow, BEHOLD, very little of anything!! A table:

  Stat     Class          Adv Class

  STR:     Fighter        Barbarian
  KNO:     Bard           Monk
  PER:     Ranger         Duelist
  DEX:     Expert         Gunwitch
  CON:     Sorcerer       Brawler
  CHA:     Warrior        Spy

Alright, so first things first, those aren't the normal stats one sees in 5e, or standard D&D at all are they? I went back and forth for a while, since it didn't seem D&D enough to me, but since I've peered squintingly at them, I decided I like this array more and more. Knowledge replaces Intelligence, and just becomes sort of exposure to education or how much your character has absorbed if that's what you want. Not necessarily book learning, not necessarily some kind of cap on what the character can know. And I'm putting Perception there instead of Wisdom, since I don't really care how wise you think your character is. Now everyone can be smart and wise or not if they want, but a natural enumeration on PER may be beneficial for me in my game. (I do realize that stock skills may have to be slightly reorganized if some of this doesn't make sense, but Medicine? Seems pretty knowledge-y to me but why not PER, and other than that...Animal Handling? Sure, I suppose perception will overlap with a kind of intuition, but again this feels ok to me.)

The second thing is: what's with those classes, huh? Well, if i do this overhaul, I'll start with that first column. There's really not too much that needs to be completely overturned, just deciding what to keep and how a different prime requisite will change things. I mean "Bard" is not the tutti-frutti song-and-dance bs that people have weirdly gravitated toward, but actually takes the place of Wizard, or Sage. Some kind of keeper of knowledge, lore, yes maybe spells. I mean I recently re-read the Prydain books. Also, fucking Merlin right? (Not caring about your First Druid of Britain or whatever. Not listening!) Maybe some kind of bad-ass Skald from some bleak seeming setting. And "Warrior" is there alone, because putting "Holy" in front of it sounds like it's taking itself too seriously or something, Paladin is used up, and Templar has a pretty specific meaning usually. But I think you get the idea there. Clerics gotta clerk, and I feel like swaying the masses can well queue off of Charisma, baby!

Okay, and that second column, well, that's where things get harder for your friendly anticipated home-brewer. Monks can learn techniques. And with a bit of perseverance, even the shittiest student will have the power to avenge their Master or whatnot. Just gotta KNO those wicked arts up, riiiight? The Duelist is maybe the finesse-fighter, or maybe the melee equivalent of the Ranger wanting to go off first, or maybe it'll get scrapped for something that fits there better. I nearly want Duelist, or whatever it should be called, to go under KNO (taught by the greatest swordsman in New Latinum! sort of thing), so maybe that will be folded into Monk. Have to give that a thunk. Gunwitch is honestly just Warlock, only if you just embraced blasty-blast. It'll take some polishing. Brawler already exists. And hell yeah "Moxie" to fuel their bare-knuckled bs! Finally spy, is....well I don't know yet. That looks like a class that will have to be built from the ground up, using a mix of pre-existing class features. Something of a mix of assassin, actual Bard class, diplomat, and perhaps enchanter wizard. That sort of thing. We'll see.

Conveniently for me, not only is the "Advanced" Classes in the future for the brew, the whole thing is kicked down the timeline since there ain't no D&D in my future for a while. But I do have ideas, if you can call them that. Listening to Sean McCoy speak about quickly on-boarding new players, got me thinking that much of the decision making about one's character could very well be done after getting the framework up and running. So, simplifying skills, bundling the types into the attributes at first, but allowing growth within specialization is an idea. For example, the player says, "I want to be awesome with social things!" so takes something like "Social" and adds in their CHA (bonus). Then, as they figure out their character, they could get further increases in, say, Persuasion if they turn out to be a smooth-talker, or Intimidation if they're a bully. And do that with all of the attribute-skill bundles at first. Either that's a terrible idea, or I'll be able to do something with it, but the idea remains, to get players smoothly into the game a bit easier if not faster. I already use Exhaustion a lot, so I'll want to codify in the extra rules for that. (Inspiration? Nope, but I've been experimenting with a thing that lets players choose to spend points from a CON and Insp-type pool to gain Exhaustion-type effects and injuries outside of the 6-level-to-die standard. But, like I said, I use Exhaustion a lot, and for various things.)

So, there's a little look into some prospective ways I'm thinking about going forward with my Fiveee stuff. Most of it is subject to "Oh gawd why did I think this was a good idea?" and scrapping. But I've already implemented a few things that are working well for how I want to run it, and cut fairly big swaths out of the base rules. My better half likes playing it, and it's fun to do the epic thing, and a bit of tabletop grid-combat sometimes, so I could see getting back to it sometime later. Ugh, and I need to figure out a better name for my ruleset. But, mainly it looks like I've got a buuuunch of detail work that I'd like to get noted, so I don't forget halfway through a random session what exactly did I decide such-and such does? Ahh well, WING IT! (Like usual! Yay!)