tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-80551551976522472422024-02-07T21:43:58.347-08:00GorgonmilkApplied Mythology and Tabletop GamesGreg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.comBlogger19125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-66087365757503838672018-12-07T17:59:00.000-08:002018-12-07T17:59:41.854-08:00Gridmoss (dungeon hazard)Typically nested in dungeonscapes and Underworld zones trafficked by surface dwellers. Gridmoss is a creeping black vine (max 3" thick) with dense, grass-like strands (1/2" thick). Certain strands eventually swell at their tips, forming a globular tumor that will erupt into a human-like eye. Any creature with basic telepathy can tune into the gridmoss' collective sensorium and see what it sees with all its eyes.Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-34327129842726624692018-12-04T19:59:00.001-08:002018-12-04T19:59:42.410-08:00Ideas for a Sea Campaign<b>The Lesser Sea of Bastards</b> is an unstable region within the vast Ghost Sea dividing the land-sprawl of Yyrit from his south-eastern sister, the Isle of Gan.<br /><br />The Bastards' Sea is named for the children of the legendary pirate-king Malfan the Malingerer, whose many-mothered sons and daughters conspired to maroon him on the monster-haunted Isle of Naught. There he was consumed by the Hairy Giantess, Jorta, who in twenty-nine months rebirthed the elderly pirate-king as the giant-king Remeeth. Now Remeeth-that-was-Malfan claims lordship over Naught-Isle and executes or enslaves all man-folk who set foot there.<br /><br />In Malfan's absence the siblings naturally collapsed into tribal warfare, with many bold claims pronounced declaring mastery over specific (usually well-trafficked) sea-regions. After several generations, all possible trade-routes were objects of active dispute between rival pirate-clans, leading to the creation of a many-layered protection racket that would become an official entity with chapters located in every Yyritan and Ganese port-town. All ships traveling across the Bastard Sea are now subject to the Bastards' taxes.<br /><br /><b>The Guild of Collectors</b> was born of necessity from the constant and ongoing Bastard Wars. Each member must relinquish their family name, in exchange adopting the Mantle of Malfan, an odd hood of wrapped linen soaked in brine and bleached by the light of the Moon. Having no loyalty to any particular Bastard House but devoted to all, the Collectors are responsible for extracting, counting and redistributing bastard-taxes. Their ritual weapon is a red oak cudgel wrapped in thorn-vines harvested from the Wight Dunes.<br /><br />While it is customary for the Bastard-ships to steer clear of vessels under their protection, there are sometimes known to be (30% chance) encounters with Bastard Infidels who will trouble a ship regardless of the flags it flies.<br /><br />[Image: “The Tempest” (1886) by Ivan Aivazovsky]<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_lr1Rs-uDQ0co227_opfNYEdBg3ZcX72tKpTJPw_oC4ANoF3MgwSAF0BhxFrI7W8tjM3k8Itf0iUcC-4mLNNypNC-1fiSwB9Az0uFKiHOl6R4LOg0yFl4NcxmH05wHHK0NFzxLL2ijM/s1600/the-tempest-1886-1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="702" data-original-width="1000" height="224" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgh_lr1Rs-uDQ0co227_opfNYEdBg3ZcX72tKpTJPw_oC4ANoF3MgwSAF0BhxFrI7W8tjM3k8Itf0iUcC-4mLNNypNC-1fiSwB9Az0uFKiHOl6R4LOg0yFl4NcxmH05wHHK0NFzxLL2ijM/s320/the-tempest-1886-1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-58918247246419529932018-11-02T20:30:00.001-07:002018-11-02T20:30:27.586-07:00_______-____ the Everliving!The <i>Mummy-Sorcerer</i> Lich Variant<br /><br /><b>Features</b>:<br /><br />Polyhedron-shaped stone fastness containing its sarcophagus and power-source. Determine polyhedral shape randomly. 33% chance the fastness is floating 3d20 yards in the air (fastness can be piloted from interior control room).<br /><br />Can magically increase its STR and CON to 20 by spending 35 HP. The change will last until the mummy-sorcerer is reduced to 50 HP or less.<br /><br />Remnant of an ancient empire that revered [1d6]: (1) cats, (2) dogs, (3) crocodiles, (4) snakes, (5) displacer beasts, (6) night-gaunts. Will usually have a special servitor with 8 HD of the determined type that is totally loyal (fearless morale).<br /><br /><b>Encounters</b>:<br /><br />Ejecting magical waste from its floating fastness near a town or in an important water source or waterway.<br /><br />The shadowy figure behind a clandestine operation to kidnap a local noble or monarch and replace them with one of its shape-changing puppets.<br /><br />Engaged in a small land war with a traditional lich. Purely about territory and resources.<br /><br />Felling a sacred or otherwise significant forest to feed the fires of its engines.<br /><br />Digging a massive trench that exposes part of the Underworld. The massive, dripping carcass of a purple worm is being hoisted by a crane being operated by an ogre supplicant (INT 12).<br /><br />[Image: Mumm-Ra and Ma-Mutt]<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLsuPTEs7jRT4ueVYD4TGbd_8NxEBmBBNCHAPA6Igss2iJ23dZX11rlsW8RKuVyLeHmIMwDIZFasGNSor_jLoosgV9NMjJqTknMPkZE7RIwZOOO-BRls3csLODjPouXjaq5nPQ4qsjnw/s1600/Mumm-Ra+Ma-Mutt.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="432" data-original-width="497" height="347" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwLsuPTEs7jRT4ueVYD4TGbd_8NxEBmBBNCHAPA6Igss2iJ23dZX11rlsW8RKuVyLeHmIMwDIZFasGNSor_jLoosgV9NMjJqTknMPkZE7RIwZOOO-BRls3csLODjPouXjaq5nPQ4qsjnw/s400/Mumm-Ra+Ma-Mutt.png" width="400" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-29039031749306225032018-09-20T18:17:00.001-07:002018-09-20T18:17:05.784-07:00Chaos and Law (2)Death is a token of Law's love for living things.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Law is the first Autocthon. In the scriptures of Yeredwan, Law emerges from the bloated womb of Chaos into the starless, sterile expanse that would become the Multiverse.<br />
<br />
The Lords of Change are Her other offspring, and they are many. Yeredwan credits the existence of no less a number than nine-hundred-ninety-nine, though others have come to different god-countings. The matter is disputed among the wise. All solutions to the question are complicated by the endless copulating that occurs among the nobility of Change, who generate with great fecundity. In some cases these progeny merge with their forebears or produce many children of their own. .<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Law is sometimes characterized as a unity of doctrine, a thinking power at one with its thoughts. Only reluctantly does it divide this placid consciousness into lesser outgrowths, who are called the Lords of Hegemony.<br />
<br />
...<br />
<br />
Because all matter is contaminated with Chaos, there is some of it in the composition of all things. Matter was an invention of Law, wrought during the First Aeon from raw Chaos-stuff alloyed with Law's liquid thoughts.<br />
<br />
(Image: Druillet)<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysLC4Np-WgDLC_ipjl6QxUgbbMK1daGOmvIIy_WHOm3BiwwVDGRsOXoP_pOjt2QW3QCTe6qjjhauLWXYPnn9mkrm0CkqkPeNkosr9qfpXbHIT_R0d_GuYHI6RgzyaCj8wk_-XA599gro/s1600/druillet+%25282%2529.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1356" data-original-width="1280" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhysLC4Np-WgDLC_ipjl6QxUgbbMK1daGOmvIIy_WHOm3BiwwVDGRsOXoP_pOjt2QW3QCTe6qjjhauLWXYPnn9mkrm0CkqkPeNkosr9qfpXbHIT_R0d_GuYHI6RgzyaCj8wk_-XA599gro/s400/druillet+%25282%2529.jpg" width="377" /></a></div>
<br />Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-2547038224005262372018-09-20T17:38:00.000-07:002018-09-20T17:38:47.593-07:00Chaos and Law (1)Chaos and Law seek integration into a state of non-Eternity.<br />
<br />
As individual forces they exist forever.<br />
<br />
Left to its own devices Law takes on forms of mechanical purity, perpetual engines that power the organizing patterns of the Multiverse.<br />
<br />
Outside, between, seeping through Law, Chaos rages back and forth, from grotesque eidolons into abject formlessness and back again. A no-place where coherent thought dissolves into a violent dream that can never be recalled or realized, only experienced endlessly.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Wobn8aRIAUY5wzsfptPRGJvJ2lTulM4yZt5HKo9IBDEsuov_q0lXC1YIRSX2nDpk4UPeswOObgjdoWeAq_J8mgSMzGSqIyKODegeD4wgGHyoZoTx6Ys98FBqnf1GD9qz_hEN-4ydEls/s1600/Three_Brother%2527s_hypogeum%252C_Palmyra.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1022" data-original-width="1600" height="204" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh8Wobn8aRIAUY5wzsfptPRGJvJ2lTulM4yZt5HKo9IBDEsuov_q0lXC1YIRSX2nDpk4UPeswOObgjdoWeAq_J8mgSMzGSqIyKODegeD4wgGHyoZoTx6Ys98FBqnf1GD9qz_hEN-4ydEls/s320/Three_Brother%2527s_hypogeum%252C_Palmyra.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-18710827142870249742018-08-16T19:21:00.002-07:002018-08-16T19:21:30.288-07:00Pareidolia detail from unknown photo reworked<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rPmEYnA0OZiI_mABryLt8Ms_mIo9V8UULhDc4MVbCMOzSgBjLP6Qs3PQPl_ijJZf8G9uhzTuSSQrvA2TUiLS0XwIXxha8OYZSgmlSW6o1ahEH2niAkMmo8wPKYVd62XwEayw4_8o-H0/s1600/mLkV4VF.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="658" data-original-width="850" height="246" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi6rPmEYnA0OZiI_mABryLt8Ms_mIo9V8UULhDc4MVbCMOzSgBjLP6Qs3PQPl_ijJZf8G9uhzTuSSQrvA2TUiLS0XwIXxha8OYZSgmlSW6o1ahEH2niAkMmo8wPKYVd62XwEayw4_8o-H0/s320/mLkV4VF.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-30929722134467881952018-08-15T17:57:00.001-07:002018-08-15T18:19:02.526-07:00Salvage (Part 1)In the ruins of the planet Loke, a world whose last war smeared it across the heavens for several parsecs, I came upon the house of an old wizard. My boat's sensory organs had perceived his homely cottage amongst a dense drifting vapor of debris and wreckage. <br />
<br />
The place was located in a region barely illuminated by the gloaming of the system's geriatric sun. Loke still orbits the old lady faithfully in patterns that become steadily more predictable as time goes by. <br />
<br />
It is not unknown for enterprising hermits to establish domiciles in such places, gathering tiny atmospheres and regenerating dead plantlife to beautify makeshift estates. Wizards tend to have strange ideas about retirement or whatever this phase in their life cycles is supposed to be called.<br />
<br />
The boat was getting particularly low on refined quanta, having nearly exhausted the sea-sized supply I purchased her back at D Station. It had been months since we had come across a settlement, and the last one had been a real ghost town. In its heyday probably a booming little burg enriched by local mining, but now a worthless antique exhibit, all its useful loot plundered ages ago. Of course there had been no fuel chunks of any sort. Those are always the first things to disappear when a boom town goes broke.<br />
<br />
I didn't walk away empty-handed though. While I was navigating the partially collapsed cellar of an old timey burger joint, I came across the carapace of a late 28th Century autonid. Practically in mint shape, which is really beyond hope for a collector. Minimal markings on its chassis, maybe a little tampering evident around its operator panel -- the thing was valuable, that was clear. Back at D Station a bot like this could get you a small fortune at the mech market. The fur-coated bastards would clog their robotic colostomies for the chance to take it off your hands. Inevitably it would find its way into the collection of some sultan of the Corporate Rim. Well-dusted but forgotten.<br />
<div>
<br />
I called down the crawlers and they dragged it up to the surface with minimal whining, though I noticed that the tertiary unit was leaking fluid again. Minor issue, but the odor -- something akin to artificial flowers mingled with hot garbage -- always manages to creep into my suit's air filter.<br />
<br />
Whether or not the bot was functional was a critical factor in its value, so I spent the next week in the boat's diagnostic lab trying to wake it up. Failing that, I might at least determine why it would not wake. This proved to be about as difficult as I expected. I had very little data on units from this bot's time period. The record was only partially complete, and I lacked modern renditions of its schematics. I tried for a while though and managed to partially disassemble its central cognator before throwing in the towel. In truth my back was aching from sleeping in front of projection banks while perched on the lab toilet.<br />
<br />
Thus finding this isolated wizard-hovel in the middle of nothing seemed like a blessing from the space gods. I had food stores aplenty to barter for some refined quanta, and if this coot (I assumed he was old, like a proper wizard) could unravel the mystery of whether my salvaged bot could still recite its multiplication tables, then I had really done something to please Lady Luck, bless her little black heart.<br />
<br />
I set down the boat near the edge of an orchard, where several spider-legged pickers surveyed me with their needle optics and skittered away toward their master's monolith-like house that rested several hundred yards in the distance. In their haste they dropped their fruit baskets and several of the lumpy yellow things rolled toward me. The sensors on my glove told me their innards were gel-like and sickly sweet. I'd never seen sugar molecules so byzantine in structure.<br />
<br />
I followed the pickers at a slow lope and took in the full scope of the brutalist structure before me. It looked like an ugly block of concrete nestled in a grove of redwood-sized ferns. I couldn't see any windows, just a slightly-decayed blue-gray rectangle with rounded edges. Pale pink smoke emerged from somewhere near the top, coiling playfully in the windless midget-atmosphere. I saw the pickers clatter through a low door that gaped and then quickly receded.<br />
<br />
When I came within stone's throw of the wizard's manse, a surge of gravity swept past my knees. I buckled and fell on my face as the invisible wave continued to batter me. A metallic voice rang out.<br />
<br />
"State your business, interloper. You tresspass on the land of Uganid," it stated. I sensed animosity, though my helmet registered docility. It was usually mistaken in situations like this.<br />
<br />
Momentarily the gravity calmed and I was able to stand again. I wiped the smashed yellow fruit off the front of my chest console and performed the standard somatic expression of universal brotherhood before addressing my host.<br />
<br />
"Inestimable power of this lonesome reach, I come to request your hospitality," I stated while simultaneously jetting a warm steam of genuflecting pheromones from my chemical flaps. I saw now that the voice had emerged from a massive face that had formed on the stone house's surface. The countenance was humanoid though vaguely reptilian. Several sets of eyes had fixed themselves upon me and were staring with snake-like intensity. It spoke again.<br />
<br />
"Uganid will supply you with hospitality according to the quality of goods you carry." This was standard practice in these far-flung regions, and I could hardly argue for better treatment.<br />
<br />
As I approached the bare surface of Uganid's fastness, the wall reached to envelope me with teeth like packing foam, and I was gently masticated into a purple-walled foyer. Two humanoids with complimentary sex organs in the archaic style stepped around a wooden podium to greet me. Each took one of my gloved hands and proceeded to walk me toward a yellow door. <br />
<br />
The one with the fulsome chest paps turned to me. "Is this the current style of clothing? None of the transmissions reach us out here."<br />
<br />
I was about to answer when the other one interjected, "Recall what happened the last time you interrogated a guest, Gynon."<br />
<br />
"My intellect is curious unlike yours, brother," she replied and stuck her nose in the air in a somatic expression I have witnessed on ancient films. She was interesting to behold, full of such long-dead expressions. Their bodies were vigorous and athletic and both exuded a thick misting of pheromones from their primitive external glands. Fascinating, but they stunk like zoo animals. I toggled off the odor receptors on my helmet.<br />
<br />
The pair lead me to a longish and narrow atrium where sheets of crystalline water slid noiselessly into small circular pools. These latter were black as space. Uganid was perched on an unclassifiable piece of wooden furniture, his prismatic lower half spread to display its peacock-like scaling while his humanoid upper half slurped absently at a plate of steaming shellfish. He grasped a jeweled goblet in one of his delicately clawed hands, watching me with his array of eyes from above the rim as he took a deep quaff.<br />
<br />
Uganid was not particularly interested in my predicament until I mentioned that I carried a cache of exotic meats on my boat. At this his whole body perked into full activity and a ripple of electricity passed along his rainbow undercarriage. The archaic humanoids looked bored. The one equipped with the phallus began urinating absent-mindedly in one of the wells. Gynon sneezed.<br />
<br />
The transaction was to my liking. I was able to unload some rancid flesh from my boat's pantry in exchange for several chunks of refined quanta with just a modicum of bickering over the perceived rightness of my meatstuffs. With this accomplished I turned the salvaged bot over to Uganid. <br />
<br />
"Rudimentary," scoffed the wizard, "like most human garbage." He flicked back the operator panel and licked his lipless muzzle. A miniature display flickered into view just above the panel. I watched as Uganid shuffled through the web of amber light with his long forefingers, tap-scratching a weird dance across its non-surface.<br />
<br />
The bot shuddered. I heard fans creak into action. "I think we have it now," Uganid opined. Gynon and her brother looked alarmed.<br />
<br />
From somewhere behind its optics, lights flickered, and the bot swung its upper torso into the air. Its sensors frantically shaped up the environment, sampling everything. Speech patterns erupted from the fabric grille on its chest, spitting out serial numbers and identity markers that meant absolutely nothing to its audience.<br />
<br />
Lady Luck was being absurdly generous today. I expressed my gratitude to the wizard and began making ready my departure. I had enough fuel now to get me to Anchor Plaza, roughly halfway back to Station D, where I could unload this salvage at fullest market value.</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<div>
END PART 1</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOWaD6RJ33ezLXJ1Rkx1fNC7L0SQUDZMrZm96N8XLMsXIocEjqcOpXRuZw5h-YVLBvPSMUDtf0mSlsVnayybkuKI7vw6b1cgoxlZGxwOX67tB0fi7gUKC-UerttKXQIIFKKsMT9phEvc/s1600/yxbbpyytljahn2pkegke.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="900" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEigOWaD6RJ33ezLXJ1Rkx1fNC7L0SQUDZMrZm96N8XLMsXIocEjqcOpXRuZw5h-YVLBvPSMUDtf0mSlsVnayybkuKI7vw6b1cgoxlZGxwOX67tB0fi7gUKC-UerttKXQIIFKKsMT9phEvc/s320/yxbbpyytljahn2pkegke.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Image by <a href="https://chaoticatmospheres.com/">Chaotic Atmospheres</a></td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
</div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-17982140474134606962018-08-07T20:16:00.000-07:002018-08-07T20:17:42.668-07:00Of Bortothelo<b>Bortothelo</b> [Hiddengarde] is situated forthway and crossers to the pale milky starflow of the Cosmic River. It is a ruinous city-planet orbiting the epileptic sun called Mote, a defunct star that burns the skin a mottled canary yellow. The place has temporal confluence with many planes and may be accessed through the ancient networks of the Elder Archaics.*<br />
<br />
Currently occupied by scattered gangs of rat-men magic-users, abhuman fetish-mongers, hideous elves and their questionable offspring, and long-armed goblin snatchers and hobo-burglars, Bortothelo was built in a time beyond memory, when the godlets stalked the worlds in raiment of naked flesh. Its primary architecture is studded with brutalist towers that rise like decaying fangs, occasionally dropping their crumbling upper masonry onto the serpentines of streets far below them. Many of these structures stand empty, or largely so, due to the inhospitable nature of their interiors, where it is said many monstrous fungi bloom thick as darkness, befouling the air.<br />
<br />
A few towers, like Jorn's Tooth, are hives of activity where the more powerful gangs, cabals, conclaves and syndicates conduct their business. These enterprises rely on the city's access to an unknown number of worlds (the "potshards" in the local dialect) to operate.<br />
<br />
All those who dwell in Bortothelo for three consecutive blinks of the Mote-star will begin to have an unquenchable thirst for the ichor of the chained godling Nyctalion, He who is imprisoned in the hollow heart of the city-planet that lies below their feet. Nyctalion's blood is a blue nostalgium for a divine place-that-never-was, and mortals who consume it will recall that non-place's surreal beauty and be transported to a state of bliss for a short period. None who stay in Bortothelo will be capable of leaving by their own will, though the practice of exile is common.<br />
<br />
The supply of Blue Ichor is controlled by a greedy clan of warty dwarfs called the Dungbeards (due to their inordinate fondness for the guano of bats -- they have mastered its properties). These reprobates crafted Nyctalion's bonds and muzzle from a metal they call Scorn, jet black and lusterless and harder than Adamant. Their unassailable dwelling is the Aortic Fortress where they have squatted for untold blinks of the Mote's eye, having murdered or imprisoned all of its former occupants long ago. The Dungbeards dress and eat extravagantly, flaunting their wealth and power like grotesque fops when they travel to the surface. They employ a small army of servants, veritable zombies to the Ichor, slaves to the thirst for it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGB7p_QcBvFB10VViAuW9NQNRQeyMXDkZ9UahliGLyX0YCpU7CMwSp4_H78R0vjvzHdQIuNtpUdr7G-JzKkMHPcZx4CTwWHwVogLwFpfzqGCooWbAx2kVIaC2JyyoXd8I1Ht5zns_DNw/s1600/61-le-sanctuaire.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="820" data-original-width="498" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgpGB7p_QcBvFB10VViAuW9NQNRQeyMXDkZ9UahliGLyX0YCpU7CMwSp4_H78R0vjvzHdQIuNtpUdr7G-JzKkMHPcZx4CTwWHwVogLwFpfzqGCooWbAx2kVIaC2JyyoXd8I1Ht5zns_DNw/s400/61-le-sanctuaire.jpeg" width="242" /></a></div>
<br />
<br />
<br />
____________________<br />
*<i>Elder Archaics</i>: That long-dead race of proto-reptile travelers who still journey along the Cosmic River in their mobile sky-necropolis, the Ossuary.<br />
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-17139689405540016592018-08-02T17:58:00.000-07:002018-08-02T17:58:23.379-07:00"Faust's Dream" by Carl Gustav Carus<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2yqAtCKVXsPh05Q4aNgjWell30Vsbo3D3vtMgvJlvQJAQji-I3H_9g6BTNTWMKFCarlBImnVNqQ8knC3oafhxKSBtXRThUvTWwBr176sjXzC7eMCjd9_ftlTzRNNWAMTN0-l7TCtsX8g/s1600/carl+gustav+carus+-+faust%2527s+dream.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="939" data-original-width="701" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg2yqAtCKVXsPh05Q4aNgjWell30Vsbo3D3vtMgvJlvQJAQji-I3H_9g6BTNTWMKFCarlBImnVNqQ8knC3oafhxKSBtXRThUvTWwBr176sjXzC7eMCjd9_ftlTzRNNWAMTN0-l7TCtsX8g/s400/carl+gustav+carus+-+faust%2527s+dream.png" width="297" /></a></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<br /></div>
<br />Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-184019635733083812018-08-02T15:38:00.004-07:002018-08-02T15:38:52.732-07:00Trolldens & Trolldom<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFrJIOYDVsed8-0U5W_Yl0plbOC_PQsKMQ7NXsyZ6eJQTdW9eT3QTEuiP4uwUJGBdyfT57rFm0zo7fHJ4inwCf8lNW0EwgeGlz1A9BW5vpW4-TrSjV_cVsNr93g3FcOf75GIHtrRGOmo/s1600/soria-moria-slott-1900.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1040" data-original-width="1600" height="208" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjSFrJIOYDVsed8-0U5W_Yl0plbOC_PQsKMQ7NXsyZ6eJQTdW9eT3QTEuiP4uwUJGBdyfT57rFm0zo7fHJ4inwCf8lNW0EwgeGlz1A9BW5vpW4-TrSjV_cVsNr93g3FcOf75GIHtrRGOmo/s320/soria-moria-slott-1900.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
(Illustration: <i>Soria Moria Castle</i> by Theodore Kittelsen)Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-84512131242537842252018-08-02T15:35:00.000-07:002018-08-02T15:35:10.598-07:00Don't Look DownYou see an oily sea where hundreds of worm-like bodies, vast as cities, slowly coil their black Cyclopean bulks about each other. Shrieks, faint and hollow and full of lament, echo across the pit.<br /><br />(d4) Random Encounters<br /><br />1. 1d4 NIGHT-GAUNTS. Monstrously cruel; they will seek to lift each member of the party into the air and drop them over the gulf.<br /><br />2. 1d6 PHANTOMS. They look like baby goats with the heads of kittens, their eyeless faces serene and full of wisdom. When they pass through a living creature, it must save vs paralysis or find that its mouth tastes of iron and that its eyes have gone blind. The effect will last until the blinded creature is exposed to sunlight or Remove Curse is cast upon it.<br /><br />3. TANTILARD. It looks like a spider-shape made of human parts -- a sneering man's head atop a fat man's trunk, with eight arms extending at intervals across its sides, each ending in a dirty hand with five wet and trembling fingers. The tantilard only speaks in magic, muttering a constant array of Charm Person and Enfeeblement spells. Its plan is to compel the party back to its stagnant lair, where it will slowly eat them for weeks, starting with their extremities.<br /><br />4. 1d6 MONKEY GOBLINS. They are no larger than a man's helmet and adept at crawling quickly along the sides of the pit unnoticed. Their bodies are grey and glistening like moist stone. The monkey goblin's chief strategy when dealing with a man-sized opponent (and they will not attempt to fight anything larger) is to crawl onto his face and press their toad-like bodies into his mouth and up his nose. Their backs are very hard and protected by an oversized spine. Any blunt damage done to a monkey goblin attached to a creature's face will be transferred to its victim automatically. PCs must make CON checks after the third round to avoid passing out from lack of air.<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NK3FtRaH6Kcoos9l6HDjjDvhxUD0Hp1jo90OWcY1ueFEIMWCkQGssNAHcAkCbTbXLUlWOgiY_9rJsd1KHK9gfr_pjcyao43nQgCEcu0U37gxWagKCkZovIRmFidJTa-_qjifF8QSg-0/s1600/down.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="656" data-original-width="883" height="237" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj-NK3FtRaH6Kcoos9l6HDjjDvhxUD0Hp1jo90OWcY1ueFEIMWCkQGssNAHcAkCbTbXLUlWOgiY_9rJsd1KHK9gfr_pjcyao43nQgCEcu0U37gxWagKCkZovIRmFidJTa-_qjifF8QSg-0/s320/down.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-34424098920143085882018-08-02T15:19:00.001-07:002018-08-02T15:19:38.662-07:00Of Toadstones<b><u>CONJECTURE</u></b>: It is possible to use toadstones in lieu of IOUN stones to store arcane magics.<br /><br /><u><b>COMMENTARY</b></u>:<br /><br /><i>Pharcynus</i>: I have heard that such a thing has been done before. Why, if I am not mistaken, it was the Witch-Queen of Grisamber...<br /><br /><i>Dyzan Dyzan</i>: Incorrect. It was the Lamias of the Chork's Wood. As I recall there were some difficulties with "dead eggs" and keeping the toadstones awake. It was necessary to throw them in a fire at night, then sift the ashes for them in the morning. The fire staved off the sleepiness that comes over all toadstones. If they're allowed to torpor for too many days, you will find that they will never wake again. <br /><br /><i>Old Moll</i>: [incoherent cackling] Eggs! Stones! The best ones come from the fastest toads that live near the river's edge. Polish 'em and pull out your eyes and pop 'em in your socketses. You'll see in the full blackness of a moonless night though folks in town will shun ya. Same rules apply -- you got to keep them eyes alive by burning them regular. <div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRFLXkjSry59t395HDaA4CTCnbkuflC1kjIEbkeaKyQzfMotxUYh2ANJS8r361Y-5SLP2aCEleZO4ZzAfxcYXiCnUkYFPwgnO4g6ZsAD3NwA5bH3DeHQjvGaXTpcNxJ-6qD1m_RPN1LM/s1600/toadstone.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1236" data-original-width="1358" height="291" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhxRFLXkjSry59t395HDaA4CTCnbkuflC1kjIEbkeaKyQzfMotxUYh2ANJS8r361Y-5SLP2aCEleZO4ZzAfxcYXiCnUkYFPwgnO4g6ZsAD3NwA5bH3DeHQjvGaXTpcNxJ-6qD1m_RPN1LM/s320/toadstone.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-82178596060805497832018-08-02T15:14:00.001-07:002018-08-02T15:14:38.933-07:00Life Cycles of CivilizationsThe mythology of <u>youthful civilizations</u>, accurate or not, dictates that these young cultures are fecund and enjoying their own existence, generally living in harmony with their natural environment, and not especially technical or scientifically rigorous in their approach to the world.<br /><br /><u>Middle-aged societies</u> are seasoned by time and often depicted as semi-pastoral, semi-urban. Compared to their youthful counterparts, these balding cultures are socially stratified, aggressive in more subtle and destructive ways, legalistic, bureaucratic, corrupt and askew in relationship to Nature.<br /><br /><u>Societies in decline</u> have lived beyond the Age of Hope and are now firmly in Despair. Their infrastructure is crumbling, government and policing skeletal. They have gone through a period of overpopulation and are now likely underpopulated with birth rates plummeting steadily. They are dying.<br /><br /><u>Dead societies</u> may still influence the living. Their karma may still occupy certain places, causing old ideas to resurface and replicate. <div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB9SBc3Z9I9KT8Pna1SKch_FKNflRa17NP6fK1MgRbRgKHiHzVFk3xSuLaQYJCww4m7ujKyxN3CVD_7kYBTJ1vq5ChQ5wjw87TRo3puOcQTCF3WV23NoRmQqOJdm-p3DYF_lit1SSkz68/s1600/Blake+-+The+Widow+Embracing+her+Husband%2527s+Grave.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1197" data-original-width="1600" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjB9SBc3Z9I9KT8Pna1SKch_FKNflRa17NP6fK1MgRbRgKHiHzVFk3xSuLaQYJCww4m7ujKyxN3CVD_7kYBTJ1vq5ChQ5wjw87TRo3puOcQTCF3WV23NoRmQqOJdm-p3DYF_lit1SSkz68/s320/Blake+-+The+Widow+Embracing+her+Husband%2527s+Grave.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-42374944074099642912018-08-02T15:07:00.004-07:002018-08-02T15:21:16.034-07:00Hierarchy of Magic-Users<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWHGMULFXiB5zROgr9XML5_45GtAKQm9n9GB1Ni4oAbXB0aOjZCJoOlPLJONS_U4vnAHOl-Ir8MF3kC8jV11_hqOVuXVLiVDYT03z8-o5ILGxuevIP1zaBVJHBetsakgMIMkkR1cHlYg/s1600/Hierarchy+of+Magic-Users.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="922" data-original-width="1600" height="184" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjQWHGMULFXiB5zROgr9XML5_45GtAKQm9n9GB1Ni4oAbXB0aOjZCJoOlPLJONS_U4vnAHOl-Ir8MF3kC8jV11_hqOVuXVLiVDYT03z8-o5ILGxuevIP1zaBVJHBetsakgMIMkkR1cHlYg/s320/Hierarchy+of+Magic-Users.png" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-4779241965574518022018-08-02T15:05:00.000-07:002018-08-02T15:05:06.984-07:00Of Projectors<b>Projector </b>classes may occur in a wide spectrum of societies, from primitive to very advanced. They represent a seminal aspect of magical exploration -- namely the manifestation of artificial beings from thin air that operate as vessels for the Projector's intellect and will. Through these means a powerful and dynamic body can be made to exist temporarily.<br /><br />While the projector is operating its false body, its soul is still housed in its true form. The original body is highly vulnerable, being effectively asleep in the deep projection trance. This has lead many projectors to seek the aid of loyal guardians, usually bound by a mystic oath of some sort, who will watch over their master and protect him from enemies.<br /><br />Example Projectors:<br /><br />1. <u>The Animal Ghost</u> is instructed from youth to emanate the spirit-form of a particular animal type. Wolf-ghosts and hawk-ghosts are quite common among Stone Age cultures. They maintain strong relationships with the animal life of a particular wilderness. The powers of the animal ghost are relied on by the chieftains of their peoples, and they are often the consorts of augurs. Animal ghosts can walk on water, breathe fire, and pass through non-metal materials. They are especially vulnerable to Sleep and Sleep-like magics, any of which will cause them to vanish and has a 5% chance per level of the caster to send the projector into a coma that will last 1d3 years unless treated by a 6th+ level cleric or priest.<br /><br />2. <u>The Watcher</u> takes on the form of a many-eyed serpent that can only be harmed by +1 weapons or better. Watchers are typically the minions of more powerful magic-users, kept fat and spoiled until they are commanded to project into serpent-form and investigate some matter. Watchers hide in shadows like a thief three times their level of experience. Their venom causes madness (save allowed).<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsRDYLVpyZV1Iq_Jk8k2I2D3uMRDRFqfNOz90E7KSpQSShEjoOquDGXTRaNROQDDdqVNNF1nCezwsnpcpR3eyV_VbdxXabGDytqEDFJGtpGaXUNgKDtfvv7V4VEl9WDRk1SKVtNGpMhY/s1600/Baldung_Hexen_1508_kol.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1113" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiTsRDYLVpyZV1Iq_Jk8k2I2D3uMRDRFqfNOz90E7KSpQSShEjoOquDGXTRaNROQDDdqVNNF1nCezwsnpcpR3eyV_VbdxXabGDytqEDFJGtpGaXUNgKDtfvv7V4VEl9WDRk1SKVtNGpMhY/s400/Baldung_Hexen_1508_kol.jpg" width="277" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-49713981402324585842018-08-02T15:01:00.001-07:002018-08-02T15:01:39.611-07:00IOK-YALAI<b>IOK-YALAI</b> is counted among the seven-hundred children sired by the Jale God and Shub-Lol. She is the Worm of Spiritual Corrosion, and her gaze attack of violent joy is like the light of a sun cascading over the world and igniting it on fire. She is the size of a hundred temples and she floats low above the treeline, her passing shadow causing reality to shudder underneath her like a giddy lamb.<br /><br />She can be summoned by six or nine 12th+ level magic-users casting a ritual in concert. Each must strum a tune from the Bard's Bardo on a thirteen-string guitar strung with the hair of a dead mermaid or the guts of a displacer beast. The performance shall last thirteen nights prior to an Equinox, preferably near a mountain summit that overlooks a stretch of plains where the manifestation will occur.<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvsvkeTCnb2C-YHGpbuSDpeMR9tBknbYRJW4-BZzmGW_SWDuIqpyV5mtZc01nXfY6YOxsIeEqMXTGe-1KrTY7_FRZ8nVZowmsrSimX76ZpZh0XKC7Va27Crzw6cCXd1gQYUh8ahvPxxQ/s1600/IOK-YALAI.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="878" data-original-width="732" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjVvsvkeTCnb2C-YHGpbuSDpeMR9tBknbYRJW4-BZzmGW_SWDuIqpyV5mtZc01nXfY6YOxsIeEqMXTGe-1KrTY7_FRZ8nVZowmsrSimX76ZpZh0XKC7Va27Crzw6cCXd1gQYUh8ahvPxxQ/s400/IOK-YALAI.png" width="332" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-20067606122203306892018-08-02T14:34:00.001-07:002018-08-02T14:34:34.974-07:00The Cult of Death and Its Gospel<br />
<div class="i8Zvz" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 20px; margin: 0px; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px; word-wrap: break-word;">
</div>
<div jsname="MTOxpb" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; -webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: medium; font-style: normal; font-variant-caps: normal; font-variant-ligatures: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; orphans: 2; text-align: start; text-decoration-color: initial; text-decoration-style: initial; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 2; word-spacing: 0px;">
<div jsaction="rcuQ6b:QNozjc;" jscontroller="T4Un2e" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent;">
<div class="e8zLFb" id="c701" jsaction="click:KjsqPd;H5bEoe:KjsqPd;" jscontroller="J3oyWd" jsdata="LfLzDd;https://plus.google.com/photos/104761529826249240290/albums/6582686372011640849/6582686368472929826?authkey=COro5-7E4KWjkAE;$1171" jslog="10942; track:impression,click" jsmodel="bTCmc" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; position: relative;">
<div class="uvi9me" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; margin: auto; position: relative;">
<div class="ZC69kc" id="c702" style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent;">
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
</div>
<br />
<b>The Cult of Death</b> moves swiftly through kingdoms. Bearing no arms of war nor threats of violence, these raggedy fools come beaming like saints. Some folk welcome them as guests. Others bar their doors and extinguish their lights when they hear that Death's pilgrims are out on the roads. But it matters not -- inevitably every man, woman and child will hear the Gospel, and then all that is left to be done is to join the pilgrimage for a while or simply gash your throat with a bit of broken glass right away.<br /><br /><b>The Gospel of Death</b> is contained in a small black book with very thin cream-colored pages. It is said to contain several images and aphorisms. These aphorisms can be pronounced fully in several minutes. Their content is necessarily omitted here, as no magical protection surrounds this document. The Gospel is learned by rote instantly by those who who hear it (save allowed) and thereby become members of the Cult of Death. A WIS check will determine if a new adherent is compelled to kill him/herself as soon as possible, or (failing the check) join the Pilgrimage of Death that follows the setting sun across the face of the world, spreading the Gospel to all sentient creatures.<br /><br />Members of the Cult carry no weapons and follow an unbreakable code of pacifism. They abandon power, material or magical, when they dedicate themselves to the service of Dissolution. They have no fear of death. In most cases they have proven apathetic to torture, and this has lead to the general consensus that cultists are bewitched and that their apparent dogmatism can possibly be dispelled. Magical philosophers advancing these theories are likely to find themselves haunted by malicious poltergeists for months or years. <div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA1frhbM7tAHhhZRCLlp1sasz3eA8ZNq3GbCvt3vJsUIOVwxT1V9N63CE0eccEJ4u921uQKRvW2q8VfORCx0rxqcnqS75WNqgMhbXCTm3wgwF1vfeyOi9Ky7GosOQzAKN8zOO5A6lo6r8/s1600/drawingsengravin00blakuoft_0107.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="704" data-original-width="681" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjA1frhbM7tAHhhZRCLlp1sasz3eA8ZNq3GbCvt3vJsUIOVwxT1V9N63CE0eccEJ4u921uQKRvW2q8VfORCx0rxqcnqS75WNqgMhbXCTm3wgwF1vfeyOi9Ky7GosOQzAKN8zOO5A6lo6r8/s320/drawingsengravin00blakuoft_0107.jpg" width="309" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-60657817876744490302018-08-02T14:08:00.000-07:002018-08-02T14:08:36.154-07:00Of Demiurges and the Forge of WorldsA <b>demiurge</b> is a lord (or lordling) of Chaos who has been granted regency over a world created by an absentee Lord of Law. These pacts predate our knowledge of the Multiverse and hint at an old cooperation or arrangement between certain factions of Chaos and their Lawful counterparts. While the god-smiths who gave birth to these worlds are gone -- perhaps lapsed into the Last Sleep or taken away by Time entirely -- many of their demiurgic prentices remain to perpetuate their patterns of love and hate and woe and joy over the worlds they govern in secret.<br /><br />In the darkest deeps of the Void one might find the <b>Forge of Worlds</b> sidling through the darkness like a vast black galleon. It is a place inhabited by invisible custodians. A demiurge could show you how to operate it, though you would need all the potency of a god-smith to power it.<div>
<br /></div>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRUmSNlxY1UY2XuUrtTX_KC0PYbzA_l25WKPfZe1eM3iSZdFg6n0DYOrF_dGF9yWZRfFI6lCu4Bf8mgfkTE4yVufDRjzeq6-gKrk98KtyFoV7TqR-WNPBJKLD6snkDqzR3uQz2inbAXhU/s1600/demiurge.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1163" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjRUmSNlxY1UY2XuUrtTX_KC0PYbzA_l25WKPfZe1eM3iSZdFg6n0DYOrF_dGF9yWZRfFI6lCu4Bf8mgfkTE4yVufDRjzeq6-gKrk98KtyFoV7TqR-WNPBJKLD6snkDqzR3uQz2inbAXhU/s400/demiurge.png" width="290" /></a></div>
<div>
<br /></div>
Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-8055155197652247242.post-54301596291092817182018-08-02T13:39:00.002-07:002018-08-02T13:41:47.895-07:001d6 Social Contracts<b>1d6 binding social contracts for a given fantasy demographic</b><br /><br /><br /> Roll twice if you feel like it.<br /><br /><br /> 1. <u>Cult Marriage</u>: Religious and sexual union between two or more partners. Sometimes predetermined by the Procreation cults, sometimes determined by local fashion or popular romantic philosophy.<br /><br />2. <u>Bastardism</u>: When two bastard brothers or sisters from rival houses become business partners for the benefit or detriment of society. Bastard duos are popular figures. Sometimes notorious as skinflints and bullies, sometimes beloved as local saints, sometimes sneeringly regarded as rakes and drunkards. Their enterprises are always successful until the day one of the bastards dies.<br /><br />3. <u>Witchbrothering</u>: Voluntary thralldom to a witch or sorceress of at least 10th level. May involve sex or mandatory genital mutilation. The witchbrother is given a boon in return for his utter servitude, usually a magical ability that will make him more useful.<br /><br />4. <u>Beast Briding</u>: A maiden is wed to the local animal godlet, usually a gryphon or werewolf, sometimes a wereboar, all invested with immortality by their divine patrons. For the gryphon she will produce eggs with golden, silver or adamantine shells that may only be broken by a magical cudgel or hammer of at least +3 enchantment. Said to contain moon-calves or phoenixes. For the werebeast she will produce men and women destined to become kings or queens, possibly emperors or empresses. Those births are quite rare, actually, and it is 96% more likely that she will produce grotesques that resemble wizened, evil duplicates of their fathers.<br /><br />5. <u>Goatwiving</u>: Blasphemous union between man and she-goat. Most historians attest to the logical theory that this is what gave rise to the Goat-man race. <br /><br />6. <u>Landblooding</u>: The ultimate expression of a land-staking, when a family blood sacrifices its youngest member to the earth-spirit that oversees the local area and thus earns its fullest invitation. Landblooded can understand the languages of all animals native to their familial land and can interpret the postures of local trees and stones.<b style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-weight: 400;"><br /></span></b>
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-yB0QoU1GdUt4dnZCnN1qlYVEbrBPJKKqEYcE3VwEoo28vkPyS5_EhYg3U198_41CvFiwN1xb30iK6vbSPnegJcE8M8W3-zRQOiKdunXSt-YDShBgl2ItQygbdQMdPGMpVIlQzuQ-NI/s1600/fig029.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="935" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4-yB0QoU1GdUt4dnZCnN1qlYVEbrBPJKKqEYcE3VwEoo28vkPyS5_EhYg3U198_41CvFiwN1xb30iK6vbSPnegJcE8M8W3-zRQOiKdunXSt-YDShBgl2ItQygbdQMdPGMpVIlQzuQ-NI/s320/fig029.jpg" width="249" /></a></div>
<b style="-webkit-tap-highlight-color: transparent; background-color: white; color: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.87); font-family: Roboto, RobotoDraft, Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; white-space: pre-wrap;"><span style="font-weight: 400;"><br /></span></b>Greg Gorgonmilkhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/15397374629757817360noreply@blogger.com0