Thursday, July 2, 2015

Bujilli: Episode 134

A wounded Kalidah lurches from behind some bushes with a ferocious roar...

"Scheiss!" Leeja's hair flashed and slashed behind her in agitation. She remembered the last one of these tiger-headed bear-things were brought into the beast cages beneath the main arena at the Academy. Two of her friends had been badly mauled before they could get it properly chained. It never did respond to any of the usual sedatives. Some of the crew were convinced that the beasts were immune to White Powder...but no one ever got to test that theory out.

"Its bleeding..." Bujilli examined the wounded beast. He knew it would not be able to rush him, not with the way it was wobbling, limping.

"Something has nearly ruined its knees...and one elbow..."

"HobYAH. Hobyah-hobyah-hobYah..." A shaggy little thing with a face like a boney cave-fish nodded in solemn agreement. Or perhaps it was mocking him. Bujilli wasn't quite sure.

"Hobyah HOBYAH! hobhobhobhobhob..." giggled the little creature as it danced and pranced and waved its clicking little claws about.

Three. Five. Ten. More than a dozen. Two dozen. Three dozen. More. Many more.

Hobyahs swarmed out of the surrounding bushes and mobbed the Kalidah, biting at it's knees or elbows or any other joint they could reach. Little things. Tiny teeth. Many small wounds.

The Kalidah roared and reared and swatted and swung its formidable claws about, gnashed and snapped its toothy jaws together, but it was to no avail.

The Hobyahs danced in under the Kalidah's claws, bit off a small piece of flesh or fur, then flipped or tumbled back out of the way, and did it all over again and again and again.

Leeja tugged on Bujilli's arm. He shook himself. Looked away from the methodical carnage of the Hobyahs. One look into her gold-green eyes and he nodded.

They withdrew from the small glen, leaving the Hobyahs to their gruesome slaughter.

A slight trail, possibly made by deer or some other creature led them off along a steeply sloping hillside, into the denser brush, into a darker region dominated by thickets. They kept going, not at all inclined to stick around where the Hobyahs might come looking for them.


They both froze in mid-step.

Leeja's eyes went wide in amazement.

She pointed up and to the right. A large tree was toppling in slow-motion.

"What is it?" Bujilli squinted, began to shift his perceptions--

"No!" Leeja hissed; "Do Not Do That!" Her hand grip tightened on his arm. He could feel her claws.


"If you do that, it will see you much better than you will ever see it. As it is, I see it too well already, and it can feel, can sense me--we need to go another way. Quickly."

"Is it a Horla?" Bujilli was curious about those unseen malefactors; his uncle had once tried to purchase a live-caught Horla-pup from an old airship captain who it turned out was just a lying fraud. Horlas had some strange abilities and qualities one could make use of if they knew certain secrets...his uncle seemed to know all about that sort of thing. But then he was something of a fraud, himself. Just one with a lot of spell-casting ability and a few imprisoned demons to back him up in his lies and mind-games.

"No. It's a Damned Thing. More of a grazing beast, but about as forgiving as a monocerous or behemoth."

"I've never seen a Damned thing before..."

"And you won't now, either. Not and live. Let's go that way." Leeja struck off through the brambles and thorns, past bristly nettles and flowering plants that shook and wiggled giddily from the heavy clomping steps of the Damned Thing.

Bujilli wasted no time following his partner. He was intensely curious, but knew of no spell that would keep them safe from the wild territorial aggression of a Damned Thing For all he knew it was rutting season; it would not be prudent to stick around to find out.

They passed three deeply weathered, moss-festooned blue-green menhirs; standing stones. One was leaning and the third one had already fallen.

A lighting-blasted oak.

Water gleamed and glittered from behind a tattered veil of leaves waving in the soft breeze. Leeja wordlessly took his hand and led him directly away from that place.

Dark pines pushed up and out from below and between lichen-crusted rocks and boulders. Stunted, twisted little trees grew more straight and tall and massive as they climbed up and up the increasingly rugged incline. Jumbled piles of rocks rose out of the ground like drowning ships caught in a storm at sea, half buried and overgrown with delicate little flowers and ferns and mosses.

Pine needles formed a rusty, fragrant carpet underfoot.

Gnarled, hard roots rose and fell as they swam through the rocky soil, making the going easier in that they offered some hand-holds, but also making progress painful in soft-soled boots.

A cluster of tiny green eggs erupted into a scintillating cascade of sparkly diamond-flies as they passed.

Ferns curled and unfurled in a patient pantomime of everything they noticed.

It started to rain.



The brush parted, revealing a rutted gravel road.

Thunder boomed and reverberated overhead.

Some sort of lights were approaching from the left.

Creaking. Swearing in some guttural mountain language. Heavy thudding hooves...

Gnosiomandus laughed. In his hand was a brothel token. One of the really old ones. Ishtyrri's Seeds. Laputan Sovereigns. That's what the Assclowns called these things, from back in the bad old days. Before everything got so damned complicated and convoluted. He closed his eyes. He was so tired. So very tired. But there wasn't time to dawdle, nor to mourn; they had many miles to go before they could rest. He wiped the crust of red grit from his lips and beard. It would be good to finally make it through this dry, deadly red place. He missed the rhododendron and apple trees, the sweet-but-deadly flowers, even the Red Weeds of Wermspittle. He missed a lot of things. But there was no going back. Not yet. He had a mission to carry out. Maybe it was time to share some of what he was up to with his two companions. He wasn't sure how much he could trust them...

Lanterns swung madly at the end of looped brass supports on each corner of the black funeral carriage. The driver wore a heavy, multi-layered coachmen's cloak and a voluminous yellow scarf that was not wool. His hand appeared leprous in the encroaching gloom. The horses foamed and struggled in their harness, their eyes empty as boiled eggs.

"This is not the way..." Leeja tugged at Bujilli's sleeve, less forcefully this time, but no less insistent.

Back through the thorns and thistles they went, just as the carriage passed by the spot they had been standing.

The thunder diminished.

That way faded.

Only the trees remained distinct and clear...

...and the rocks...

...and the tumbled-down ruins of some manor or redoubt.

"Want to go check that out? Or should we head along the path in the other direction, away form that place?"

What should they do next? Which direction should they go?

You Decide!

Synchronocitor Status: Fully Recharged.

Roll for Initiative!
Someone please roll 1d6 for 1) Bujilli, 2) Leeja, 3) Whatever lurks within the strange woods...

Which Direction?
Do you think that they should head towards the ruined redoubt, or away from it? Follow the path, or go cross-country? Try to locate the way back to that place in the rain where the carriage passed? Look for another weak point or soft spot? try to locate a mirror aperture? Something else? It's up to you readers--You Decide!

Roll for Possible Observation.
Please roll 1d6 and let me know the result. If you get a 1, there is a bonus Random Encounter. If you get a 6, then the encounter is from the other side of another mirror-aperture.

Optional Spot Mirror Roll. (1d30)
We'll also need another d30 roll to determine if Bujilli or Leeja spot yet another mirror in the distance. A result of 10 means maybe/it isn't clear, a result of 20 means that there seems to be a mirror in a random direction, but it looks closed/shuttered; and a result of 30 means that they spot a mirror in the distance that might be open and accessible...or at least whatever they are seeing appears that way from a distance. A result of 1 means something else mirror-related happens, possibly some sort of environmental effect or shift in the surrounding terrain...

What Should They Do Next?

You Decide!

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Monday, June 29, 2015


Caprichographika (Wermspittle)

Some of the more whimsically-malicious forms of degenerate art, Caprichogrphika are a critically-debased and esoterically-scatalogical assault on the innumerable foibles, follies and foolishness to be found in any of the three civilized societies, as well as from the lingering scientific prejudices, deceitful practices, and blind adherence to outmoded industrial doctrines that customs, ignorance and entrenched self-interest have made dominant forces in the wake of the devastation brought about in the last war.

Most take the form of editorial cartoons, but a surprising number also show up in the form of etchings and graven images printed upon paper manufactured from the sweepings from Killing Floors and using crude, sepia-like inks derived from the offal, leavings, blood and filth likewise gathered in the aftermath of the Butcher's trade. Each is deeply impressed with the lingering echoes of slaughter and are reputed to attract buzzing swarms of Gebrochengeists or even demons.

If the image you have discovered has a more grayish cast to it or perhaps a distinct black edging, if is more likely to be a  Graven Image which is a more specialized form of Caprichographika once popular in Nagrothea and crafted from ground-up funeral cerements, shrouds, and the ashes of the cremated dead, often plague victims, orphans or the unclaimed. These things tend to be more toxic on the whole and should never be left lying around loose, especially near the sleeping or recently deceased as it may well prove significantly detrimental. Take this editor's advice and sell any such Graven Images as you might come into possession of to either a reputable Resurrectionist, a representative from the Barrow Makers and Mound Builders Mutual Indemnity & Welfare League, or even a Metempsychotic if you cannot locate someone more pleasant with whom to make the exchange. Fantomists may also express an interest in your recent find, so perhaps you can negotiate some sort of arrangement with them if you are so inclined, but you'd best act quickly before drawing the ire of the Undertakers. I have been told that there is a lively trade in these sorts of things among certain of the patrons who frequent The Tall Man, a dingy little rathskellar near Skrimm Street.

Yellow Kids will sometimes attempt to slip a Caprichographika into the paper, tabloid or nickel-dreadful of those customers who forget to tip the little scamps. Usually this is only a minor nuisance. In those instances where things escalate well past that stage, it sometimes helps to engage the services of a Necro-Mesmerist or licensed Karcist, certified Phantasmalist, bonded Geisterbeschwörer or similar specialist in such phenomena. You will want to attend to matters sooner, rather than later, before attracting a Fantodic, Hasnamuss, or poltergeist. Myself, I prefer to just over-tip the little bastards and avoid the unpleasantness altogether. It is also the policy of our publisher to feed any unsolicited Caprichographika that comes into the offices to an Ordrang that is kept penned-up in the basement near the incinerator, boiler and generators. We used to bundle the things and sell them wholesale to a group of ungezeifers, but after their third cheque was refused by the bank, we stopped dealing with them entirely.

Lastly, it is never a good idea to fall asleep near one of these foul bits of compressed phantasmal debris and offal. Doing so leaves one vulnerable to all manner of nightmares, highly negatively-charged psychic impressions, and the lingering echoes of fear, pain and death. Your health will suffer. Your sanity will erode. Your life will be in peril, eventually. And while it is tempting to burn these things, this only releases the pent-up psychic filth contained within them, often with explosive repercussions...

Thursday, June 11, 2015

Bujilli: Episode 133

Leeja drove off an all-too-inquisitive Purple Spider and then she and Bujilli followed a small almost-path until hitting a fork in the road. One way led down into a marshy area full of birch and poplar trees, the other led upward across and around twisted gray rocks and rugged outcroppings interspersed with clusters of majestic, immense pine trees...

Leeja breathed deep the fragrance of the birch trees in the marsh just below her. The scent was unfamiliar to her, but it reminded her of some of the flowers in a Walled Garden she had raided during her first week as a Forager...before getting hired-on to work in the beast-pens for Unfred. The memory stung her. It felt like a lifetime ago. She was conflicted about what had happened to her former employer. Sure, he had been a petty tyrant and a real jerk at times, but he had given her a place to sleep, food in the winter, and a small source of income. She had suspected his ties to the Corruption Trade or to the Confectioners...there was too much White Powder freely available among her co-workers for Unfred to not be getting a cut of the action. But he had betrayed and ambushed her, seized Bujilli and dragged him off to the Butchers. He deserved to die for that. If he was truly dead. No one who had survived more than a couple of winters in Wermspittle would ever underestimate the perverse horrors made possible by the White Powder. Least of all someone who had toiled in the beast-pens where abominations were made to order for the Arenas.

What's done is done. She told herself. It didn't make it any easier, nor less conflicted, but it allowed her to let go and focus on the task at hand. Bujilli was still dazed and confused; his experience tampering with the mirror-aperture leading to Yian-Ho had taken a toll on his system. He was feverish, but improving rapidly, much more quickly than the last time he had done something weirdly questionable and sorcerously dangerous and extremely unwise.

She shook her head. This outsider with the scraggly beard and mis-matched hands was her friend, her partner...perhaps...she stopped. Something moved off in the distance. Ripples sparkled and shimmered. Trees swayed and groaned, not form any wind, but from something huge moving past them. A Bandersnatch? Some gargantuan serpent-thing? A wallowing Bruthem?

Moss. Glistening and gleaming with a thousand-thousand little wet diamonds of dew, tiny red filamentous whiskers flailing about like guard hairs or antennae; a Moss Whale shuddered and quivered and shoved its massive bulk through the marsh.

Leeja watched the Moss Whale wander past. She considered following it, but the ground quickly became spongy, soggy, treacherous and sucking the farther down the path led. Not more than fifty feet down the slope and the path was flooded with black water. Slim, dirty figures flitted from tree to rock to bulbous growth--Bogles. Whether they were hunting or herding the Moss Whale, or simply following it to see what turned-up, she didn't know. But she did know that there were far too many of the nasty things moving through the area below to even consider going that way.

She led Bujilli away from the softly precipitous edge of the gravelly path overlooking the way down to the marshes. Leeja had decided. They would head towards the rocks and the pine trees. Besides, she preferred the fragrance of the dark green space with the pines to the fetid reek of the stirred-up mud left in the wake of that huge, wallowing beast.

Bujilli's boot scuffed. He nearly tripped. Leeja caught him. There was a shining thing lying there, partly buried by the dirt and gravel. She knelt down and brushed aside the small rocks. It was some sort of jewel or gemstone, curiously cut into an elegant oval, not quite an egg-shape--it was too uniform, too regular for that. It held a tiny flickering blue-green light deep inside...

Niobe screamed in agony. The black-iron barbs dug into her flesh the more she struggled, shifted, flowed. Voorish magic curdled her nerves and assaulted her senses, but she would not submit. Not to these scum. She closed her smoldering gold-green eyes and calmed herself, stilled her flesh, even her hair. Bathurst had given her three vials. The first vial contained a powerful solvent that had dissolved the bloated old Orbiculate that these parasites let prowl around the dried-out moat. The second vial had been a oily-golden solution that put both the Horlas to sleep. The third vial...that one she still had with her, in the soft leather sleeve dangling from her belt. Smiling, she ground her hip against the black-iron constraints. It hurt. Oh it hurt terribly. But finally the vial snapped and the red fluid drizzled down her leg, mingled with her own blood. Her captors wouldn't stand a chance now ...

Leeja wished to herself that Bujilli was more coherent. He might have some idea of what this gem-thing might be, whether it was good to pick it up, or best to leave it behind.

He had told her about his experience with a green gem, one that had whispered into his mind and taught him spells in his dreams, one that had led him into danger and deadly peril in order to get itself into the hands of a more suitable candidate, someone more pliable, gullible, less resistant to the gem's influence.

Not that he hadn't been lulled into believing, into trusting the gem, at first.

But then he had grown up in a sorcerer's yurt, surrounded by duplicitous demons, grinning skulls and worse.

It was a wonder that he hadn't turned out much worse, or become something his uncle.

Leeja stood up. Brushed off her gloves. Kicked dirt and small stones over the gem, reburying it.

She didn't like the idea of something twisting her brain and distorting her mind to serve some implacable, inhuman agenda that considered her expendable.

Looking back there was only a cold, dim gloom and much swirling murkiness...and behind the billowing haze was a deadly desert, a dreary gray wasteland that bled off into every direction and thee were Purple Spiders and farther back, in the deeper reaches of the space in-between mirrors there were undulating-gronking hillocks that grazed along the fault-lines of uncertainties and flocks of twittering masks...and she had no intention of going back through any of that. Not again.

The pine trees gave off a clean fragrance that she found comforting, welcoming.

She'd never seen such a thing as a pine tree prior to her arrival in Wermspittle by way of the Unterrail tunnels from Aman Utal.

They were like fungi, only with better wood and lovely green needle-like leaves all along their gnarly branches and rich with a sticky sap that she was sure would be good for something if she only had paid more attention in cooking class. There were delicate ferns uncurling in the light mist. Dewdrops made the grass shine. An owl hooted overhead. Bujilli tugged at her hand.

He shook himself, shedding accumulated moisture from his beard and tossled hair. His eyes were clearer and getting better quickly. The shock was fading even as the knowledge he'd gained was assimilated and processed. Whatever had happened when he meddled with the mirror-aperture, it had changed him.

Leeja stood there watching as he woke up from his walking slumber. This half-breed sorcerer underwent a great number of personal transformations, almost as many as had been forced upon her during her childhood. Perhaps that was one of the things they held in common. One of many such things, she suspected.

"Where?" He gasped through cracked lips.

"Away from there. Were on a path that leads into a wooded area. Here." She helped him drink some water. They would need to replenish their supply soon. She didn't trust his water-skins; she knew that he had used one to hold some sort of dream-goop and wasn't sure if he still lugged it around, and did not want to inadvertently contaminate either of them.

"Thanks." He handed back the water-skin with a crooked smile.

"Do you want to go back?" She hesitated.

"No." He laughed. Stretched his arms. Took a deep breath. Held it. Exhaled slowly.

"Well?" She prodded, slightly nervous at his stare.

"You could have left me--"

"No. I could not. So let's get moving." Leeja's hair fluttered and whipped about her head as she turned and started walking along the increasingly steep and rocky path.

Bujilli followed. He had the nagging sensation that he had come very, very close to something grand and glorious...but couldn't quite place it. The effects of his recent experiment still blunted his senses and left him disoriented. He was glad to have a partner like Leeja. She wasn't like anyone else he had ever know before.


Leeja stifled a shriek. Bujilli dropped into a crouch, slipping-out his hand-axe and drawing upon his repertoire out of deeply ingrained instinct, sheer reflex

"Tiger?" Leeja hissed.

"Bear?" Bujilli wasn't certain either.

A wounded  Kalidah shambled out form behind some densely-packed mulberry and currant bushes...

What should they do next? Which direction should they go?

You Decide!

Synchronocitor Status: Fully Recharged.

Roll for Initiative!
Someone please roll 1d6 for 1) Bujilli, 2) Leeja, 3) The Kalidah, and 4) Whatever lurks off to either side...just in case...oh, and how about 5) Anything that might be following the wounded beast...

Which Direction?
So...they can rush forward to attack the already wounded beast. Or they an try to evade it; maybe hide in the bushes or climb a tree or use a spell like Invisibility. Or they could attempt to scare off the creature, possibly Wrathful Facade would work well for that. Or...hmmm...they could turn around and head back toward the marsh or the swirling murk behind them. Or maybe you have a suggestion for a better option. Let me know in the comments or by email! You Decide!

Roll for Possible Observation.
Please roll 1d6 and let me know the result. If you get a 1, there is a bonus Random Encounter. If you get a 6, then the encounter is from the other side of another mirror-aperture.

Optional Spot Mirror Roll. (1d30)
We'll also need another d30 roll to determine if Bujilli or Leeja spot yet another mirror in the distance. A result of 10 means maybe/it isn't clear, a result of 20 means that there seems to be a mirror in a random direction, but it looks closed/shuttered; and a result of 30 means that they spot a mirror in the distance that might be open and accessible...or at least whatever they are seeing appears that way from a distance. A result of 1 means something else mirror-related happens, possibly some sort of environmental effect or shift in the surrounding terrain...

What Should They Do Next?

You Decide!

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Tuesday, June 9, 2015

Watch Out For Snails (Wermspittle)

“`Will you walk a little faster?' said a whiting to a snail,
`There's a porpoise close behind us, and he's treading on my tail.'”
Lewis Carroll

Alice's Adventures in Wonderland​

Snails are subversive little helically-shelled molluscs that have demonstrated a pronounced tendency to congregate on the periphery of Soft Spots and Weak Points, so long as they impinge upon or access a space that the snails consider habitable. They will not be found clustered about an aperture leading to some hellish place, nor are they fond of frozen wastelands or inundated or airless spaces.

In fact, it is this tendency of the various types of snails to designate livable, breathable, bearable places on the other-side of these mutable junctures that has endeared them to Foragers, Scavengers and other explorers. And it is for this reason that few, if any, of these sorts of people will ever willingly eat a snail, even in the worst parts of winter.

There are rumored to be a species of translucent green snails that can be gathered from underneath the eaves of certain disreputable houses in the Burned Over District that are acutely sensitive to the flow of time and can be used to gauge the aging effects of those Soft Spots that have become unhinged or unfixed in time. One merely places a few of the little snails in close proximity to the Soft Spot and watches their progress. If they slither off into the unseen vortex before the count of really don't want to go there.

Another very helpful species of snail is the red-banded snails one finds fairly abundantly in the Purple Glow beneath the Red Weed canopies of the boulevards. These flabby little things will spontaneously melt into a horrid-smelling pink ichor when brought within twenty feet of most types of undead. The sticky syrup they leave behind in their sudden demise has been known to dissolve the subtle bonds that hold all but the most heavily reinforced animated skeletons together, making it a useful commodity in its own right. Small wicker baskets and tin cages holding a handful of these snails can be purchased extremely cheaply just outside most bars, taverns or toll-outhouses.

Of course, not all snails are quite as helpful as others. Carnivorous Snails often prowl the crumbling ruins of abandoned Walled Gardens in search of tasty morsels they might catch unawares upon the many forking paths. Dreamsnails lurk furtively along the shallow reaches of the Oneiropelagic zones to prey upon incautious dreamers and dissolute sleepers alike. The dreaded blood-sucking snails of Liboor seem to be extinct, but one never knows when some enterprising debris-picker or rubble-sifter might come across a degenerate swarm of the things in some dilapidated and half-demolished museum or zoological supply house. Packsnails are sometimes used by those headed down into the Near Dark, but they have become much more expensive since they seem to have gone sterile from constant exposure to unwholesome influences such as delvers are prone to encounter. Similarly, the Ridingsnails raised by various and sundry Little People have become increasingly rare as their numbers have been massively depleted by the recent outbreak of Creeping Crud brought back from Zilesia by several dozen Pruztian deserters. The zombified dire-snails said to infest the less well-mapped sections of the Jumbles scarcely bear mentioning...

Monday, June 8, 2015

Kleinschlosser Bats

"...And on this day was von Hausman hanged from a gibbet in the public square after being convicted on a proven charge of vampirism. and on this same day there did occur the departure of the bats, thousands of horrible creatures which have plagued the city for weeks. And on the night of this same day, February 13 in the year of our lord 1643 was a stake driven through von Hausman's heart and his head cut off with a grave-digger's shovel."

The Town Archives of Kleinschloss

Kleinschlosser Bats
No. Enc.: 5d20 (10d20)
Alignment: Neutral
Movement: 15' (5')
         Fly: 120' (40')
Armor Class: 8 [11]
Hit Dice
Attacks: 1
Damage: Confuse and Bite (Blood Drain, 1d4 per turn)
Save: F2
Morale: 10 [-4 if confronted by open flame]

Special: for every 5 Kleinschlosser Bats in a swarm, victims suffer a cumulative penalty of -1 on their Save versus Confusion. those affected by this confusion suffer a -2 penalty on all rolls to hit, cannot cast spells above first-level, and have their movement reduced by half.
"I have lifted the veil. I have created life, wrested the secret of life from life. ...  From the lives of those who have gone before, I have created life."

When the last of the vampires were exterminated they did not go quietly. They conspired with a duplicitous defrocked surgeon and his coterie of scientist-acolytes and a few demented Gleiben followers to fashion a weapon of vengeance that would persist long after their demise.

Doktor Neimann-Werdegast  is suspected of using three taxidermied specimens of Ahools stolen from the Medical College in Wermspittle, and working in collaboration with a small sect of Lesser Nosferatus that had escaped detection, and thus destruction, by joining a travelling carnival, as well as copious amounts of his so-called 'Neufleisch,' in the unhallowed manufacture of these horrid, hybrid bat-things.

Vile, unclean beasts that gorge on human blood, the swirling swarms of Kleinschlosser Bats are rarely seen these days. Once they terrorized the countryside, slipping past defenses or window-wards and preying upon the weak, the old, the infirm and anyone else who was vulnerable...and in the winter there are always many who are weakened due to starvation, plague or worse.

Thankfully, the Kleinschlosser Bats are almost all gone now. They proved susceptible to a blight that decimated their numbers and bands of outraged villagers and farm children bricked-up any cave, boarded-over every cellar-window, and burned-down any abandoned property where they believed the bats had established a lair. For a brief season or two it became something of an obsession or a pastime in the Low Lands to go looking for the bats and to spoil their lairs. If the things had been good to eat, it would have only taken one season, probably less, but these bats are vile tasting and completely inedible.

Every now and then a small swarm of the things is discovered in some out of the way spot, and there are rumors that a few survivors of the vampiric purges might be raising swarms of these bats in hidden caverns beneath Urgoldt, Runoz or even Wermspittle...but those are only rumors...

Excerpt from A Child's Book of Things Good to Burn or Bash;

...sample of yellow-speckled mold and spread it along the top and sides of a window, doorway or entrance to a cave where you've spotted the bats. Make sure you slather it on good and thick, like the best jam across a biscuit. Give it a couple of coats if possible. Leave the stick or brush there. Do Not Take The Mold Back With You. That would be bad. Your entire family could be made sick, or even die if you fail to heed this warning. You wouldn't want that, now would you?

Secondly, gather-up some of your play-mates and friends and invite them help you nail sturdy boards over the window or to block-up the doorway or cave-mouth with heavy rocks, rubble, or bricks. If you can get some concrete to trowel into the cracks, that would be best, but in a pinch a small amount of quiescent Grout will do nicely--as long as you do precisely as we explained in the previous chapter. Gobbling Grout can be dangerous, even lethal, if mis-handled. If you are still unsure what to do, ask an adult for some help...

Source of Inspiration: The Vampire Bat (1933) which can be seen at Youtube or at the Internet Archives...and a host of vintage Children's Books that just get weirder and creepier over time...


Hit Dice: 1+ (Can gain XP)
Armor Class: 7 [12]
Attacks: 1 weapon (1d6) or 2 claws (1d4+1, 1d4-1) or 1 bite (Paralysis)
Saving Throw: 17
Special:(see below)
Move: 9
Alignment: Chaos
Challenge Level/XP: 1/15

Foul, fetid and fiendishly disposed to the capture and devouring of all trespassers, Ghoul-Kin form small tight-knit communities around the fringes of ghoulish enclaves, catacombs and redoubts.

Degenerate hybrid offspring of the ghouls and their once mostly human ancestors, the Ghoul-Kin see all non-ghoulish kind as either meat or mates.

Ghoul-Kin receive a +2 bonus to all Saves versus Charm or Sleep spells, unless the spell is cast by a ghoul, in which case they suffer a -4 penalty. Their bite will cause temporary paralysis for 1d6 turns if the victim fails their Save.

If considering a playable Ghoul-Kin character...don't...but if you insist, they usually suffer a -4 penalty to their effective CHAR score with all living beings except necromancers. Their CHAR is as rolled for all undead and most magical beings. They can advance as Fighters, Thieves or Magic-Users, but rarely as Clerics, unless they are Cultists. Details will no doubt vary widely from campaign to campaign, setting to setting, world to world.

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