The City of Suffering

It is the City of Suffering, the City of Pain. No-one likes it, and it's universally (though never publicly) acknowledged to be a bad idea. Or a collection of them.

The streets are dark, the night an unheard-of yellow. A pinkly uncomforting light glows in the high windows. The wild festivals of other nations are unknown here--there are laws, but far more, there is decorum. Joy, or rather, exercises that point to joy, takes one form: display of expensive accessories for pets and children. Occasionally business connections or academic achievements are flaunted so long as they imply a responsibility to some institution or generation the citizen will not live to access but this behavior is more indulged than celebrated..

It is above all serious, but to no serious end: its jokes shoot for zany, flights of impotent, unrevolutionary fancy--like a man attempting to delight his daughter by pointing to a bicycle with preposterously large wheels and a bright yellow frame he would never himself dare to ride--or else they attempt to recruit laughter into a sort of stentorian combat on the side of a conventional wisdom embodying the nuclear hive of unapproached incompatibilities that power the city's dissatisfactions and enrages other citys' Distaffist Factions. They are traded in market tents of burgundy and dark gold.

Although the dissatisfactions are by no means unreasonable, the ultimate and secret source of the City of Suffering's greatest suffering is itself the agonizing closeness of its apathetically intertwined and competing anhedonias. The density of lonely but domiciled souls has inexorably resulted in a city, but they have no respect for what cities are for. They have no pleasures in common and are unified only by a devotion to pain, the performance of pain, the advertisement of pain, the creation of pain, all unacknowledged. An accosted citizen (and they hate to be accosted, they trust no-one clever enough to notice a stranger) would describe themselves as very happy and working for a better world: an aspirational one, obviously (but never admittedly) beyond the experiential reach of any mortal, given the rate of progress one has to admit is typical for sentient species. The only judgment Suffering citizens make is: How much of the distance between your reality and the ideal can you incarnate in the form of pain? How much of the misery of the world can you re-enact? Symbolism and art are permitted but not valued, as they generally turn pain into something that might be mistaken for something other than pain.

The representatives on the ruling Council of Elephantines seeks nothing--its function is to issue decrees implicating or at least juxtaposing anything interesting occurring elsewhere in- or with- (respectively)  the worst atrocities they can describe. The Council is a living commentary on the Councils of all other cities. The very concept of interestingness is suspect--it implies axes of improvement other than from irresponsible to responsible, and canvases smaller than The Planet. 

The City's shame is its lack of endgame: even if at some conceivable point all suffering might end, (practical discussions toward that end are considered vulgar and divisive luxuries of the underburdened) its citizens would be no less dreary--for in truth their citizenship is a lifestyle choice, an admission of a belief that lives worth living are more exhausting than living in constant exhibitionistic exhaustion, and risk is a vice of the overambitious. They have chosen a humble, snailing path across a plain presumed to be wholly flat, toward an undescribed and receding horizon, and despise inventions.

They hate adventurers, of course, and mock them from walled pavillions, and devise excuses to refuse water to their horses. "Poor horse" they say, while masturbating into soggy cheeses that they then name and raise as their own. 

If party members should come to trial they will be placed before a tribunal who will hold forth on the difficulties faced by its own members. Then the trial will end and the party will be executed for having had fun. They will be fed to Misericordiam, the Jackal Queen.

The wind across the city hisses like a serpent god slowly scheming off-screen, yet the daytime clouds coming in white waves present a guileless sky. The city is just a natural consequence of the gravity the dutiful but uncreative exert on one another, and like a lesser planet on the rim of a solar system it can only hurt you if you come close. 

There is no treasure here, and no magic to speak of.

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White-Lipped Goddess

She of the Broken Statues, Queen in the Moon.

When the 12 Medusa sister transformed the primordial demons into the rock from which the world is hewn, a girl accidentally caught their eye. She lives in the sky now, unmoving, gleaming.

Some say she is the eldest goddess, for her idols are the most ancient. Some say that, wait, since like all broken statues are sacred to her and supposed to be her, then maybe those old statues aren't statues of her they're just statues of like random women that broke because they're old and then we found them. Some say Oh fascinating theory wise guy, nice statue of Vorn you got there, would be a real shame if somebody sledgehammered the top of its head off and then hey look at that it's consecrated to the White Lipped Goddess now. Some say Fine, fine, whatever, it's the Queen in the Moon, they're all the Queen in the Moon.

Anyway opinions differ is the point.

The Queen in the Moon, who has a mouth but no face, does not get on well with Vorn. Her children are lycanthropes and sublunary men, she watches, eyelessly, over assassins, orphans and adulterers.

Frozen lakes and shattered fortresses are sacred to her.

Her Path (for 5e clerics) is as follows

1st Level

-Bonus proficiencies w/daggers, hammers & light armor.

-+2 stealth.

2nd Level

-You take half damage/effect from light-based attacks at night and darkness-based attacks at any time.

6th Level

-Silver will not hurt you.

8th Level

-Faerie Fire-like effect a number of times per day=Wisdom mod.

14th Level

-You can intensify any moonlight until it's literally blindingly bright for one hour a day (or until "a long rest" if you're playing straight 5e).

17th Level

-Lycanthropes cannot harm you and, on a failed save, must obey your commands until the sun rises.

Children's Pythons

Among the clans of the Black Ocean, the zoological affinities of the Northernkind are reversed, such that the mammal is considered a threat and the reptile an ally.

At birth, each child is assigned a python, for companionship, protection from the depredations of monkeys and to aid in gathering fruit. The child will frolic, sleep and share food with the python and the sight of a child without one triggers the equivalent of an Amber alert.

When the python dies, its skin is read--all snakes are books and all python species of the Black Ocean Isles are biographies. The tale told determines the future caste of the child or--if it belongs to one of the Old Genders--the child's future spouse.

Oh also, check it I'm on TSR's Game School podcast along with Satine.
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The Goblin Cubes

Stairs down through mist-filled abyss for like 100feet. No ceiling, no floor, no walls, nothing but mist and stairs.

Then the stairs terminate at a door in the base of a 50' x 50'x 50' cube.

The surfaces of the cube are dense and all awrithe with carvings in black soapstone, kind of like...

Now while you can just go through the door (on Face 1), there's also doors on every other face, only these are set in the middle of these faces rather than the base.

Also, there are no stairs to these other doors, so you'll have to climb or fly around.

Once inside, the gimmick is threefold:

1) Each door leads to a slightly different version of the room inside the cube.

2) Only one of these versions has access to another set of stairs leading down further the rest of the dungeon. The rest are dead ends.

3) Once you open a door, you'll see that around the perimeter of the floor of the room there's a line of carved runes which, if crossed, triggers a magic trap--a different one from each direction.

Doors close when unobserved. Opening multiple doors simultaneously causes multiple effects.

The party has encountered two examples so far, some influenced by the Perplexity tables in* Red & Pleasant Land:

Statue Room

The carvings on the outside of the cube include the famous epic of the First Goblin King Insulting The Sun Thus Beginning Their Enmity. The room contains, in the center of the room, a life-sized statue of a goblin lord pointing to Face 1.

Stepping across the line of runes behind the door from Face 1 turns anything leather you've got into syrup.

Stepping across the line of runes behind the door from Face 3 turns anything metal you've got into syrup.

Stepping across the line of runes behind the door from Face 5 turns anything wood you've got into syrup.

Stepping across the line of runes behind the door from Face 6 turns anything stone you've got into syrup.

A) The door in Face 1 leads to a version of the room which has an exit on Face 6 which has stairs to the rest of the dungeon.

B) The door in Face 2 leads to a version with no other exit but back out to Face 1.

C) The door in Face 3 leads to a version like B but completely filled with a blackish liquid that gushes out in a torrent when you open the door.

D) The door in Face 4 leads to a version like B but:

-the door (which opens out/down) is directly under the statue

-the statue is now made of linked (easily dissassemblable and carryable) pieces of gold

-the statue stands in the middle of a ring of indestructible candles and anything crossing them (or their airspace) disintegrates.

...likely anyone who opens this door unaware of what's about to happen will feel an immense weight of the statue falling through the door and need to roll some dice.

E) The door in Face 5 leads to a version like D only you're seeing it from the side so it'd be real hard to get to the gold statue without being disintegrated.

F) The door in Face 6 leads to a version like B but there are versions of the adventuring party, all dead inside, apparently after some horrific battle.

Turtle Furniture Room

The carvings on the outside of the cube include the famous tale of The Goblin Brothers Who Turned The Moon Sideways To Use As A Boat Across The Night. The room contains a hearth, a rug in the center of the room, and several pieces of comfortable goblin-sized furniture carried on the backs of galapagos tortoises.

Stepping across the line of runes behind the door from Face 1 turns anything paper you've got into syrup.

Stepping across the line of runes behind the door from Face 3 turns anything magic you've got into syrup.

Stepping across the line of runes behind the door from Face 5 turns anything gold you've got into syrup.

Stepping across the line of runes behind the door from Face 6 turns anything liquid you've got into syrup.

A) The door in Face 1 leads to a version of the room which has an exit on Face 6 which has stairs to the rest of the dungeon and an ancient goblin king with a midas-touch who has been imprisoned here. There are gold footprints on the floor and the patch of ground around him has been turned to gold.

B) The door in Face 2 leads to a version with no other exit but back out to Face 1. 

C) The door in Face 3 leads to a version like B but containing 6 goblin guards armed with pikes.

D) The door in Face 4 leads to a version like B but containing an iguana-sized basilisk. (You come up under the rug).

E) The door in Face 5 leads to a version like B but containing happily married or otherwise settled future versions of the PCs, who have freed the turtles and who urge the PCs to stay and relax forever.

F) The door in Face 6 leads to a version like B but containing 6 small mammals (they look like hamsters but are really overweight shrews) who have gone made, having been trapped here since the dawn of their species by goblins resentful of "the new animals". They have red eyes and ancient diseases you have no immunity to.

So far the party assassin has managed to have the gold statue fall past him (he rescued the arm), had his leg disintegrated by the candlesmoke, got turned to gold leaping on the midas king, then turned to stone by the basilisk.

He got better.

And now a word from our sponsor:

D100 One-Use Items And The Culture That Created Them

Not all by me--crowdsourced by the Google+ braintrust in the thread here. If you can't follow that link and want to, write and ask to be added to my Google+ game circles along with a link to your Google+ address.

1. Humanskin glove gives advantage to choke attacks. Created by lizardmen/reptilewomen.

2. Nomadic burnt oak cake. Allows mount to move 25% faster but carry 10% less weight.

3. Origami stone. Perfect fidelity to a marble chunk save for its softness. Burn it: crazed stone golem appears. Creator: vapor-poisoned razor-fetishist wood monks.

4. Weeping Pillow. Will kill any child or elderly person sleeping on it and used in times of famish and calamity to spare them a slow death.

5. Huge black lacquered fingernail. Witch giant's family heirloom; reflects sunlight as moonlight. Creator: some dead witch giant.

6. A limbless dog corpse that inexorably wriggles toward a well, poisoning it. Craft of the unrelenting hillmen.

7. Powdered Hopes - a mix of dirt from home and herbs ensures a sleeper that they dream of the family they where forced to leave behind.

8. Hunt Stink. 2d4 pills in a bag.  Consuming one makes you smell like local prey animals for 1 hour (cumulative effect). Created by Orcs.

9. slimy tincture in tiny glass vial holding an enormous squid-like creature. expands rapidly when broken or unstoppered. An atlantian transport device or prison.

10. Lonely Crown. A metal headband, when worn the slave cannot see others who wear the same item ensuring that they can't conspire against their masters.

11. Bag of Platonic solids. Out of bag, they cut through everything, steadily and rectilinearly, until holder recites a reductio. Creator: a fallen godling's geometry cult.

12. Crystalline seeds you plant into blood soaked ground. Grow into D20 arrows, +2 versus the type of creature from which the blood was spilled. 

13. crystalline lens that converts sunlight to a d4 hp magic missile blast. aarakocra sacramental.

14. troll graft held in a mildly acidic solution. inserted into wounds to create bonzai creatures. illithid art implement. applied and quickly burned, serves as a healing patch.

15. Anesthesiode. Poem congealed as portable foam; dissolves once recited. Reciter saves vs. being numb to new info, d4 hours. Creators: Roving band of occult restauranteurs.

16. pomeranian figurine. If dashed to the ground, 3d10 small dogs rush a target in sight, knocking it to the ground and dealing 1 hp/dog. made by martial artist wizard.

17. A small amount of sand from the depths of the ocean. If thrown any creature within a 15 feet cone must make a save by death/DC 17 CON save or take 6D6 damage, half on a successful save, also suffer from blindness for 1D3 rounds. Made by deep mermen

18. Sundering-stones - Red orb split with jagged line. Brought together, shatters any continuous object. Siege-breakers from ancient, rigid empire; blessed by a King’s final breath.

19. a series of crystals whose chime may open a door to any place, lasting d8 hours. created by elves with bald heads and in neon robes.

20. a gel distilled from star mite fluid by githyanki dissidents. creates a tiny star for a single second (pulls everything in sight to the center, burns for 4d6 damage, double to undead.

21. a white staff which, when struck to the floor three times causes all the curtains and portals in the room to fly open. holy implement of bard priests of an annoying god.

22. Ground bone powder, snorting it gives dream visions from the past of your immediate location. Created in a village where everyone wears strange wooden masks.

23. a grass cloak allowing you to crouch and hide, appearing to be a small barrow or mound. made by reindeer-riding animists.

24. finger bone key , made by xaosichects to spread their theories surreptitiously. dropped in water, backdoor access to the dreams of an alternate self most close to you, dimension-wise.

25. a small door, made by xaosichect operatives. Placed in the stomach, may be opened to hide or imprison someone in another person.

26. Blood-wood curio box, fashioned from a bough of the first tree, into which all regret can be placed. Bardic item. Gives advantage to all performance and reaction rolls until someone in the village discovers the Bard's true name; then confers disadvantage to all performance and reaction rolls until the owner moves on. Destruction of the item releases all its contained regrets and causes suicide for all thinking creatures within a hundred leagues, save vs magic devices (Will) to avoid. Created by a mountain-folk rune maker of the northern lands, slyly gifted to a rival canton's Konung, made for his mead hall's skald (also his lover), immediately disfavoured, mocked, and expelled into the wintry wild.

27. Political pamphlet made by sturmlord fascist devotees. only legible to Dagon-men. Non-Dagonians reading vomit a jet of water as strong as a fire hose.

28. Nautilus cap with a kelp "feather". If flourished, charm all Dagon-men in sight. Made by deep sea explorers.

29. Jack in the box made by infernal tiefling jester class. Every third "pop" releases whoever is trapped inside in exchange for whoever is most close to and looking at the box. 

30. A cave dwelling culture, they pierce pterodactyl eggs, drain them, and then fill them with successive layers of magic powder. When the egg shell is smashed, it erupts into a prismatic sphere.

31. Reed basket, keeps one armload of fruit placed in it eternally fresh, made by a wise woman of the western marshes.

32. Alligator skin cap made by hermits along the Nile. Bite something for 2d6 damage and hold tight for d6 damage each following turn.

33. Venus of Willendorf via alien sculptor. Summons an alien beauty so terrible to behold all are struck mad for a turn. She'll write any spell in your spellbook if you can avoid showing your madness and offending her.

34. Maniples of martial artists priests, cracked like a whip, can bind a target for one turn.

35. Song stones of a lost avian empire. Beautifully painted. If broken, emits an ancient melody that triggers feelings of 1. Euphoria 2.terror 3. Alertness 4. Starvation in all who hear it.

36. Golden colored dandelion. If blown, the seeds multiply until they obscure vision in a 20 foot radius for 5 rounds. - Created by sylvan elf gardener who grows magic plants. 

37. Pomade in a small ceramic jar. Safely closes any bleeding wound, but it always leaves an ugly and painful keloid scar. Made by orc medics. (1d4 doses left)

38. Cage carried by hunters of the horrors that breach the Shimmer in Tarnis. Removes ability to fear; if opened, user faces all accumulated fears simultaneously. 

39. Swamp Spike: poison plant used by lizard men/bullywugs. Increase melee damage by 4 for 1d4 rounds, at end of each round user/victim suffers 1d6 damage (no save).

40. The Hollow Children- hollowed out obsidian shards that each contain a memory of fleeting youth- a coven of hags from the Slidgil Depths.

41. Loud Pearl--put it in your ear to hear everything in a 200' cone through walls or other obstacles. Made by sea elves.

42. A pair of metal spikes that vibrate like a tuning fork when crossed in the presence of men from beyond the stars. Made by elves with throbbing brains.

43. water tablet - grape-sized dry tablet turns into a barrel's-worth of water when exposed to the slightest amount of dampness. Made by nomadic wizards for long journeys across sea or desert. 

44. Restoration Dagger – Insert large, hollow, stiletto-like blade into flesh, press button. Nanites effectively heal spell, resurrect recently dead. Basic med-tech of space-faring giant ape-philosophers.

45. Crow eyeball. Consuming it instantly converts you into a sentient murder of crows for 1 hour. Created by orcish assassins.

46. Moonbottle. When unstoppered, the moon vanishes from the sky and appears in the bottle for a single night. Created by a cult of witchunters.

47. Flail of Flying: Large ungainly flail that if whirled around above your head causes you to rise rapidly into the air until your arms tire. Made by suicidal priests of a forgotten godling.

48. Small gold tuning fork. When struck against rock, it resonates at different frequencies and volumes depending on type and proximity of the nearest precious metal deposit. Created by deep gnomes.

49. Dero sweet airs. Smell of sulfur, salt or jasmine stone. cause temporary visions of a conspiratorial, mad truth.

50. Graveworm. Placed in: right ear, improves intelligence; left ear, improves wisdom; chewed & spit, curses an opponent. Effects are minor & last d10 minutes. Grave diggers' secret.

51. Tincture of Melancholy: Vial, one dose, dark blue liquid. Scent causes weeping for 24 hours (-4 Charisma).  Creator: theatrical troupe led by an emo warlock.

52. Silver Tongue: Fits over tongue like sleeve, for 24 hours wearer has advantage on all romantic/diplomacy interactions. Creator: Loveless warforged from Island of Bones.

53. Arrow that causes plague of Otto's Irresistible Dance, transmitted by touch. Creator: siege wizards.

54. Egg shell. All who hear it crushed are blinded and deafened. (save at penalty). Made in luxurious and opulent underground nation of thieves.

55. Millescan Mirror: enchanted to capture planar creatures and banish them from our plane when shattered. Created by the Demon-quellers of Millesce. 

56. Bark sheet. Worn as girdle. Wearer looks like a tree until non-move action is taken, then shatters. From anarchist forest tribe.

57. A piece of string that gets tighter the louder the wearer is. Breaks when wearer is detected. From monastery of silent monks.

58. Powder that increases in temperature as wearer risks being seen. Burns away if wearer seen. From ashes of baby-stealing demon elves.

59. A wind up statue that absorbs all spells encountering it's song. All release simultaneously when the song ends, destroying it. From sleep-worshiping Tiamat cult.

60. Blade of Grass: small vial of liquid that if poured on a blade of grass it temporarily hardens into a steel-like blade (1d6 hours). Made by Plains Elves.

61. Bubble of Trouble: a small glass vial with a soapy mixture inside and a wire hoop attached to the stopper. When the bubble blown from this mixture pops, the reflections of all living creatures on the bubble's surface come to life and attack their doubles. Made by cruel changeling fairies.

62. Paper Frog: a large origami frog, has one Jump spell written into the folds. Used as a disposable pogo by the assassins of the Silver Lotus Clan. 

63. Worm Bullet - hard chrysalis awakened by body heat. Melds with nearest organ to impact site and aggressively animates it in 1d6 turns. If cut open, contains as many worm bullets. Gunslingers of the Great Grub.

64. Cracker of Quality - hard tug ejects one gold crown,  joke that read aloud paralyses one random listener, and another item from this list. Venerable traditionists.

65. Doom Spinner. Spinning top makes low droning when spun, inducing sense of dread and mild optical hallucinations. Decreases morale in earshot, creatures dying nearby choke out grim prophecies in Latin with their last breath. Prophets of a dead race.

66. Faerie Curse Removing Nut: Let a cursed person sleep with the nut in their armpit on a new moon's night and the nut will turn black as it sucks out the curse. If the nut is then eaten by someone before the next dawn, the curse will transfer over to them, if it's not eaten by anyone by that time the curse will return.

67. Merrow Spittle: water-breathing potion, causes imbiber to grow webbed feet and hands, making underwater movement easier. Tastes REALLY bad. Occasionally causes vomiting, negating effect and impairing the drinker. Used by urchin divers.

68. A nourishing broth that acts as a cure disease spell but also causes you to gain d8x10 pounds. Created by a cult of grandmothers who think you're too thin and don't eat enough out there on your adventures.

69. Bottled Ship: is a model ship in a glass bottle. When the bottle is broken the ship rapidly grows to 1:1 scale permanently. The ship is still one solid piece of carved wood, with no hold or cabin. The wheel and ropes are just decoration, but it will float (upside down). Failed experiment of a smugglers guild.

70. Door in a Bag: a small pouch with sawdust inside. When the sawdust is throne against a wall, roof, or floor it creates a doorway for 1d6 minutes. The doorway is two meters high, one meter wide, and up to two meters deep. Made by the gravediggers guild.

71. Silver bullet that never miss it's mark. Cast under a new moon by poachers in the southern mountains.

72. A bag of leaves & debris that when poured out in a 10' circle makes a pit trap beneath it. Created by woodland trappers.

73: Courtesan's Veil: cloth imbued with a spurned Tiefling's tears, it gives the wearer max Cha/App for one evening. However, anyone who interacts with the wearer falls possessively in love.

74. Herringbomb. Immensely stinky, fermented fish from beyond the northern sea, in metal container. Releases Stinking Cloud when opened. Northerners are immune, and will claim it tastes like expensive cheese. Mmmmm, lutefisk!

75. Half-life candle: they burn as bright as the sun for 5 minutes, cannot be extinguished, hazardous to hold while lit, permanently radioactive afterwards (Dwarven Vampire Hunters) 

76. Make-up that constantly changes the features of your face for a night (Decadent Psychedelic Nobility)

77. Hair gel projects your surface thoughts into a bubble above your head for 30 minutes. Practical joke made by 3rd year divination students. 

78.  Shoe phone - With this shoe/boot phone you can phone in one limited wish from a Genie.  The shoe phone was created by the Maxwellians, a ancient race of humans that wore extravagant tunics.  

79. Glass throwing dagger, shatters on impact. Any damaged by it have total amnesia for 2d12 rounds. From Persian-esque city on edge of Desert of Nepethe.

80. Braided sisal nuptual collar of the dogmen. An orgasm experienced in daylight will grant the wearer a fortune and cause blindness for d6hrs. From the forests of Argeld. 

81. Drawstring pouch contains whispered secret, now unknown to original speaker. Made by paranoid secretive sub-race hidden within society, zealous guardians of their annonymity.

82. One of Huginn's feathers. Burning it removes everyone else's memories of last round's events. Used by Odin's agents.

83. Bar Ragga Death-cap History and Flavor Text: The cult of War-barra have long been feared by the tribes of the west, not for their battle prowess, but for their Deathsong. Worn about the neck of the War-barra child-soldier is a skull-like seed-pod known as the Bar Ragga Death-cap, or just Death-cap. This seed pod is a psychotropic plant cultivated deep in the catacombs of the tribe's mountain fortress near a millennia. In the face of certain death, War-barra child-soldiers consume the Death-cap, releasing a flood of endorphin stimulating chemicals into their blood-stream. Consumption of the Death-cap, means certain death, but allows for one last action in which the consumptive, is restored to full vitality, strikes with unerring precision, and vengeful strength.  Bar-Ragga Death-cap Game Mechanics: Character must save vs. Poison (+4 bonus). On save she is restored to full health, Attacks with a +4 to hit, a 2 in 6 chance the hit is a Critical Hit, and damage multiplied by the character's level. These effects last one round only, or until the target of the character's Deathsong is killed, after which the character dies frothing at the mouth as her veins and nervous system are overloaded, chemically burned up, and her heart explodes. Resurrection, heal spells, etc are completely ineffective. Any character consuming the Death-cap irrevocably dies. All War-barra soldiers seek a glorious blood soaked death.

84. Black sands of Yonde, collected by ragged alligator men. Presents visions of anything that occurred while stars still lit Yonde.

85. Mirror reflects parallel reality where things play out slightly differently. Shatter to choose the best outcome of either world (advantage). Made by alternate you.

86. White Snake Ring. A ring in the shape of a small white snake, biting its own tail. When you put the ring on it animates and bites you, dealing damage that you never fully heal from unless you do a quest or cleansing. You're also troubled by disturbing dreams and have a fondness for mice. If you take lethal damage at any point while wearing the ring, it burrows into your hand, and a large white snake immediately bursts from your body, shedding your skin and moving a good 30 feet away. Within a minute or so, you gain consciousness and can crawl out of the dessicated snake body, healed of your last lethal wound. Crafted by Albino Ovates of the secretive White Snake Shamans. 

87. Starfish of Zzoz. A strange creature from another plane with an interesting defense mechanism. If you rip off arm from the starfish, if phases back to its home plane. The starfish will vanish and  1. You go ethereal for a short time, existing between worlds 2. 1 and the starfish dumps a psychic bomb on every one within 100 feet. You'll recover quicker since you're prepped for it, but bring a spare change of underwear.  3. 1, 2, and a portion of its watery realm floods the area within 100 feet, causing a small tidal wave ( strong enough to knock people of their feet and wash out a dungeon room)  4. 1, 2, 3, and the area is filled with Jellyfish that give poison damage. These starfish are carefully cultivated in shallow sea nurseries in their home realm by intelligent plane traveling manatees who value them as art pieces. 

88.  Crunchy enchanted, dried beetles, produced by the Scaly Death tribe.  They act as a standard healing potion and taste of mozzerella.

89. Ask-a-Doll: Garishly colored yarn dolls that represent local celebrities (the mayor, the archbishop, the Dragon terrorizing the parish, your own party members if you're famous enough). If you ask it a question about where to find services, entertainment, or goods, it will attempt to read your mind and give you the best suggestion on how to spend your time. Has 1d4 uses, and you get to keep the doll. Immensely popular with children, slow people, and the king's court. Commissioned by the city council to encourage tourism, crafted by gnomes. Occasionally you'll get a hacked one that slips by quality control. The ones by prankster gnomes are obvious and ribald, the gentry love them. Other ones are much less obvious and suggest ideas that seem fine, but usually wind up causing trouble.

90. Beetles of Borgheranz: If crushed into a paste and worn as pomade, +5 CHA to wearer. Causes horrible dreams. From Frenchy Faerie court.

91. Knife that turns one living king into a voodoo doll for another. Both most be struck at least once. Creator: Drow.

92. Infected caltrops. Creator: Urban murder halflings.

93. Crossbow bolt that can anchor in stone or any other substance and cannot be removed. Creator: Dwarves.

94. An habitual liars dried tongue is crushed into a powder, the person who eats it forgets the names of those he/she is about to lie to.

95. 5 inch tall golden man figure obeys any order given by owner, will interpret orders in a way that is most beneficial to most people. Ironic gift for evil cultist.

96. Githyanki intentional bomb. A biorganic and barbed metal pupating creature into whose mind is imprinted a single intent. As it sheds its chrysalis and dies in alien air, all within range are powerfully compelled by this one intent.

97. Piece of gum that when you blow a bubble actually allows you to fly a bit. Created by children with a sense of wonder and bit of magical ability 

98. a magical scroll (spell really doesn't matter) that has been written in charcoal and everything is misspelled and has backwards letters and upper and lower case just randomly littered though out it. When used to cast the spell you roll four times on your wild mage surge table of choice. Created by goblin sorcerers

99: Snow Globe: a glass orb filled with water and white powder. When smashed causes a localised blizzard for 1 d6 hours. Made by homesick northern gnome mage.

100. Rage Snuff: a packed powder ball that can be crushed between the fingers and snorted, the snuffer instantly enters a barbarian rage. Used by the Chaos Monks of Bakoo.

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Vrokk, Isle of the War Wizards

I was talking to Anders about the Goblin Market and how after a while it doesn't take too long to make up content for a place once you get its "voice"--how most GMs invent little pocket-worlds they can, over time, learn to easily occupy, mentally.

These blog entries keep track of accumulated lore and developments, but they also work almost like a spell before GMing. I read through and by the end I'm there, and I can act and react like that place when I have to run a session because I go to the right headspace.

So anyway here's Vrokk...

Nominally ruled by Queen Jayeleene, whom the player characters rescued from Royal Fist Monkeys long ago, Vrokk is, practically speaking, a clutch of feudal magocracies.

Queen Jayeleene

The extremely vain and jealous queen has become increasingly eccentric, demanding all powerful women on the isle wear masks. They humor her.

The most powerful War Wizards of Vrokk are all equally subtle or inept, for, despite near-constant intrigues, the political constellations have barely shifted in the last century, save for the disappearance of Cyanotica Bast, whose arcology was then occupied by a demon of sloth named Anaxorchas.

Cyanotica Bast

There are rumors that Anaxorchas planned to overrun the nearby arcology of Nithrinn Poxx but so far this hasn't happened. Nithrinn Poxx has been behaving strangely--no less abritrarily than usual but somehow a different flavor of arbitrary.

Nithrinn Poxx

Clarissa of Oog and Hargen the Insidious have both long resided in the city of Vrokk itself.

Clarissa of Oog, she has a second mouth where her left eye should be

Hargen has recently developed a passion for Yoonish cloud pheasant, and has been eating nothing else and done nothing else but eat for the last 17 days.

Hargen The Insidious

No-one is sure quite why Vrokk attracts so many powerful magicians. Some say there are things buried beneath it, deep in the Cube, where the earth communes with itself in cthonic meditation relaying endlessly a tale of itself to itself and skin between the real and the dreamt is stretched like skin over the wide mouth of a deep drum.

What you do in Vrokk is hexcrawl between the wizards and their wars and their scheming. They're great for inscrutable assignments.

For instance:

-The adventurers need to locate a rottweiler. The dog is a witness to a territorial violation by a swallow acting as familiar to Nithrinn Poxx. The dog's wandered into a zone wracked with a spasm, which contracts and births hybrid moths which seek high office in Vrokk and, mistaking the rottweiler for an important official, have captured it and are at attempting to interrogate it.  Nobody has "Speak With Animals here so it's all a pill.

or

-The upper reaches of a flooded cathedral on the coast has been repurposed as a dock for Queen Jayeleene's fleet in its campaign against the Rogue Traitors who seek to plunder and harry the isles. The problem is the vicious sea elves infesting the cathedral's lower reaches. Something about repatriating a relic? And totally of course one of the other wizards is helping them just to be an asshole.

Vrokk is not natively exotic, but exotic things are done to it. The landscape is sporadically metamorphosed and beaten, its disrupted geography bears old scars--things unimagined grow in the spaces between watchtowers and armies.

The culture is languid, advanced, coded, suspicious, brittle, and tolerant in the lazy way of places where no one really likes anyone else. Everyone's mind idles on some distant plane or awful future dream of violent conquest. Sensitive visitors find themselves trying not to offend the sorcerers with their vulgarity until they realize everything does. Talking, eating, breathing--all necessities form a kind of painful background static to the War Wizards, not least because it reminds them of all the realities they have themselves yet to transcend.

The mighty War Wizards eye your party from godhood's lobby, wondering how best to use them to shorten their wait.

Goblin Market Works Like This

...not the poem about alegorically eating snatch by Christina Rosetti, the actual grand bazaar in the goblin city, Gaxen Kane.

-Only goblins and otherlike Boschean horrors shop in the goblin market. If you're a human you'll want a disguise. If you're an elf you'll want a disguise and an ambulance service on speed dial.

- So basically there's a lot of things in the Goblin Market so if the players are looking for specific items you can just offer a base chance a thing that sounds "Goblin Markety" is there coupled with whatever random tables you have around for weird potions, magic items and oddities you've got.

- In addition to this, random merchants will just shove things in players' faces while they look for whatever they're looking for and try to hard-sell them to the players with goblin sales pitches. It's no fun unless you do this. Here's what they had last night:

Tongues: You cut out your own tongue (irreversible) and stick in one of these. The merchant doesn't know where each is from but they are educated and speak 4d6 languages each.

Grinding beans: Small roasted brown beans that can be ground to make a dark powder. Dripping hot water through it makes a beverage that supplies energy and alertness. From the West.

A human girl, fully functional, w/cage: Age 7, stolen from Vornheim, a merchants daughter. She cries a fuckton and wants to go home.

Oil of Bislee: Makes a pair of warriors into berserkers for a turn, they must remain chained together though.

Fleshflies: They fly off toward the nearest living thing other than the party. One use.

Deed of ownership to a massive home in Gaxen Kane. Respected by local authorities.

Small grig (cricket-legged fairy) paladin in a cage fashioned from an emptied lantern.

Hollowhog: Basically a Pig of Holding. Acts otherwise as an ordinary pig of slightly below-average intelligence.

Crossbow bolt that can anchor in stone or any other substance and cannot be removed. Stolen from some dwarves who made it.

Imperial Foo Creature: From Gaxen Kane. Might be a trained Foo Dog from Oriental Adventures. Might just be a shih-tzu with baubles in its hair. Hard tosay. Your call.

Faerie Curse Removing Nut (someone else made this up) Let a cursed person sleep with the nut in their armpit on a new moon's night and the nut will turn black as it sucks out the curse. If the nut is then eaten by someone before the next dawn, the curse will transfer over to them, if it's not eaten by anyone by that time the curse will return.

-The big theme of the Goblin Market is everything can be had For A Steep And Perhaps Terrrrible Price. If the item itself isn't already a double-edged sword, roll d12 for an appropriate price for any given item:

1. Piece of luck (Next Natural 20 or critical success is taken by the merchant)

2. Ten minutes of your life (Goblin picks which, shows up for a random ten minutes some time in the next adventure while you end up living in some goblin merchant sitcom for 10 minutes)

3. Shadow or part thereof, like say just the arm. This makes Hide In Shadows harder.

4. A relationship. What exists between you and x now exists instead between x and the goblin. Sometimes the price is very specific, like your relationship to your grocer, sometimes the goblin lets you pick.

5. Your right to wear shoes. Spiritually speaking, that is--this isn't just legally binding, the gods themselves will not allow your PC to wear shoes once the deal is made.

6. Your semblance for one day. Goblin merchant looks like you for one day. What could go wrong?

7. A unique item of sufficient value or novelty you might have to trade. Interesting magic items are accepted, but also anything real weird.

8. An hour of your dignity. Last night the PC was placed on stilts terminating in turtle feet, fitted with in an unflattering dress and made to wear a hat of meat. Also a rude phrase was written across his back in the tongue of Gaxen Kane. It wasn't such a big deal until he tried to steal some striped hats.

9. Your help acquiring a pair of striped hats. Probably worn by some civilians in the market over there. Getting caught results in an awful goblin trial using some freakshow legal system that makes Vornheim's look like a model of stately prudence.

10. Your gender.

11. Your complexion. Genuinely replaced with a goblin complexion.

12. Your sense of time. Was that a turn? Hard to say. Did you sleep 8 hours? Who knows?
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Horrible Horrible Jackal-Heads

They shall call the nobles thereof to the kingdom, but none shall be there; and all its princes shall be nothing. And thorns shall come up in its palaces, nettles and thistles in the fortresses thereof; and it shall be a habitation of jackals, a court for ostriches.

--Isaiah 34:12-13

Jackalmen are gnot gnolls. Gnolls have hyenaheads and they're tough. Jackalmen are scrawny and gross and they are all bad wizards. They usually wear spooky robes so they look like guys in old horror movies about cults in animal masks.

Also: Jackalmen aren't a species--they're a moral consequence. If a man should betray a friend in the Colossal Waste, he becomes one. If a woman should steal from an innocent, she becomes a horned she-jackal.

Stats are basically as a human magic user except roll 2d6+6 for intelligence, 4d4 for strength, plus enhanced hearing. They'll only bite you if they've carved a curse into their teeth or in case of genuine desperation.

They carry khopesh swords, barbed nets and gold sickles. The sickles can be imbued with a single spell at a time, storing the spell and discharging it when it hits a target--they can also be thrown. This is all awful.

They worship Nathrekk the Devourer who is a three-headed jackal whose wide radiating mouths form a black blossom. It is said Nathrekk is brother to En Gorath, it is said they keep secrets from one another.

They live in the ruins of our cities, so their scheme is to encourage and then annihilate your culture. How far along in the two-step they've gotten depends what century and hex you're in. Their government is very Lottery In Babylon. Even in their most progressive phase they encourage only malefactors--organizing despots, crimelords, sellers of homes.

Jackalman magic involves disorientation, switching, the nesting of dimensions. Like a classic jackalman spell is turning a puddle of water into the surface of a deep and shark-infested vertical sea, another is fucking up your relation to physical space--imagine the weird inside-out rooms in the Red & Pleasant Land dungeon transported to a fake-Islamic environment full of fountains, muqarnas, bas-reliefs.

Probably the worst thing they do is throw babies. Specifically: they take a human child and stuff it into an outfit not unlike a baby-pajama version of siberian bear armor...

...then huck the babies at you. If you catch the baby it might live, but then the spikes are poison--and also they're spikes.

Their leaders prefer to meet you before killing you. They'll typically be accompanied by a pair of sub-priests chanting a version of the Sanctuary spell that makes it impossible to attack or be attacked. They'll start by just talking if they can, taunt you, then leave.

They are ruled by the horned she-jackals, high-level priestesses--they will always offer you something you greatly desire in exchange for some seemingly innocuous favor, even if you've slain your way through their armies to get to them. They consider it a test of your meddle.

Sapientiam Comedentis Interemptorum

The book is written in a language used in Vornheim, though it is punctuated by terms and pictograms in the ancient language of the Waste and the tongue of the Jackalheads.

Read Magic will allow anyone to read the spells, regardless of what mundane languages they can read.

This text is difficult--it abrades the mind. Beginning as a desert travelogue, it descends into spattered polemic after its author--caravan marooned in the Waste by a bandit raid--kills his fellow travelers for water and recounts his initiation into the ways and society of the Jackal.

The book will reveal the key to the lottery runes and the myriad rites of the Devourer. Once read through and understood, the text will reveal answers to questions about the jackalmen or the horned she-jackals on a successful Int check up to three times.

It includes the following unique spells:

Mass Inscribe (Inscribes a lottery rune on everyone in a 30 foot radius--Level 1)

Clutching Coil (Once a prepared net, rope or other binding is wrapped around a target, the spell causes it to squeeze for 2d6 damage per round--Level 2)

Arrows to Asps (Affects chosen arrows immediately as well as any arrows of the caster's choosing mid-flight if they are shot this round within line of sight--Level 3)(This was stolen from some Conan thing.)

Thousand Claws (as Web but clawed arms reach from a surface. They inflict d6 damage per round--Level 3)

Deepwell (The puddle trick above--Level 3)

Scatter (This only works in a place you call your home and have lived in and prepared for an hour. Range 100'. Everybody in a 30 foot radius has to save vs spell or be teleported to a random room in your home--Level 3)

Derange Space (This only works inside. The entire room is subjected to a random Perplexity of the Interior as in Red & Pleasant Land, only Middle-East-themed--Level 3)

Steal Face (Take and convincingly wear someone's face until it rots off or they get it back. Range: Touch. Level 4.)

Reading the narrative or spells will force a save vs spell. A failed save indicates that the reader has been affected by the text--whenever they roll a natural 1 on a d20 they will be afflicted by desolate visions (treat as Confusion spell) for d4 rounds (d6 rounds if they've read the spells and the narrative) thereafter until treated with some activity or magic which cures madness. 

The Art Economy In Vornheim

For a moment a terrible hunger lit up her eyes. But it turned slowly into indifference. "Besides," she said, "I would not go if they did. Why should I go? The High City is an elaborate catafalque. Art is dead up there, and Paulinus Rack is burying it. Nothing is safe from him-or from those old women who finance him-painting, theatre, poetry, music. I no longer wish to go there." Her voice rose. "I no longer wish them to buy my work. I belong here.

-Viriconium, M John Harrison

Sooner or later, the party will be paid in contemporary art--a small canvas by Aelfron Aelrey or a book of poetry by Princert with illustrations by Scraptric in with the ill-fitting ringmail and headless coins.

The good news is: By weight, art is worth more than almost anything else--hundreds of thousands of gp-and-therefore-xp. The bad news is: Its value depends on the whims of the salon critics of the High City.

The solution that presents itself most immediately to the conscientious FLAILSNAILER or murderhobo--assassinate the opposed critics--is impractical. This only creates martyrs of the physical bodies, leaving their philosophy intact to be carried on by those they were already influencing anyway. The party's goal is to discredit the hostile critics philosophically in such a way as to increase the value of the artworks they opposed, thus rendering the adventurers wealthy.

This is less dull than it sounds.

In the Vornheim salons, the current rage (in every sense), is Arbitrism, which is difficult to summarize, but let's try:

Since at least the Hex King's War it's been immediately clear to anyone that Vornheim's cosmopolitanism is imperfect--those of the Southern Continent are scarce, those of the Eastern are unheard of since the time of Ping Feng, women are wary of the Laws of the Needle in the low districts, dwarves will not mine any stone in mixed company, half-elves fear for their lives in the Prussing Fields--the city is in many ways an ignorant place. The people do, after all, worship pigs.

Arbitrist critics blame all this--and the decadence that results--on the city's many poets and painters--focusing particular bile, among contemporary artists, on the writer Flameward Ragged Dei, a human living among elves in Nornrik, and the creatives associated with his small publishing house and its philosophies--Insane Etiolation Process, which, for practical purposes, is nearly all of the good ones.

The Arbitrists survive through intellectual arbitrage--that is, taking ideas that were discarded as useless in their native fields--philosophy, natural science, the academy--and importing them to the world of art, where their exoticism grants them a dazzling currency among the status-anxious neurotics of the collecting class.

Once an artwork is acquired, the more hostile critics are discredited, the more the work will be worth once sold. A poem by McCoffering Ginny is worth ten times as much in a world where the "red wizards" of The Awful are exposed as frauds.

The methods employable to discredit an Arbittrist depend somewhat on the critic in question, but it is safe to assume they are all discreditable since the philosophy itself is inaccurate. No sane, intelligent person could honestly hold it, therefore the critic must be insane, unintelligent or dishonest.

Typical vulnerabilities of bad critics include most or all of the following:

1. They possess a documented and widely-attested official history of madness, and their doctors will argue that their critical views are a result of this madness.

2. They are charmless and slow-witted--any personal contact with members of the salons of Vornheim will immediately convince interlocutors of their inanity.

3. Creative-critical dissonance: they have created hidden works slathered thickly with the values they despise.

4. Personally terrible--they have committed grave and secret misdeeds in dark corners, from which their stentorian proclamations are a GOP-ish distraction.

In the case of 1, 3 and 4, documents or NPCs attesting to this can be treated as a kind of treasure to be sought across the hexmap or dungeon, or buried in a drawer at the end of an investigative scenario. In the case of 2, the goal is likely to convince the critic to appear in the salons of their own accord via social maneuver.

Further, all proponents of Arbitrism are, consciously or not, agents of the Red Hand of Tiamat--preparing the world for the coming of the lava babies. They are not without defenses, and the party may find themselves set upon by assassins and slanderers.

The physical location of critics is rarely considered to have any import in the salons--some occupy the city, some live East of Yoon Suin--they propagate their ideas via proxies. Hurling Tracing earned her name by periodically dropping copied artworks from a window of a tower in the Mulched Fen.

They go about in high dudgeon, and finding one is generally no more complex than tracing the rail of snickers and eyerolls back to the source. To find out the critic's current obsession, consult the table:

What's the Arbittrist  Mad About Today? Roll d20

1. Famed director Orgel Ooclas has created a fantasy for the theatre concerning wizards and steel golems that dwell beyond the stars. In a revised version, one character, a beloved rogue, loses initiative in a tavern brawl when previously he'd won, causing a wide outcry of "Slann drew first" among the theatre mobs. The Arbittrist cites this popular reaction as an example of "poisonous manhood" and the work itself as "imperialist propaganda"--though admits to never having seen it.

2. The Arbittrist has become enraged by the word 'madness'--claiming it is has the effect of devaluing the opinions of the lunatic so labelled. 

3. A fad for erotic openness has swept the women of Vornheim. The Arbitrist is suspicious, claiming it is a cover for some darker force.

4. Serialized poems concerning the adventures of a scion of a high family of Vornheim who adopts the affect of a bat and protects the weak from violence and predation have gained favor with the young and young-hearted of the city. The Arbitrist is opposed. As a member of even a fictive upper class, imaginative sympathy for this Bat Man is unimaginable.

5. Parents of the city have begun constructing "sand boxes" wherein children might build from that humble substrate towers and homes for dolls and imaginary friends. It has come to the attention of the Arbitrist that it is a frequent practice to dismantle these miniature residences and sometimes even abuse the toys who dwell therein. The Arbitrist is alarmed that those who enjoy these "sand boxes" do not use them to simulate creation rather than destruction.

6.  The practice of counting "Hitting points" in schools of duelling is reviled by the Arbitrist--who claims it saps the creative expression of duellists.

7. Conservatory students, aged 8-11, have lately performed--to wide acclaim--the brooding and experimental ballad "Forty Six and Two" originally composed by Memes Canard Keyplan's Implement Quartet. The Arbittrist has railed against it on the grounds that the young girl singing the lead part does not grasp the true and esoteric meaning of the piece.

8. The Arbittrist is enraged by the hair style affected by an artist of the Warm Quarter.

9.  The word "barbarian" has been declared upsetting, as its etymology refers to the brutalities of the past.

10. Playwright Lost Weevil has created "The Scavengers"--a work wherein a god of mischief contends with an archer, a spy, a patriot, a knight in gold armor, and a gamma troll--receipts have been unprecedented. It is the Arbittrist's opinion that Weevil's entertainments serially insult the women of Vornheim, this one most of all.

11. It is an established fact that humans and demihumans often have bad ideas. It is the Arbitrist's notion that all humans unconsciously adopt all of these bad ideas and that, therefore, they are all loathsome, including themselves.

12. A group of sculptures purporting to depict creatures of the Lower Planes has been produced--the bodies are distorted and erotically charged. The Arbitrist claims their shapes insult the women of Vornheim.

13. Another Arbittrist has called for the censorship of the work of starry-eyed author and fantasist Geil Mainann. Mainnan, in turn, has responded by saying he shouldn't. The Arbittrist cites Mainnan's behavior as a clear case of harassment.

14. Rann Ice, author of erotic works concerning vampires, has defended a fellow author against an Arbitrist critic claiming she should be sexually assaulted. The Arbittrist cites Ice's behavior as a clear case of harassment.

15. The popular art works have inspired young women of the city to wear outrageous and revealing fashions in imitation of their heroines. The Arbitrist feels this insults the children of Vornheim.

16.  The Arbitrist has written a play. The Arbitrist is now disgusted by it--claiming the many hours spent writing have rendered it familiar and contemptible--and wants no part of the production.

17. The toymaker Rike Pearls--has hired an anti-Arbitrist artist and critic as consultant at the toy factory. The Arbitrist is incensed.

18. It has been widely reported that adventurers inside the city and out have taken to slaying dangerous and predatory beasts rather than ignoring them or allowing the parties themselves to be slain. The Arbitrist finds this practice "othering".

19. Teratophilic pornography from the East has lately appeared in the bedrooms and evidence-vaults of the city. The Arbtrist has declared it and its inculcators anathema.

20. An illustrated guide to Gyorsla and Voivodja has been recognized with some minor awards. The Arbitrist is displeased.

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Ghost Prison of Inverness

Third in a series...

Ok, so the good (or at least passable) bits of the classic old module Ghost Tower of Inverness are...

-The illusory ball that seems to kill you but doesn't

-The room where you have to move the way a given chess piece in your position might

-4 thingies that do not look like keys that you have to figure out fit together to make a key

-Bowser-fight-level-style fire-giant-with-sea-of-flame area with fake stairwell and antigrav bit

-A force field at the end of the adventure that you have to destroy bit by bit, but hurting it also proportionately hurts you

So what can we do with only those bits?

Basically we're remaking this guy as a  '70s Dr Strange-style location. It's a one-shot funnel dungeon with some gimmicks. There's a mcguffin (The Jewel of Masterful Perspicacity or whatever) defended by an imprisoned guardian who lives inside a pocket dimension in the tower.

Alright, first floor:

The front door closes and locks automatically once you go in and can't be used again until the door out of the final room is opened.

Describe these places as spooky. And in each of these rooms we have a monster. Something ghost- thematic like a banshee or an animated object. Also, we have a giant rolling ball that comes down the stairs and crushes whoever goes onto the stairs. Maybe add some grounds around it with more monsters if you like. The 4 pieces of weird metal that form a key are hidden on this floor.

Here's the thing about these monsters and the smooshing ball:

-They're all incredibly overpowered.
-They're all illusory.

When these things "kill" a PC, the PC is transported to the second level of the tower.

In play, everyone will accuse you of being really unfair for a few seconds, until you tell whoever died that they reappear in a room with squares on the floor.

Each person who "dies" ends up in a different one of the perimeter rooms here:

Anyone who "lives" and gets up the stairs ends up in room 8. The door seals afterward and there's no way back down.*

This map is not a traditional map: all that black space isn't stone, it's a sea of lava. This is more an arrangement of platforms than rooms.

Every room here on the second floor has checkered floor tiles.

On platform 7 there's a fire giant (or fire demon, or spiky lizard-turtle boss, or whatever)--an imprisoned angry guardian presence is the point--that hucks rocks at you. Each time it rolls a miss or rolls max damage on at least one die, it puts a big hole d4 squares in size through a platform. There's lava there now.

Also: there are fire bats that try to take your stuff, knock you over, and set you alight.

In addition, anyone who "died" on the first floor appears on their platform on one of the extreme edges in the place a rook, knight, or bishop would start appear on a chess board. If they don't move like their chess piece, they get zapped for some amount of damage that won't kill you in one hit if you're healthy but that you will regret. (Scale to taste.)

The "doors" on the map aren't doors--they're (hidden) anti-gravity columns. You'll fall up until you hit the ceiling (60 feet up) unless you manage to twist out of the column, in which case you fall down.

The giant boss has a magic field around it--it is only vulnerable to melee attacks and doing damage to the field does damage to you.

Because of the movement restrictions, it can be impossible for a given PC to move traditionally toward the giant--if another, unrestricted or less-restricted PC moves them, they are ok, also it is possible to do shit like build a bridge out of debris. Flyers must follow the paths as well.

Killing the boss exposes the mcguffin hidden in its heart. The only way out of the tower is through a hole in the ceiling. The 4 pieces of metal from the first level interlock to form the key.

Optional extra--when you leave the tower you're in the past, and going back in and then out the front door returns you to the present.

*EDIT: Someone points out this means you can get stuck up top forever if you don't collect all 4 bits the first time. Ok, so the door back down to level 1 re-opens if you kill the boss on level 2.

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The Ones With No Chill

Quicklings, only halfling-tall, are one of the many disasters made possible by the union of man and elf. When the humors mix awry, the resulting offspring inherit the capacity of experience of an elf, but only the mortal span of a human to experience it in.

You ever notice how capricious and stately elves are with their fucking stag horn crowns and twisty lathed smooth wood and shit? This is because they have all the time in the world. They wallow in unacknowledged temporal privilege.

Not quicklings. Their eyes are red with stimulants and bad frenzy, their homes are chaotic with the clicking of clocks. Their lives are desperations. They want more. You move so slow, you talk so slow. You bore them so much.

They always win initiative, their voices are shrill, and they attack three times per round. Their principle occupation is to acquire experience before death. They want more life, fucker.

A typical quickling encounter begins with the local lord awaking to find his cupboards bare, his animals behaving strangely, his maids terrified, his art stolen, his secret doors wide open, his drugs dispersed about the halls and maybe a lone leftover quickling on a chandelier--inebriated and dangling and babbling a poem about smocks or some shit. The rest are long gone.

Occasionally long but barely-legible works of food or art criticism are left in place of the items themselves, the ink still wet. The reasoning in these essays is solid, if unnecessarily prescriptive.

Parties occasionally encounter quicklings because they possess something unique, or have gained access to a unique place. The quicklings must sample it. A ring of fire breathing? Must know what that's like. The Unknown Caverns of Vacuous Glear? Must know them. 

What is that? A bootlast? What do you do with it? Why do you do that? Why do you exist? I hate you. Poke poke poke poke poke you full of holes I hate you so much. Now what do you look like inside out?

They are as culturally developed as any elves (they learn fast, naturally) but their culture is deeply unclean. They've already done everything normal-fun and have long-ago moved into fucked-up fun. 

True elves (what they call "snail elves") value their counsel on matters such as aesthetics, fencing and the natural world (their various analyses being the result of far more observation) though, being obviously abominations against the natural order, they are wary of them. A Seelie lord may ask a party to locate (never easy) and bring in a quickling consultant to address some pressing* matter.

They have names like "Skrinthian Ipting" and "Scree-Act Proth".


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(*In the elven sense of the word, so this could be "What do we do about the fucking orcs over there?" but also "What is the ideal length of a horn to sound on the first day of spring after the meerkats wake?")


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