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1d100 Strange NPCs for my Weird City Campaign

1d100 Strange NPCs for my Weird City Campaign
This table is also on my blog with some additional images to accompany it. These NPCs are designed for my setting, the city of Hex, but could be adapted to other weird, urban games.

A handful of oddballs.
Roll 1d100:
  1. Sir Aart Vex, a Slumsknecht – a gnome lancer clad in scavenged oddments of armour and riding a giant rat steed. Eager for adventure and possessed of an antique and lunatic chivalry. Charges a 5 sp toll for use of his “manorial alleyway.”
  2. Blind Sheila, a gorgon whose eyes have been removed and whose serpents have all been defanged, snapping gummily at any who touches them. Sheila’s a member of the Beggars’ Guild and knows many strange secrets from the world’s youth which she’ll divulge for those with sufficient coin.
  3. Imogen Lowchurch, last surviving member of the Sixty-Six Rodents, a gang the Crowsbeak Thieves’ Guild destroyed in the Moulting War between criminal organizations in Corvid Commons. Grimy, vicious, wanted by the Crowsbeak, and filled with righteous vengeance. She lives in the sewers, having escaped the wrath of the victors above.
  4. Sebastian Rut, cambion artist and hired assassin, exquisitely handsome and perfectly merciless. Long black hair kept in flowing curls around his delicate ivory horns. He paints macabre masterpieces with the blood of his victims. Wanted with a 1000 gp reward; rates vary from 100-500 gp for assassinations.
  5. The Husk, an otherwise nameless man who wanders Corvid Commons with a slow tread, enormous cysts slowly growing on his exposed skin. These cysts are actually incubating the larvae of a being the Husk refers to as “the Angel” which it claims to have met in the Old City. When the cysts pop, the larvae emerge – whining worm-things with grotesque little humanoid faces, like monstrous “Cherubim.” The Husk nurtures these beings somewhere in his underground dwelling, a sewer-hovel he calls “the Cathedral.” No one has seen one of the creatures pupate.
  6. Stained Bill, a wild-eyed vagabond, mute, with swirling, magical discolourations all over his skin. The amorphous patterns leech into any organic matter he touches, causing people to grow feverish, fruit to rot, meat to spoil. Reputedly an adventurer whose entire party disappeared in the Old City; only he returned.
  7. Zelda Scratch, a bearded lady and footpad; she skulks in the shadows, twirling her goatee in one hand and her blackjack in another, waiting for likely marks to cosh and rob. Wanted for theft, for a 50 gp reward if brought in alive.
  8. Lizzie Sneer, a twelve-year-old pickpocket and member of the Jackdaws with a +6 to Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) checks and a taste for expensive jewellery, some of which often decorates her ears, neck, and fingers, despite her otherwise bedraggled appearance.
  9. Rumkin the Bold, a waspkin youth with delusions of chivalric heroism and a sword frankly far too big for him. A useful hireling on sojourns to dangerous locales. Absurdly muscular for a tiny waspkin.
  10. Adrianus Gaunt, a veteran of the Moon Wars and member of the Beggars’ Guild. His time in the Wolsfwald on the borders of Erubescence left him badly scarred and afflicted with lycanthropy, which he treats with a diet of wolsfbane and powdered sliver; nonetheless, he is subject to partial transformations into lupine form, his teeth occasionally becoming fangs, patches of fur sprouting across his body. If caught by the Warders or City Watch he would doubtless be quarantined in Catch All.
  11. Matthias Wode, disgraced City Watchmen, drunk, thrum addict. His limbs gradually fade as his beard and hair lengthen and his mind and liver rot. Does occasional work for the Crowsbeak Guild, whose bribery cost him his job.
  12. Toothless Gwen, a wizened, grey-haired soothsayer, can cast Augury for a mere 10 gp, throwing a handful of her own loose, glyph-etched teeth against the wall of the alleyway to prophesy weal or woe.
  13. Jenny Greenbeast, a Crowsbeak thief cursed by a magistrate for her crimes with the Curse of Terrible Volume: every breath, word, stomach-grumble, or sneeze she issues is deafeningly, astoundingly loud.
  14. The Possum, true name unknown; an escaped inmate from the Institute for the Magically Insane. Due to an enchantment-gone-wrong he believes he is literally a possum and can be found hanging upside-down in unusual places. A member of the Beggars’ Guild, though not an especially productive one.
  15. Sir Bartholomew Meddling, a Slumsknecht obsessed with justice, who enforces ludicrous feudal laws within his tiny demesne, wielding a massive zweihänder as he serves as judge, jury, and executioner.
  16. Chanterelle Tombsworth, one of the few ghoul courtesans outside of the slums of Shambleside – an “exotic” companion working at the Black Leash, said to have studied for several years at the Académie Macabre before a scandalous expulsion. Rumour has she is the latest muse of Vittoria Wolfsheart, Hex’s foremost playwright of gruesome tragedies and twisted dark comedies.
  17. Chartreuse, a fungoid footpad who confuses their marks with clouds of soporific spores.
  18. Father Ezekiel Mottlehead, a vagabond priest of the Hanged God, wanders Corvid Commons with a sacred noose around his neck, preaching the doctrine of his strange northern deity and offering to perform hanging rituals to induct passersby into a new order. The official Church of the Hanged God in Trollhome have disavowed his activities.
  19. Snips, a rogue barber-goblin from Delirium Castle. He gives excellent haircuts with his sharpened nails and teeth for only 1 sp.
  20. Winnie Coldpalm, a ghoul scavenger fresh from the catacomb. Sells corpses stolen from the crypts for 25 gp each. She idly chews on the merchandise.
  21. Margery Shackleton, a cheeky Roofsguard who likes practicing her archery on rats and other vermin from several storeys up. Has been known to shoot hats off heads or weapons from hands.
  22. Zibb, a homeless gutterpuck. He rapidly changes forms – donkey, dog, cat, giant cockroach, pigeon – to delight passersby. The Beggars’ Guild usually don’t mess with fey, but his gig is becoming profitable enough to attract their ire.
  23. Buggle Fogwit, a slack-jawed, fish-headed dagonian member of the Stench, whose mildew reek is coupled with a disgusting piscine stink. Fights with a spiked club with poisoned spikes.
  24. Gregor “Whipstitch” Scald, one of the Bonesaw Boys, whose favoured weapons are sharpened surgical scissors wielded like punching daggers and who has developed a taste for humanoid kidneys.
  25. Telepathic Tabitha, a mind-reading vagrant and Senior Mendicant in the Beggars’ Guild; can cast Detect Thoughts at will for only 1 sp per minute.
  26. Brother Gloaming, a monk dedicated to the Shrouded Lord, known to appear when sacrifices are left at twilight. His features are obscured by the black garments of his order, but his voice is thin and needle-like. He has been entrusted by the Shrouded Lord with knowledge of bloodlines – calling on the power of the Unspeakable One, he can tell any person the names of their parents and grandparents.
  27. Archibald Slack, a balding, clever-faced conjuror from Fiend’s College, often found perusing the length of Tatterwing Way in search of banned grimoires that even his institution’s library won’t stock. Has a toad-like imp named Skroi for a familiar.
  28. Simone Vertices, a wide-eyed gnome novelist slumming it in Corvid Commons, often found scribbling down stories in the dark corners of the Thieves’ Quarters seediest bars. She is reputedly working on a romance about Crowsbeak and Ravenswing thieves falling in love, the aptly titled Love Among Thieves.
  29. Theophilus Grubby-Hook, a philosophical cutthroat and leader of the Tailfeather Fops, much given to existential navel-gazing after relieving his victims of their purses or lives. Blonde, pretty, and terribly tiresome at parties.
  30. Patience and Languor Weevilbane, conjoined twins in the Ravenswing Thieves’ Guild renowned for their good looks and expertise in picking locks. The Weevilbane twins each have +8 to checks to open locks and are surprisingly nimble.
  31. Nurse Nigella Mothsbrain, the only female member of the Bonesaw Boys. She’s quick with the chloroform and gas grenades – both useful for subduing potential victims – and an ether-addict, much given to ether frolics.
  32. Jorok Mosshide, a trollblood brawler and drunken lout prone to making outrageous and dangerous bets when he’s in his cups (which is always).
  33. Verena Ratsbabe, a rag-and-bones woman and scavenger from the Midden; one of her hands has wriggling centipedes in place of fingers, courtesy of the eldritch pollution in that district. She sells various curios and junk, some of it magical, often at bargain prices.
  34. Desdemona Subtlety, a fence specializing in jewellery and objets d’art. She wears an elaborate porcelain mask magically animated to move with her features; none know what her true visage looks like. Some claim she is one of the Fair Folk.
  35. Anaximander Thrush, Solicitor – a lawyer with offices in Golemsgate, frequently to be found in the Witching Hour and other establishments meeting clients. Corpulent, friendly, incredibly intelligent, with a selection of fabulous wigs.
  36. Bonifacius Lamentable, a bony leech-collector, often seen on Widdershins Way hawking his wares to the sick. He shambles out to the Radula every dawn, wading into the shallows to attract each day’s catch; his legs are badly scarred as a result.
  37. Prowl the Silent, a waspkin pickpocket missing her wings – they were cut off by the Bonesaw Boys and sold to the alchemist Angelique Duvide for her shop, Queen’s Crimson. Prowl runs with the Jackdaws and is a favourite of Sly Rufus. +7 to Dexterity (Sleight of Hand).
  38. Yawp, a Brickwose on a shamanic quest from his tribe, the Bat-Eaters. Missing his ears, covered in elaborate ritual scars, and seeking the head of Agnes Greycheek.
  39. Palace-Pate, one of the Fair Folk, who has an entire palace populated by miniscule sprites growing out of his head. He speaks with a thick accent and refuses to discuss the palace; some have speculated he is simply its bearer.
  40. Elisabeth de l’Abysse, a dhampir bastard from the Crimson City of Erubescence. A sensuous killer, monster-hunter, mercenary. She finds the eternal night of the Midnight Market soothing.
  41. Henry Snoresby, out-of-work actor turned Crowsbeak thief. Leading man good looks, but totally wooden on the stage. He’s decent as a pickpocket, though: +5 to Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) checks.
  42. Ratgirl, a vigilante dedicated to “cleaning up Corvid Commons,” an insane, impossible, and seemingly suicidal quest. Decked out with magical equipment, she also possesses a preternatural sense of smell and the ability to hide in shadows, scurry up and down walls, and similar abilities. Although she appears quite young, her actual identity is unknown – theories claim she might be a student at one of the magical universities, a rich brat from Fanghill, or an avenging demon. She dresses in rat-fur clothes and wears a gruesome rat-like mask.
  43. Danielle Periwinkle has the lower body of a gigantic earwig, ever since she stumbled waist-deep into a pool of alchemical sludge in the Midden. She’s made the most of it and now runs a thriving rickshaw service – just 2 sp to reach anywhere in South Hex.
  44. Geoffrey Clattersoul, a Royalist who insists that Xavier Soulswell is the true ruler of Hex and that the city state must be restored to an absolute monarchy. Scrawny and unconvincing; even the aristocratic Slumsknechte find him vaguely obnoxious. Hands out pro-monarchist pamphlets to anyone who will take one.
  45. Alaric Mulderwood, a self-taught necromancer who specializes in reanimating body parts. Accompanied by a retinue of crawling reanimated hands and arms, hopping legs, and murmuring heads, embalmed and tattooed with glyphs. His shop hauls itself about Corvid Commons.
  46. Houndmoss, an emancipated homunculus encrusted with grey lichen; member of the Beggars’ Guild. A talented street musician with the panpipes, accompanied by a troupe of Charmed raccoons.
  47. Many-Blades, a Lengian mercenary swordsman, highly skilled with his mismatched swords, who hangs out at the Ignus Faatus looking for work. He wears a suit of impeccable spidersilk armour.
  48. Arthur “Sniffer” Slumply, a curmudgeonly Roofsguard, highly skilled with a crossbow. A nasty spell left his vision damaged, so he wears black glasses at all times, and aims partially through a highly developed sense of smell.
  49. Deirdre Scrunch, a changeling street-witch and occasional arsonist with a talent for evocation and ever-shifting hair (length, colour, texture), who is always accompanied by her gutterpuck companion Scuttle.
  50. Big Urk, a diminutive fungoid and Crowsbeak enforcer who likes the sound of breaking bones and collects the fingers of those who refused to pay their protection. Generally accompanied by 2d4 Crowsbeak toughs.
  51. Millicent Briar, a demure cambion girl of seven who insists she is the Endbringer, a descendent of the Archdemon Moloch, and will break the Seal in Little Pandemonium to usher in an age of brimstone and become Queen of Hell. She is a powerful sorcerer for such a young girl, though much given to tea-parties with broken dolls in the back-alleys of the Commons.
  52. Oswald Tealeaf, a gnome tinker and knife-sharpener who can impart a +1 bonus to damage to any slashing weapon for 1 gp; the bonus lasts for one encounter. He can also cast Mending for 5 sp.
  53. Gutwrench, a Brickwose often seen carrying her twin boys on her back while raiding. A muscular woman of short stature, her preferred weapon is, appropriately enough, a gigantic wrench; she has a dented manhole cover for a shield. Her tribe are called the Drowned Rats.
  54. Barbaros Khatun, a freelance mercenary and veteran of the endless warfare on the Purple Plateau, broad-shouldered, big-bearded, one-eyed, wielding a symbiotic sword and a shield fashioned from the carapace of some otherworldly monster. Hireable for 10 gp per day.
  55. Gerrit Impsboon, an eldritch tattooist, sinewy, covered in squirming, tiny sigils; slighted points ears suggest he may be a changeling. He can provide a Thief’s Mark to those with Guild affiliation for 100 gp.
  56. Ursula Killing sells jinxcrows, wheeling dozens of cages filled with them in a ramshackle cart. Each crow costs 100 gp and has one random first level spell memorized. A few prized crows worth 250 gp each have memorized a second level spell instead.
  57. Abbey Slugswallow, a black-market apothecary; she runs a nomadic little shop selling illicit scrolls of Remove Curse to dodge magistrates’ maledictions, along with various illegal poisons.
  58. Delilah Deadrose is a Wraithwaste survivor who spent several years in Catch-All. The disease is cured, but her entire left half is spectral, passing through solid objects. She can see spirits and other Ethereal creatures with her left eye. She now finds her employment as a courtesan on Heartbreak Street.
  59. Jacoba van Snout, a Ravenswing illusionist, Fledgling rank, trained at Umbral University. Dark of hair, heart, and humour, she delights in particularly gruesome illusions, often pranking those she meets by magically simulating her own grisly demise.
  60. Damien Shrug, a Ravenswing Talon with a stone arm courtesy of a magical trap he triggered during a burglary. Likes a bit of shadetea at the Dark Drop and similar establishments. The arm does prove somewhat useful in a fight.
  61. Persimmon Swig, a farmer who got lost on his way to St. Monstrum’s Gate. He is, frankly, pretty terrified at this point, and could someone please help him find his way out of this horrible place? His sheep must be missing him!
  62. Captain Joost Lijkburger, a crooked member of the City Watch sometimes glimpsed in plainclothes meeting his contacts at Sallow Sally’s or other establishments. Meaty, pig-eyed, scarred of face, small of brain, large of appetite, bad of breath.
  63. Calliope Tumbledown, a skilled lock-picker, pickpocket, and Ravenswing Fledgling, often found honing her skills on random doors and purses throughout south Hex. Short, cropped hair, a quick smile and quicker fingers.
  64. Byzou, an emancipated demon possessing a large doll resembling a well-dressed boy of noble birth, cracked and fissured with unholy energies, glyphs adorning its cheeks. He is a member of the Magpie Consortium and an expert on diabolic artefacts.
  65. Razor the Droll, a waspkin satirist who writes and illustrates for the column “Razor Wit” for the seditious newspaper Counterspell. He has an impressive moustache (especially for a waspkin) and a flair for caricatures.
  66. Phillipe Trench, a Crowsbeak second-storey man cursed by a magistrate for breaking and entering. He is deathly phobic of open windows as a result of the curse and compulsively closes them in any room he is in. To be honest, open doors aren’t great, either. Or trapdoors. Or manholes. Or latrines. Cabinets. Closets. Any opening, really. Could you close your mouth, please? It’s disturbing.
  67. Luciana Fenris, an adventurer-librarian, tawny-haired and ruthless of demeanour; she is employed by the Institute of Omens and is often found in Crowsbeak Commons in search of certain volumes sometimes for sale on Tatterwing Way.
  68. Edwina Ramsfoot, a Bloodworm tough renowned for her skill with whips. Statuesque, no-nonsense, enjoys the fights at the Butcherbird Fighting Pits on Shrike Street. Heavy Incarnadine user.
  69. Acrid “Doomblade” Morrigan, a pretentious teenage poet and freelance mercenary who dresses all in black leather armour and carries a gigantic sword. He’d be completely laughable were it not for his genuine martial and magical talent: he’s a sorcerer and swordsman of considerable natural ability. A would-be adventurer, he’s looking for a party to accompany, and can be quite an asset for a group willing to put up with recitations of extraordinarily overwrought and melancholy verse.
  70. Persephone Lilac, an adventurer of some renown, dungeon-pale and strangely scarred, is unstuck from time, skipping across its surface like a peddle across a lake. Ever since she ran afoul of the Sundial-headed Knight in Elfhame she experiences every other hour of time, disappearing for an hour and reappearing with no memory of the interim. The time between skips is very slowly shrinking.
  71. Klub Stoneclaw, a trollblood cook, hulkingly muscular and massive of belly, jovial of disposition; renowned for his eel-tarts, which he sells for 5 cp each from a little cart. Beautiful runic tattoos on his expansive biceps and forearms.
  72. Amelia Flinch, a former Hexmarine in the navy, who fought during the Ichor Wars. She is now a Roofsguard, but still walks with a limp due to the living shells embedded in her left calf, courtesy of parasite-guns of the Gelatinous Empire.
  73. Xanthus Joy, a Ravenswing burglar renowned for his beautiful golden hair, obsession with stealing sacred artefacts, and daring approach to thievery. A libertine, and the subject of many romantic fantasies in Corvid Commons and indeed throughout the city.
  74. Otto de Wilde, sometimes said to be the strongest man in Hex, though there are rivals for that title, particularly among the trollbloods. This seven foot-tall, hulking man – a Bloodworm enforcer covered in crimson worm tattoos – can bend steel bars and perform similar feats quite easily. He occasionally fights in the Butcherbird Fighting Pits.
  75. Varicose Strum, an elementalist who specializes in blood magic, controlling people using their blood or animating gouts of the stuff to form weapons, armour, servants. Debonair, epicene, slender, chalk-pale, dresses all in red.
  76. Sister Stygian, a cultist of the Shrouded Lord who appears to petitioners on moonless nights. She is swathed in back cloth but is long of limb and carries a censer of velvety incense. The Shrouded Lord has entrusted her with knowledge of the secrets of death, and for the right sacrifice she can discern the cause and time of any person’s death, though never the identity of their killer.
  77. Flamingo, a fungoid fence of the Magpie Consortium, bright pink and sweet-smelling, covered in vivid sacs, usually clad in voluminous dresses with dozens of Pockets of Holding sewn into the fabric.
  78. Gabrielle Ankh, a rag-and-bones woman whose junk-cart is piled high with musical instruments, rusty firearms, bent cutlery, and a live bird’s nest with her pet jinxcrow, Giltbeak, whose ensorcelled, sigil-graven beak has been known to occasionally transmute objects to gold for a few brief moments when pecked (the result of a spellshower – see Phenomena for details).
  79. Astra Scudd, a gnomish poison-seller with terrible chemical burns, false teeth, and a cheerful manner.
  80. Musty Moll, a member of the Stench, one of Noisome Nancy’s lieutenants. Skeleton-thin and brown-toothed, with sharpened iron implants in place of nails. She has a serious Ghostdust habit and sees spirits everywhere.
  81. Ezra Metatron, a priest of the Thousand-Suckered-One, who frequently ministers to the poor in Corvid Commons. Massive of girth and of generosity, he and his acolytes distribute medicinal tonics, food, and religious pamphlets. His limbs are puckered with angry red scars from his ritual couplings with the Cephalopod Saints in his order’s temple.
  82. Judith Swanskull, a cambion gunfighter and highwaywoman of great derring-do. She often lounges in Corvid Commons in-between jobs on the road. There’s a 250 gp price on her head. Crimson hair and vestigial bat-wings courtesy of her succubus mother.
  83. Wendolyn Froth, a Crowsbeak thief caught and cursed by a magistrate to be followed by a miniature stormcloud for the next six years. It rains down on her in a soft drizzle most of the time, but begins to pour rain if she lies, and electrocutes her if she commits any outright crimes. Currently a member of the Beggars’ Guild.
  84. Chrysanthemum, a renegade homunculus in the Ravenswing Thieves’ Guild – cheeky, preternaturally stealthy, specializing in “hiding in plain sight” as a house plant in the homes of the wealthy.
  85. Maxime Smack, one of the Jackdaws, a dagonian orphan just out of her larval stage, mottled yellow-brown scales, often found selling scavenged treasures culled from the muddy depths of sewer-tunnels.
  86. Nibbling Oliphant, a second-rate pickpocket and Tailfeather Fop with expensive taste in clothes but clumsy fingers. He tries his best, but ever since the mousetrap incident his game’s been off.
  87. Dorothea Rabid, a voluptuous ghoul courtesan expelled from the Courtesans’ Guild for murdering a client for unknown reasons. Moonlights as a freelance assassin. Huge yellow eyes.
  88. Gash the Bodger, a waspkin messenger and petty thief who is also a minor mechanist, building rusty clockwork toys from scavenged scrap.
  89. The Switchskin, one of the Fair Folk, who during the day is a manic, violent, whimsical, lecherous prankster, and during the night is a preternaturally calm sage of immense wisdom. He can occasionally be seen in The Lady with the Bloodstained Fan on Carrion Street.
  90. Harry Sluaghwarren, a ghoul costermonger who specializes in eels, hot and jellied, avaliable with pie and mash. His cries of “JELLIED EELS” and “EELS ’N MASH” can be heard for some distance.
  91. Virgil the Noseslicer, a terrifying Crowsbeak cutthroat, beloved in some circles, known for his dislike of the City Watch and his keen ability to detect plain-clothes officers (“Noses”). He keeps a grisly series of trophies – literal sliced-off noses – on a string round his brawny neck.
  92. Charles “Pighead” Perrottet, a criminal originally from Erubescence, captured by Hexian authorities and polymorphed into a pig as punishment. He was liberated and partially transformed back, but the Dispel went badly wrong dueto some wild magic current or the incompetence of the caster (he insists the latter) that has left him half-human, half-pig, permanently. A member of the Crowsbeak Thieves’ Guild.
  93. Empty, a shadowmilk-drinker who has not spoken in thirteen years, black of eye and lip, nondescript of clothing and face. They appear unpredictably when jobs need doing, without being summoned or contracted, and inevitably do whatever needs to be done, exhibiting an incredibly broad array of skills in exchange for coin, usually only a guinea (1 gp). Those that refuse to pay Empty for their labour are cursed with nightmares of unbelievable horror for weeks or months on end, sometimes going permanently mad.
  94. The Vinemother, an aged druidess who lives in Mooncross but journeys across Hex planting tiny plants everywhere she goes, nurtured with magic, in a vain but endless war against the industrial sprawl of the metropolis. Long white hair strewn with leaves, clad in ragged garments of leaves and vines.
  95. Notch, a Brickwose warlord usually accompanied by a band of 2d6 marauders, inevitably on a raid for food, clothing, and thralls; covered in scars and wielding a serrated glaive.
  96. Backbreak Ben, a wiry but muscular ghoul gladiator renowned for his signature spine-snapping move in the Butcherbird Fighting Pits. Actually quite a gentle soul outside of the Pits, but an utter maniac within them.
  97. Corina Crumbsmoot, a pockmarked, taciturn woman; a dead-cart driver, she rolls through Corvid Commons every Boneday collecting corpses to sell to the Reanimators’ Guild in Shambleside. She pays between 10 and 50 gp per corpse depending on its species and state of decomposition.
  98. Carmelita the Crustacean Courtesan promises an unforgettable experience for the discerning lady, gentleman, or any who lieth betwixt. Half-transformed during a magical accident into a hybrid of woman and shellfish, her exoskeleton glistens with cheap gemstones, adjacent to pearlescent human flesh, advertised from the delicate balcony from which she beseeches passersby. Those with sufficient coin (100 gp) to patronize her boudoir will also find her rich in philosophical conversation.
  99. Cynosure van Rump, a scrawny anathemist covered in eldritch tattoos, who summons tentacular horrors from distant dimensions through his guts – his belly expands rapidly and he vomits forth stomach-conjured monsters. Perpetually ill-looking.
  100. Jangling Jane, a lockpick-merchant. Most of her merchandise is contained in her gigantic tunnelswine-leather coat, from which her epithet is derived: hundreds and hundreds of lockpicks, skeleton keys, and specific keys to doors scattered throughout the city, which she sells for anything from 5cp to 1500 gp.
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d100 Oddball NPCs in a Weird City

This table is also on my blog with some images to accompany it. These NPCs are designed for my setting, the city of Hex, but could be adapted to other weird, urban games.
Roll 1d100:
  1. Sir Aart Vex, a Slumsknecht – a gnome lancer clad in scavenged oddments of armour and riding a giant rat steed. Eager for adventure and possessed of an antique and lunatic chivalry. Charges a 5 sp toll for use of his “manorial alleyway.”
  2. Blind Sheila, a gorgon whose eyes have been removed and whose serpents have all been defanged, snapping gummily at any who touches them. Sheila’s a member of the Beggars’ Guild and knows many strange secrets from the world’s youth which she’ll divulge for those with sufficient coin.
  3. Imogen Lowchurch, last surviving member of the Sixty-Six Rodents, a gang the Crowsbeak Thieves’ Guild destroyed in the Moulting War between criminal organizations in Corvid Commons. Grimy, vicious, wanted by the Crowsbeak, and filled with righteous vengeance. She lives in the sewers, having escaped the wrath of the victors above.
  4. Sebastian Rut, cambion artist and hired assassin, exquisitely handsome and perfectly merciless. Long black hair kept in flowing curls around his delicate ivory horns. He paints macabre masterpieces with the blood of his victims. Wanted with a 1000 gp reward; rates vary from 100-500 gp for assassinations.
  5. The Husk, an otherwise nameless man who wanders Corvid Commons with a slow tread, enormous cysts slowly growing on his exposed skin. These cysts are actually incubating the larvae of a being the Husk refers to as “the Angel” which it claims to have met in the Old City. When the cysts pop, the larvae emerge – whining worm-things with grotesque little humanoid faces, like monstrous “Cherubim.” The Husk nurtures these beings somewhere in his underground dwelling, a sewer-hovel he calls “the Cathedral.” No one has seen one of the creatures pupate.
  6. Stained Bill, a wild-eyed vagabond, mute, with swirling, magical discolourations all over his skin. The amorphous patterns leech into any organic matter he touches, causing people to grow feverish, fruit to rot, meat to spoil. Reputedly an adventurer whose entire party disappeared in the Old City; only he returned.
  7. Zelda Scratch, a bearded lady and footpad; she skulks in the shadows, twirling her goatee in one hand and her blackjack in another, waiting for likely marks to cosh and rob. Wanted for theft, for a 50 gp reward if brought in alive.
  8. Lizzie Sneer, a twelve-year-old pickpocket and member of the Jackdaws with a +6 to Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) checks and a taste for expensive jewellery, some of which often decorates her ears, neck, and fingers, despite her otherwise bedraggled appearance.
  9. Rumkin the Bold, a waspkin youth with delusions of chivalric heroism and a sword frankly far too big for him. A useful hireling on sojourns to dangerous locales. Absurdly muscular for a tiny waspkin.
  10. Adrianus Gaunt, a veteran of the Moon Wars and member of the Beggars’ Guild. His time in the Wolsfwald on the borders of Erubescence left him badly scarred and afflicted with lycanthropy, which he treats with a diet of wolsfbane and powdered sliver; nonetheless, he is subject to partial transformations into lupine form, his teeth occasionally becoming fangs, patches of fur sprouting across his body. If caught by the Warders or City Watch he would doubtless be quarantined in Catch All.
  11. Matthias Wode, disgraced City Watchmen, drunk, thrum addict. His limbs gradually fade as his beard and hair lengthen and his mind and liver rot. Does occasional work for the Crowsbeak Guild, whose bribery cost him his job.
  12. Toothless Gwen, a wizened, grey-haired soothsayer, can cast Augury for a mere 10 gp, throwing a handful of her own loose, glyph-etched teeth against the wall of the alleyway to prophesy weal or woe.
  13. Jenny Greenbeast, a Crowsbeak thief cursed by a magistrate for her crimes with the Curse of Terrible Volume: every breath, word, stomach-grumble, or sneeze she issues is deafeningly, astoundingly loud.
  14. The Possum, true name unknown; an escaped inmate from the Institute for the Magically Insane. Due to an enchantment-gone-wrong he believes he is literally a possum and can be found hanging upside-down in unusual places. A member of the Beggars’ Guild, though not an especially productive one.
  15. Sir Bartholomew Meddling, a Slumsknecht obsessed with justice, who enforces ludicrous feudal laws within his tiny demesne, wielding a massive zweihänder as he serves as judge, jury, and executioner.
  16. Chanterelle Tombsworth, one of the few ghoul courtesans outside of the slums of Shambleside – an “exotic” companion working at the Black Leash, said to have studied for several years at the Académie Macabre before a scandalous expulsion. Rumour has she is the latest muse of Vittoria Wolfsheart, Hex’s foremost playwright of gruesome tragedies and twisted dark comedies.
  17. Chartreuse, a fungoid footpad who confuses their marks with clouds of soporific spores.
  18. Father Ezekiel Mottlehead, a vagabond priest of the Hanged God, wanders Corvid Commons with a sacred noose around his neck, preaching the doctrine of his strange northern deity and offering to perform hanging rituals to induct passersby into a new order. The official Church of the Hanged God in Trollhome have disavowed his activities.
  19. Snips, a rogue barber-goblin from Delirium Castle. He gives excellent haircuts with his sharpened nails and teeth for only 1 sp.
  20. Winnie Coldpalm, a ghoul scavenger fresh from the catacomb. Sells corpses stolen from the crypts for 25 gp each. She idly chews on the merchandise.
  21. Margery Shackleton, a cheeky Roofsguard who likes practicing her archery on rats and other vermin from several storeys up. Has been known to shoot hats off heads or weapons from hands.
  22. Zibb, a homeless gutterpuck. He rapidly changes forms – donkey, dog, cat, giant cockroach, pigeon – to delight passersby. The Beggars’ Guild usually don’t mess with fey, but his gig is becoming profitable enough to attract their ire.
  23. Buggle Fogwit, a slack-jawed, fish-headed dagonian member of the Stench, whose mildew reek is coupled with a disgusting piscine stink. Fights with a spiked club with poisoned spikes.
  24. Gregor “Whipstitch” Scald, one of the Bonesaw Boys, whose favoured weapons are sharpened surgical scissors wielded like punching daggers and who has developed a taste for humanoid kidneys.
  25. Telepathic Tabitha, a mind-reading vagrant and Senior Mendicant in the Beggars’ Guild; can cast Detect Thoughts at will for only 1 sp per minute.
  26. Brother Gloaming, a monk dedicated to the Shrouded Lord, known to appear when sacrifices are left at twilight. His features are obscured by the black garments of his order, but his voice is thin and needle-like. He has been entrusted by the Shrouded Lord with knowledge of bloodlines – calling on the power of the Unspeakable One, he can tell any person the names of their parents and grandparents.
  27. Archibald Slack, a balding, clever-faced conjuror from Fiend’s College, often found perusing the length of Tatterwing Way in search of banned grimoires that even his institution’s library won’t stock. Has a toad-like imp named Skroi for a familiar.
  28. Simone Vertices, a wide-eyed gnome novelist slumming it in Corvid Commons, often found scribbling down stories in the dark corners of the Thieves’ Quarters seediest bars. She is reputedly working on a romance about Crowsbeak and Ravenswing thieves falling in love, the aptly titled Love Among Thieves.
  29. Theophilus Grubby-Hook, a philosophical cutthroat and leader of the Tailfeather Fops, much given to existential navel-gazing after relieving his victims of their purses or lives. Blonde, pretty, and terribly tiresome at parties.
  30. Patience and Languor Weevilbane, conjoined twins in the Ravenswing Thieves’ Guild renowned for their good looks and expertise in picking locks. The Weevilbane twins each have +8 to checks to open locks and are surprisingly nimble.
  31. Nurse Nigella Mothsbrain, the only female member of the Bonesaw Boys. She’s quick with the chloroform and gas grenades – both useful for subduing potential victims – and an ether-addict, much given to ether frolics.
  32. Jorok Mosshide, a trollblood brawler and drunken lout prone to making outrageous and dangerous bets when he’s in his cups (which is always).
  33. Verena Ratsbabe, a rag-and-bones woman and scavenger from the Midden; one of her hands has wriggling centipedes in place of fingers, courtesy of the eldritch pollution in that district. She sells various curios and junk, some of it magical, often at bargain prices.
  34. Desdemona Subtlety, a fence specializing in jewellery and objets d’art. She wears an elaborate porcelain mask magically animated to move with her features; none know what her true visage looks like. Some claim she is one of the Fair Folk.
  35. Anaximander Thrush, Solicitor – a lawyer with offices in Golemsgate, frequently to be found in the Witching Hour and other establishments meeting clients. Corpulent, friendly, incredibly intelligent, with a selection of fabulous wigs.
  36. Bonifacius Lamentable, a bony leech-collector, often seen on Widdershins Way hawking his wares to the sick. He shambles out to the Radula every dawn, wading into the shallows to attract each day’s catch; his legs are badly scarred as a result.
  37. Prowl the Silent, a waspkin pickpocket missing her wings – they were cut off by the Bonesaw Boys and sold to the alchemist Angelique Duvide for her shop, Queen’s Crimson. Prowl runs with the Jackdaws and is a favourite of Sly Rufus. +7 to Dexterity (Sleight of Hand).
  38. Yawp, a Brickwose on a shamanic quest from his tribe, the Bat-Eaters. Missing his ears, covered in elaborate ritual scars, and seeking the head of Agnes Greycheek.
  39. Palace-Pate, one of the Fair Folk, who has an entire palace populated by miniscule sprites growing out of his head. He speaks with a thick accent and refuses to discuss the palace; some have speculated he is simply its bearer.
  40. Elisabeth de l’Abysse, a dhampir bastard from the Crimson City of Erubescence. A sensuous killer, monster-hunter, mercenary. She finds the eternal night of the Midnight Market soothing.
  41. Henry Snoresby, out-of-work actor turned Crowsbeak thief. Leading man good looks, but totally wooden on the stage. He’s decent as a pickpocket, though: +5 to Dexterity (Sleight of Hand) checks.
  42. Ratgirl, a vigilante dedicated to “cleaning up Corvid Commons,” an insane, impossible, and seemingly suicidal quest. Decked out with magical equipment, she also possesses a preternatural sense of smell and the ability to hide in shadows, scurry up and down walls, and similar abilities. Although she appears quite young, her actual identity is unknown – theories claim she might be a student at one of the magical universities, a rich brat from Fanghill, or an avenging demon. She dresses in rat-fur clothes and wears a gruesome rat-like mask.
  43. Danielle Periwinkle has the lower body of a gigantic earwig, ever since she stumbled waist-deep into a pool of alchemical sludge in the Midden. She’s made the most of it and now runs a thriving rickshaw service – just 2 sp to reach anywhere in South Hex.
  44. Geoffrey Clattersoul, a Royalist who insists that Xavier Soulswell is the true ruler of Hex and that the city state must be restored to an absolute monarchy. Scrawny and unconvincing; even the aristocratic Slumsknechte find him vaguely obnoxious. Hands out pro-monarchist pamphlets to anyone who will take one.
  45. Alaric Mulderwood, a self-taught necromancer who specializes in reanimating body parts. Accompanied by a retinue of crawling reanimated hands and arms, hopping legs, and murmuring heads, embalmed and tattooed with glyphs. His shop hauls itself about Corvid Commons.
  46. Houndmoss, an emancipated homunculus encrusted with grey lichen; member of the Beggars’ Guild. A talented street musician with the panpipes, accompanied by a troupe of Charmed raccoons.
  47. Many-Blades, a Lengian mercenary swordsman, highly skilled with his mismatched swords, who hangs out at the Ignus Faatus looking for work. He wears a suit of impeccable spidersilk armour.
  48. Arthur “Sniffer” Slumply, a curmudgeonly Roofsguard, highly skilled with a crossbow. A nasty spell left his vision damaged, so he wears black glasses at all times, and aims partially through a highly developed sense of smell.
  49. Deirdre Scrunch, a changeling street-witch and occasional arsonist with a talent for evocation and ever-shifting hair (length, colour, texture), who is always accompanied by her gutterpuck companion Scuttle.
  50. Big Urk, a diminutive fungoid and Crowsbeak enforcer who likes the sound of breaking bones and collects the fingers of those who refused to pay their protection. Generally accompanied by 2d4 Crowsbeak toughs.
  51. Millicent Briar, a demure cambion girl of seven who insists she is the Endbringer, a descendent of the Archdemon Moloch, and will break the Seal in Little Pandemonium to usher in an age of brimstone and become Queen of Hell. She is a powerful sorcerer for such a young girl, though much given to tea-parties with broken dolls in the back-alleys of the Commons.
  52. Oswald Tealeaf, a gnome tinker and knife-sharpener who can impart a +1 bonus to damage to any slashing weapon for 1 gp; the bonus lasts for one encounter. He can also cast Mending for 5 sp.
  53. Gutwrench, a Brickwose often seen carrying her twin boys on her back while raiding. A muscular woman of short stature, her preferred weapon is, appropriately enough, a gigantic wrench; she has a dented manhole cover for a shield. Her tribe are called the Drowned Rats.
  54. Barbaros Khatun, a freelance mercenary and veteran of the endless warfare on the Purple Plateau, broad-shouldered, big-bearded, one-eyed, wielding a symbiotic sword and a shield fashioned from the carapace of some otherworldly monster. Hireable for 10 gp per day.
  55. Gerrit Impsboon, an eldritch tattooist, sinewy, covered in squirming, tiny sigils; slighted points ears suggest he may be a changeling. He can provide a Thief’s Mark to those with Guild affiliation for 100 gp.
  56. Ursula Killing sells jinxcrows, wheeling dozens of cages filled with them in a ramshackle cart. Each crow costs 100 gp and has one random first level spell memorized. A few prized crows worth 250 gp each have memorized a second level spell instead.
  57. Abbey Slugswallow, a black-market apothecary; she runs a nomadic little shop selling illicit scrolls of Remove Curse to dodge magistrates’ maledictions, along with various illegal poisons.
  58. Delilah Deadrose is a Wraithwaste survivor who spent several years in Catch-All. The disease is cured, but her entire left half is spectral, passing through solid objects. She can see spirits and other Ethereal creatures with her left eye. She now finds her employment as a courtesan on Heartbreak Street.
  59. Jacoba van Snout, a Ravenswing illusionist, Fledgling rank, trained at Umbral University. Dark of hair, heart, and humour, she delights in particularly gruesome illusions, often pranking those she meets by magically simulating her own grisly demise.
  60. Damien Shrug, a Ravenswing Talon with a stone arm courtesy of a magical trap he triggered during a burglary. Likes a bit of shadetea at the Dark Drop and similar establishments. The arm does prove somewhat useful in a fight.
  61. Persimmon Swig, a farmer who got lost on his way to St. Monstrum’s Gate. He is, frankly, pretty terrified at this point, and could someone please help him find his way out of this horrible place? His sheep must be missing him!
  62. Captain Joost Lijkburger, a crooked member of the City Watch sometimes glimpsed in plainclothes meeting his contacts at Sallow Sally’s or other establishments. Meaty, pig-eyed, scarred of face, small of brain, large of appetite, bad of breath.
  63. Calliope Tumbledown, a skilled lock-picker, pickpocket, and Ravenswing Fledgling, often found honing her skills on random doors and purses throughout south Hex. Short, cropped hair, a quick smile and quicker fingers.
  64. Byzou, an emancipated demon possessing a large doll resembling a well-dressed boy of noble birth, cracked and fissured with unholy energies, glyphs adorning its cheeks. He is a member of the Magpie Consortium and an expert on diabolic artefacts.
  65. Razor the Droll, a waspkin satirist who writes and illustrates for the column “Razor Wit” for the seditious newspaper Counterspell. He has an impressive moustache (especially for a waspkin) and a flair for caricatures.
  66. Phillipe Trench, a Crowsbeak second-storey man cursed by a magistrate for breaking and entering. He is deathly phobic of open windows as a result of the curse and compulsively closes them in any room he is in. To be honest, open doors aren’t great, either. Or trapdoors. Or manholes. Or latrines. Cabinets. Closets. Any opening, really. Could you close your mouth, please? It’s disturbing.
  67. Luciana Fenris, an adventurer-librarian, tawny-haired and ruthless of demeanour; she is employed by the Institute of Omens and is often found in Crowsbeak Commons in search of certain volumes sometimes for sale on Tatterwing Way.
  68. Edwina Ramsfoot, a Bloodworm tough renowned for her skill with whips. Statuesque, no-nonsense, enjoys the fights at the Butcherbird Fighting Pits on Shrike Street. Heavy Incarnadine user.
  69. Acrid “Doomblade” Morrigan, a pretentious teenage poet and freelance mercenary who dresses all in black leather armour and carries a gigantic sword. He’d be completely laughable were it not for his genuine martial and magical talent: he’s a sorcerer and swordsman of considerable natural ability. A would-be adventurer, he’s looking for a party to accompany, and can be quite an asset for a group willing to put up with recitations of extraordinarily overwrought and melancholy verse.
  70. Persephone Lilac, an adventurer of some renown, dungeon-pale and strangely scarred, is unstuck from time, skipping across its surface like a peddle across a lake. Ever since she ran afoul of the Sundial-headed Knight in Elfhame she experiences every other hour of time, disappearing for an hour and reappearing with no memory of the interim. The time between skips is very slowly shrinking.
  71. Klub Stoneclaw, a trollblood cook, hulkingly muscular and massive of belly, jovial of disposition; renowned for his eel-tarts, which he sells for 5 cp each from a little cart. Beautiful runic tattoos on his expansive biceps and forearms.
  72. Amelia Flinch, a former Hexmarine in the navy, who fought during the Ichor Wars. She is now a Roofsguard, but still walks with a limp due to the living shells embedded in her left calf, courtesy of parasite-guns of the Gelatinous Empire.
  73. Xanthus Joy, a Ravenswing burglar renowned for his beautiful golden hair, obsession with stealing sacred artefacts, and daring approach to thievery. A libertine, and the subject of many romantic fantasies in Corvid Commons and indeed throughout the city.
  74. Otto de Wilde, sometimes said to be the strongest man in Hex, though there are rivals for that title, particularly among the trollbloods. This seven foot-tall, hulking man – a Bloodworm enforcer covered in crimson worm tattoos – can bend steel bars and perform similar feats quite easily. He occasionally fights in the Butcherbird Fighting Pits.
  75. Varicose Strum, an elementalist who specializes in blood magic, controlling people using their blood or animating gouts of the stuff to form weapons, armour, servants. Debonair, epicene, slender, chalk-pale, dresses all in red.
  76. Sister Stygian, a cultist of the Shrouded Lord who appears to petitioners on moonless nights. She is swathed in back cloth but is long of limb and carries a censer of velvety incense. The Shrouded Lord has entrusted her with knowledge of the secrets of death, and for the right sacrifice she can discern the cause and time of any person’s death, though never the identity of their killer.
  77. Flamingo, a fungoid fence of the Magpie Consortium, bright pink and sweet-smelling, covered in vivid sacs, usually clad in voluminous dresses with dozens of Pockets of Holding sewn into the fabric.
  78. Gabrielle Ankh, a rag-and-bones woman whose junk-cart is piled high with musical instruments, rusty firearms, bent cutlery, and a live bird’s nest with her pet jinxcrow, Giltbeak, whose ensorcelled, sigil-graven beak has been known to occasionally transmute objects to gold for a few brief moments when pecked (the result of a spellshower – see Phenomena for details).
  79. Astra Scudd, a gnomish poison-seller with terrible chemical burns, false teeth, and a cheerful manner.
  80. Musty Moll, a member of the Stench, one of Noisome Nancy’s lieutenants. Skeleton-thin and brown-toothed, with sharpened iron implants in place of nails. She has a serious Ghostdust habit and sees spirits everywhere.
  81. Ezra Metatron, a priest of the Thousand-Suckered-One, who frequently ministers to the poor in Corvid Commons. Massive of girth and of generosity, he and his acolytes distribute medicinal tonics, food, and religious pamphlets. His limbs are puckered with angry red scars from his ritual couplings with the Cephalopod Saints in his order’s temple.
  82. Judith Swanskull, a cambion gunfighter and highwaywoman of great derring-do. She often lounges in Corvid Commons in-between jobs on the road. There’s a 250 gp price on her head. Crimson hair and vestigial bat-wings courtesy of her succubus mother.
  83. Wendolyn Froth, a Crowsbeak thief caught and cursed by a magistrate to be followed by a miniature stormcloud for the next six years. It rains down on her in a soft drizzle most of the time, but begins to pour rain if she lies, and electrocutes her if she commits any outright crimes. Currently a member of the Beggars’ Guild.
  84. Chrysanthemum, a renegade homunculus in the Ravenswing Thieves’ Guild – cheeky, preternaturally stealthy, specializing in “hiding in plain sight” as a house plant in the homes of the wealthy.
  85. Maxime Smack, one of the Jackdaws, a dagonian orphan just out of her larval stage, mottled yellow-brown scales, often found selling scavenged treasures culled from the muddy depths of sewer-tunnels.
  86. Nibbling Oliphant, a second-rate pickpocket and Tailfeather Fop with expensive taste in clothes but clumsy fingers. He tries his best, but ever since the mousetrap incident his game’s been off.
  87. Dorothea Rabid, a voluptuous ghoul courtesan expelled from the Courtesans’ Guild for murdering a client for unknown reasons. Moonlights as a freelance assassin. Huge yellow eyes.
  88. Gash the Bodger, a waspkin messenger and petty thief who is also a minor mechanist, building rusty clockwork toys from scavenged scrap.
  89. The Switchskin, one of the Fair Folk, who during the day is a manic, violent, whimsical, lecherous prankster, and during the night is a preternaturally calm sage of immense wisdom. He can occasionally be seen in The Lady with the Bloodstained Fan on Carrion Street.
  90. Harry Sluaghwarren, a ghoul costermonger who specializes in eels, hot and jellied, avaliable with pie and mash. His cries of “JELLIED EELS” and “EELS ’N MASH” can be heard for some distance.
  91. Virgil the Noseslicer, a terrifying Crowsbeak cutthroat, beloved in some circles, known for his dislike of the City Watch and his keen ability to detect plain-clothes officers (“Noses”). He keeps a grisly series of trophies – literal sliced-off noses – on a string round his brawny neck.
  92. Charles “Pighead” Perrottet, a criminal originally from Erubescence, captured by Hexian authorities and polymorphed into a pig as punishment. He was liberated and partially transformed back, but the Dispel went badly wrong dueto some wild magic current or the incompetence of the caster (he insists the latter) that has left him half-human, half-pig, permanently. A member of the Crowsbeak Thieves’ Guild.
  93. Empty, a shadowmilk-drinker who has not spoken in thirteen years, black of eye and lip, nondescript of clothing and face. They appear unpredictably when jobs need doing, without being summoned or contracted, and inevitably do whatever needs to be done, exhibiting an incredibly broad array of skills in exchange for coin, usually only a guinea (1 gp). Those that refuse to pay Empty for their labour are cursed with nightmares of unbelievable horror for weeks or months on end, sometimes going permanently mad.
  94. The Vinemother, an aged druidess who lives in Mooncross but journeys across Hex planting tiny plants everywhere she goes, nurtured with magic, in a vain but endless war against the industrial sprawl of the metropolis. Long white hair strewn with leaves, clad in ragged garments of leaves and vines.
  95. Notch, a Brickwose warlord usually accompanied by a band of 2d6 marauders, inevitably on a raid for food, clothing, and thralls; covered in scars and wielding a serrated glaive.
  96. Backbreak Ben, a wiry but muscular ghoul gladiator renowned for his signature spine-snapping move in the Butcherbird Fighting Pits. Actually quite a gentle soul outside of the Pits, but an utter maniac within them.
  97. Corina Crumbsmoot, a pockmarked, taciturn woman; a dead-cart driver, she rolls through Corvid Commons every Boneday collecting corpses to sell to the Reanimators’ Guild in Shambleside. She pays between 10 and 50 gp per corpse depending on its species and state of decomposition.
  98. Carmelita the Crustacean Courtesan promises an unforgettable experience for the discerning lady, gentleman, or any who lieth betwixt. Half-transformed during a magical accident into a hybrid of woman and shellfish, her exoskeleton glistens with cheap gemstones, adjacent to pearlescent human flesh, advertised from the delicate balcony from which she beseeches passersby. Those with sufficient coin (100 gp) to patronize her boudoir will also find her rich in philosophical conversation.
  99. Cynosure van Rump, a scrawny anathemist covered in eldritch tattoos, who summons tentacular horrors from distant dimensions through his guts – his belly expands rapidly and he vomits forth stomach-conjured monsters. Perpetually ill-looking.
  100. Jangling Jane, a lockpick-merchant. Most of her merchandise is contained in her gigantic tunnelswine-leather coat, from which her epithet is derived: hundreds and hundreds of lockpicks, skeleton keys, and specific keys to doors scattered throughout the city, which she sells for anything from 5cp to 1500 gp.
submitted by Delduthling to rpg [link] [comments]

graduating MFA: the guide to other fashion forums.

tired of the usual mfa uniform (nike killshot, uniqlo ocbd and epaulet rivet chino)? not getting laid as much as you would like? want to get laid by a specific person from a specific clique? this is the guide for you!
look, i get it. the good thing with the MFA uniform is it works 99% of the time. the problem is, it works only 99% of the time. what, do you think any self-respecting dystopian urban guerilla resistance fighter would infiltrate an evil corporate headquarters wearing clarks desert boots? exactly. wanna make a move on that (actual) vampire chick who's been around since 1860s? she'll scoff at your neat and pressed, contemporary chinos.
one day in the future, (maybe) your call for greatness will come. and when that happens, you don't want to look like ryan gosling from la la land. heh, try tap dancing when you're fighting a T-1000.
this will be your handbook to the klout multiverse, where you will swear "these people are seriously stuck in the 90s!" and you don't mean the 1990s; but the 1890s, where you will see people dressing like a nazgul for literally buying a bottle of orange juice, where you will meet anprims.
but won't be afraid, because with some luck and attention, you will soon find home within one of them.
DISCLAIMER: your $1200 acronym jacket won't actually give you any edge when fighting a terminator. but at least you'll look the part.

addition by 5rd_place

addition by achosid

addition by Buckhum

addition by not-who-you-think

addition by atxtonyc

if anyone at all have another forum in their mind, please add it in the comments. try to write a description about it. but do me a favour and smoke a fat blunt right before you do.
cheers,
submitted by bortalizer93 to malefashionadvice [link] [comments]

Prima Materia 1: Golem gets Thanos snapped

This is a restart of a previous campaign me and my friends tried to do with a 9 person party, which was a bad idea.
>be me, Zervitus, artificially created Animated Armor Rogue/Mage > be not me, Korgul, strongboi half-orc; Azazeal, demon lady succubus; Chorul, the cooking oil; Veeral, noble boi: Tak the Knight, and Fabian the Golemancer >starting in a cold night > on way to carnival hosted by mage’s college >looking for people with special talents to receive prizes for showing off > Chorul and Korgul are tempted by a mage to come and join him >Tent is filled with odd creatures > Fabian brings his golem into the tent >Guy grabs his golem and starts trash talking him > he drunk as hell > Fabian leaves golem with drunk and leaves > hears arguing behind him, but continues to walk > Veeral wanders around looking at the creatures
> Squid head creature stares at Veeral *staring intensifies* > Creature turns around and walks away > seems to be keeping distance > “Hey you weird ass creature!* > creature tries to run away and Veeral attempts to chase after him > Mage college affiliate talks to Veeral, asking why he was doing and if the creature did anything to him. > 5m later Azazel encounters squidboy > asks if it knows her, it speaks in her mind “Can you hear me’ > WTF > “Uh, yes?” > davy jones asks her if she wants to pay him 5g for some herbs and spices
> squidboi is a MLM salesman, tries to get her in on a pyramid scheme > rolls con > 3 > just a bit of nausea > excuses herself and goes to bathroom > There is a winged and horned man in the bathroom who appeared to be talking to someone, and he reaches for his sword I went to get food and missed what happened next, continues back with Korgul
> Tak heads toward merchants > Inspects the quality of the wares since they are out on a cloth on the ground > Tak sees alcohol on the table, and seems drawn toward it > Veeral approaches alcohol table and pulls out bottle with a skull on it > “Who wants to bet I can drink this” > Tak bets 5 gold > “10!* > “I bet 15 I can drink more than you” > Tak approaches table to join in the contest and offers 10 gold to raise his to 15
> pot is 50 gold > a man appears and casts a light spell above them for a countdown > they all take a swig > Tak feels fine > random npc is unfazed > second shot > Veeral wants to make it 2 shots at a time > the man sputters but does not fall unconscious > Tak hasn’t really been that drunk before, not down but very woozy > Veeral feels fine > SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS SHOTS > the man slumps but catches himself > Tak rolls nat 20 and falls to the ground, armor clanging > Tak is barely conscious > other player: “How long will this affect him” > DM: *Laughs* > Tak uses mage hand to lift him back up “ANOTHER” > Veeral attempts to act drunk > Korgul goes OOC and IC to get a beer, sees drinking contest, grabs some ale and sees what those idiots are up to. > They take another shot and the man passes out on the table
> Tak concedes after next drink > Zervitus approaches group of humans > watching drinking contest > approaches Zervitus waving hands > “What are you doing” > Zervitus gets covered in vomit > Tak uses spell to clean up Zervitus > Falls into Zervitus’s lap > Stabby comes up and pokes Tak > Start talking about their weapons > “Oh I have a magic sword too” > summons sword inches from Zervitus’s face > “And mine's bigger than yours” *Passes out in Zervitus’s lap > Zervitus lowers Tak into the grass and walks away trying not wake him up and walks away
> Tak wakes up but decides to rest I came back from getting food and Korgul and Azazeal are encounter the Winged boi who has 2 bigbois with him now > Azazeal follows Korgul out of the encounter > Chorul notices winged lady and big green boi as well as the other group > Asks Azazeal and Korgul what that was about > Chorul introduces himself and talks about how he was triggered by the cube slimes in the exhibits that he tried to talk to > Azazeal rolls and sees they are gelatinous cubes that the wizards brought to be used as trash cans, meaning Choral was trying to talk to trash disposals this entire time but does not tell Chorul > Chorul asks about the encounter the other 2 just had > Azazeal doesn’t tell him and Korgul interrupts them and asks them to stop talking and get some drinks with him > Chorul starts to turn red as he drinks the wine > Korgul OOC ‘LaCroix is like drinking sprite with a condom” > Zervitus approaches group of humans and watching a circle of people cheering >Fabian comes back to see his golem, Pit draped in meat and fighting a bunch of Racoons > Tells Pit to beat the shit out of the raccoons and bets 5 gold on his golem > Grabs a raccoon and squishes its head like a grape after hearing Fabian’s command and the rest of the raccoons run away > Crowd disperses as it is no longer entertaining > The man who was talking to Fabian was using pit for money and made about 2k gold and naruto runs away > Fabian shoots a grappling hook at him > Zervitus seeing all this, goes to find some guards as he knows something is about to go down
> The guard is off duty and the man is gone by the time he gets back Meanwhile while that happens
> Fabian gets man with grappling hook but he escapes from it
> Veeral convinces referee wizard from drinking contest to step in > The mage gives Veeral 10% of what the man took, the man runs off, taking it magically from the man’s coin purse > Fabian shakes his hand and asks him name > Ref wizard does not tell him > Ref is in plain robe with phoenix symbol of college on it > Fabian goes to the main event
> Veeral goes to the main event and sees something that looks like a living statue which lets him through the VIP gate > there are 4 people wearing purple robes in the VIP lounge > Introduces himself to the other nobles > One noble shows a guy who looks like a mummy who is basically a sandbender who may be related to a djinn Meanwhile >everyone heads toward the main event > Fabian leaves Pit in the back > It begins to rain, but the rain slides off everyone, and lightning hits the stage and a man in gold introduces himself and offers anyone to be the first act > Korgul goes first, his act is to YEET the beer keg he is holding over the crowd to show his strength > Clears the crowd barely and everyone cheers > Korgul has a jumping proficiency > “How high can my character jump?’ > Korgul waves to crowd and jumps into the air 11 feet doing a front flip, sticking the landing >Another man goes to the stage and summons a fireball, then a fire column, then a huge fireball into the sky > Fabian walks away from the event looking for stone with Pit > He realizes that the mountains near him are really far away and turns around > Fabian asks Korgul if he wants to fight Pit, and the announcer brings them up onto the stage > Fabian asks the crowd to place bets > Pit makes a sword and Korgul pulls out a massive sword which morphs into a warhammer > Fabian realizes that maybe allowing weapons was not a best idea > Korgul rolls good and goes first and immediately rolls a nat 20 > Pit takes extra bludgeoning damage + Korgul’s attack boost + nat 20 > Fabian’s fw > Korgul obliterates Pit in one hit and smashes the dust into the stage
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[Rogues Gallery] Confidence Is Key

Been a little while since I've entered anything into one of the MWCs. But who can pass up a chance to write about some rogues? I got the idea to run with a chance encounter with a [Con Man] And the lawman who's set to bring him in.
For those of you who are curious yes this is in the shared Universe with the The Theseus and How to Die. But this one is just a one shot.
As usual I hope you all enjoy!
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Lanius station was the most heavily trafficked station in all of Alliance space, and was a complete mess. During the war human refugees had poured in, fleeing the advancing Autocracy forces and bringing with them any freighter, yacht, explorer, or flying fridge they could. More than half of which only barely made it to the station and weren’t suitable for flight beyond that. Which was where the Graveyard came in. The actual official station was just a fraction of the current mass in space that stretched out from the center, with the positively ancient human battleship the Poseidon as the centerpiece of the hodgepodge of welded together scrap and hulks.
Now, the Graveyard was known for being treacherous and barely habitable. Not just due to failing life support systems, or busted seams that might leak atmo at any moment, but due to the people who inhabited it. Without any stringent regulations the Graveyard was home to all manner of lowlife, criminal, and rogue mixed in with the far more normal but often desperate refugees and destitute. Not all of them were cut out for a life working the breaking yards around the Smokestack. Or even in the gravity mines.
Due to this the Graveyard was home to far and away the largest black market in all Alliance space. Likely in all known space entirely. Full of wartime salvage, narcotics, illegal distilleries, media pirates, or even whispered rumors of illegal meat farms the official stance was that the Graveyard was nothing but a pit of desperation, sin, and criminal behavior. However it was also simply far too useful to a few key people allow it to be dismantled. And so politicians dragged heels and it was loudly claimed to be not worth the massive cost to clean up the place.
So an uneasy sort of truce was in place between the security of the official core station and the wayward reaches of the derelict ships, habs, and husks around it. The criminals stayed outside and fought amongst themselves while they left the prim and proper citizens of the central spire alone. In exchange station security would stay in the central spire as well. Only venturing out in an absolute emergency. This suited both sides just fine. Crime even dropped in the central spire as no one wanted to mess with a good thing. And as such the station security became lazy and complacent. They also were careful not to hire humans, who might dare mess up the truce over trivial ideals like “justice.”
The rest of the Alliance species weren’t entirely confident in the nature of humans. They ate meat, had evolved as predators, and were known to fight to the death at will and not run away like any far more sane species. But with the formation of the Alliance they were now integral to the navy, and far too useful as a cheap disposable workforce to those in power to even consider turning away their refugees. On most planets they had begun to integrate into law enforcement simply because they were seen as the best candidates to police themselves. Since Lanius station was the exception they were also the last to find out about the formation of a special branch of Alliance law enforcement.
In these trying times it was decided that an ancient human order of lawbringers was needed once again. Men and women who would hunt down their prey to the ends of Alliance space and even beyond should it be necessary. An order completely and utterly dedicated to their craft and the integrity of law above all else. No, Lanius station security was entirely unprepared for the return of the Marshals. Especially Alliance Marshal Virgil Holliday. Who was currently stalking the hallways of the central security headquarters with a very worried vultrex behind him, desperately trying to keep up.
“Really it would be better if you just made an appointment and returned later! I’m sure the section chief is busy!” The vultrex spoke up as he hopped and scurried behind, trying to send a warning text by tablet to his boss without running into anything along the way at the same time.
“Are you suggesting that I don’t have the legal authority to be here?” Virgil growled out which made the vultrex pause and gulp before hopping to catch up once more.
“No! Of course you can be here… I just meant… if you liked. Maybe see the sights a bit?” The panting vultrex suggested. But Virgil could not be dissuaded so easily. Pressing forward he entered station security command center. Ahead of him a Kalisen had his feet kicked up on his desk and was reading from a tablet.
“[Iruno what by the molten feathers are you talking about in this mes-]” The tall avian xeno began to glance over at what he assumed to be Iruno only to see Virgil towering over him. “CAW!” The xeno let out a startled squawk, tumbling back out of his chair and around the room other xenos looked up from their work. Which mostly consisted of watching shows, playing cards, or bickering about inane matters.
“Virgil Holliday. Alliance Marshal.” The human held the badge out before xeno’s face as he was sprawled out on the floor. “You’re station chief Sunplume?”
“[Yes. Iruno! Help me up!]” The xeno angrily squawked at the other avian to help him rise up to his feet. The shorter avian with the long fleshy neck helped his boss up to his feet so the Kalisen could smooth out his uniform and some of his feathers to look the human in the eyes. “[What’s the meaning of this? I have no idea who you are or what you’re doing here but this is my station!]”
“I’ll repeat myself. I’m Virgil Holliday, Alliance Marshal.” He repeated and held the badge up before the Kalisen batted it away.
“[I’ve never heard of such a thing! Try explaining yourself rather than repeating information that’s of no use to me!]” The xeno bristled a little in frustration. But Iruno tugged on his arm and handed him a dataslate.
“[I just looked into it sir… It’s a new branch of law enforcement.]” At Iruno told him that the Kalisen began to read.
“[Well… fine. He might be law enforcement but this station is my jurisdiction. Why haven’t I had any word from his superiors requesting access to the station? Or even a request for sharing of resources?]” The avian asked next as he kept reading.
“[That’s just it sir… the marshals don’t need to. They have jurisdiction across all Alliance space.]” The vultrex’s head bobbed a bit with concern at mentioning it.
“[What!]” Station Chief Sunplume squawked out in surprise once more. “[All space? That’s… that’s never been done!]”
“Until now. And I’m here because you have a problem.” Virgil explained. As he said that Sunplume looked past him as the rest of the xenos around the command centered quickly tossed their cards aside, switched over their screens, and scurried to get into their actual positions as they started to monitor the station feeds. “Not any grand emergency or hostile takeover.” Virgil waved off their scrambling. “I’m after a far more insidious threat. A human who changes his name and face so often that any picture I show you or name I give would be useless. In human society they’re known as con men. Short for confidence.”
“[I don’t see what’s so unusual about confidence.]” The chief muttered.
“That’s sort of the point.” Virgil replied. “I need a feed of all your ship listings. Not just that have docked at the central spire but anything that was scanned, tagged, and run through the Graveyard too. Functional ships that is.” He corrected himself. A reptilian Tripenal quickly typed at his console to bring the list up before the human. Tapping on the display he back to filter through ships with amazing speed as Sunplume watched with interest. “Here. This one. You’ve got a ship with Earth tags. Diplomatic earth tags.”
“[So? Under the treaty of acceptance we allow for credentials from pre-war locations. You’re not going to fault us for accepting one of your own are you?]” Sunplume asked sounding defensive.
“The issue is that the address listed is 1060 West Addison Chicago.” The xenos just gave him a confused look. “It’s a sports stadium known as Wrigley field… Or it was.”
“[Well how were we supposed to know that?! His credentials cleared and he walked them right up to us! He’s not some hidden away smuggler! That’s a diplomat! He’s met with station executives and everything!]” Sunplume waved his hands about.
“And therein lies the danger of confidence.” Virgil revealed and then looked back at the list. “You said he’s met with station executives? What for?”
“He’s establishing some sort of charity for the citizens of the outer Graveyard. He convinced some of the wealthier station citizens to join him in an auction of Earth artifacts.” Iruno informed him then. “The culminating piece was a text of ancient human philosophy or the like.” Iruno stepped forward to tap on the display and bring up an image.
“The Prince by Machiavelli.” Virgil shook his head. “It was stolen two weeks ago from an artifact depository. You said he sold it at auction?”
“Yes, there were many potential buyers I believe.” Iruno nodded. “Should we find out who won the bid?”
“Don’t bother. He wouldn’t sell the real thing at open auction. I bet he made a fake. A very convincing one. But still a fake. Where’s this charity he supposedly opened?” Virgil asked as Iruno quickly brought up a map of the Graveyard.
“He placed it here. Docked a hospital ship and everything for the purpose.” Iruno informed him.
“That’s not a hospital ship. That’s a freighter with red medical wings. That doesn’t even look close to a hospital ship. Do none of you know what they actually look like?” Virgil asked.
“[Not human ones. I just assumed your kind enjoyed rusty death traps because all the ships you bring to the Graveyard bear such similar characteristics.]” Sunplume sniffed a bit and shrugged.
“What’s this other ship next to it?” Virgil asked and tapped on it. “Are you kidding me? You just let a smuggler dock right next to it and didn’t think anything of it?”
“What? No you can clearly see that ship is registered to an import export business.” Iruno corrected him. Then looked up to see Virgil frowning at him. The smaller avian took a moment. “Oh.” He finally muttered in realization.
“And you just cleared another diplomatic ship to dock with it?” Virgil asked looking at the logs.
“Another vessel with Earth registration. We… assumed it was just a friend of his or an associate.” Iruno explained.
“With a listed registration for the Reichstag in Berlin? First of all it shouldn’t be the Reichstag, it should be the Bundestag, not that any xenos would know that. But secondly if they listed it as the Reichstag it’s an allusion to Nazi Germany. A famous human fascist government.” Virgil explained but the xenos just gave him a confused look. “An autocratic government?” He tried to more blank stares. “It’s an Autocracy spy vessel!” He hissed.
“[The Autocracy?! Here?!]” This got Sunplume’s full attention and around the command center as the various xenos gasped in mixtures of shock, surprise, and horror.
“That’s my guess. At any rate.” Virgil nodded. “I bet he plans on selling the real book to them.”
“[We need to get the navy involved! Call in marines, soldiers, special forces! Ooohhh great rock protect us!]” Iruno wailed in fear then, dropping into his native tongue reflexively.
“There’s no time for any of that.” Virgil insisted. “We need to go now.”
“[We can’t go into the Graveyard! There’s a truce between the central spire and the fringes!]” Sunplume protested.
“You’re telling me you made a deal with criminals? That you wouldn’t let the law shine bright in the darkest reaches of this station?” Virgil growled out.
“[It… I was enforcing the policy issued by the executives!]” Sunplume squawked defensively.
“Well, I’m going out there. Alone if necessary.” Virgil growled out.
“[No… No. You’re going to have backup.]” Sunplume nodded. “[Flock! It’s time we break the truce. To the armory!]” Sunplume proudly declared and marched past Virgil to the door. After a moment he returned and glared at the rest of the security team. “[That’s an order!]” There was much grumbling and worried gulps but they began to guiltily follow.
“Are you sure they’ll be of any help?” Virgil asked, walking alongside Sunplume to the armory.
“[Truthfully… no… But I can get them to surround the vessel at least.]” Sunplume nodded.
“That’s something…” Virgil muttered as they entered into the armory. Much of the gear was in immaculate, pristine condition. Though from the dust on the floor it was because it was never used, not because it was necessarily well maintained. “Shotguns?” Virgil asked with a bit of surprise at the sight of a few human weapons on the racks.
“[Yes. They were delivered some time ago in the event we recieved human personnel…]” The xeno trailed off and caught Virgil’s glance. “[I promise to change policy and hire some should I survive this. Help yourself.]” He offered with a wave then. The other xenos filed in and began to arm themselves, though a few had to get help figuring out how to properly fit and don their armor.
Virgil looked over the motley crew over once they were finally ready. He trusted Sunplume with his rifle, but as he looked over the grunts he wasn’t nearly as confident. He knew that the Tripenal were good with swords, and hoped that translated to being effective with their stunners. The Quarthar though looked to be very hesitant handling anything. The Nurlich were more often just thugs, and while they gripped their sidearms tight he couldn’t help but notice they were also under the impression that dual wielding was necessary. Or even a good idea. The Vultrex at least had a good grip on their own stun pistols, but they didn’t dare pick up anything more destructive.
“Right… Some, or maybe even all of you are worried at the prospect of entering the Graveyard. Let alone tangling with whoever is on the Autocracy ship. But we are the bringers of law! No corner of this station is too dark for us to shine the light of justice upon it! It’s our sacred duty to bring down the hammer upon criminals of all backgrounds and races! Now who’s with me!?” Virgil tried to get them invested with a speech. But the team just muttered and looked around nervously.
“[Psh… you humans and your idealism… I’ve got this.]” Sunplume muttered and stepped forward. “[Do your jobs or you don’t get paid! And no upper spire citizenship for your kin!]” There was much grumbling then but the security team finally stepped forward, apparently ready.
“Fantastic…” Virgil muttered. “This is as good as it gets thought…” With that he nodded to Iruno. “Got a map for me?” The avian in ill fitting armor handed over a tablet to the marshal.
“Aren’t we going to take the security cutters?” Iruno asked.
“We can’t. If we use ships they’ll see us coming. Gotta go through the Graveyard itself.” At that the other xenos grumbled and began to close the faceplates on their armor to activate their filters. Virgil grabbed himself an emergency mask just in case, but clipped it to his holster rather than wear it yet. Truly ready they marched out of the security headquarters into the main halls of the Central Spire itself. They drew plenty of attention, especially when they went through the central lobby.
People visiting the Beacon paused in pinning up messages, pictures, and logs of lost loved ones in the hopes of reuniting with them. Tourists looked up from their cups of bug legs, or from the lounges where they waited to board the next shuttle to someplace better. The crowds of murmuring civilians opened up for them in surprise as the armed procession made clear they were going to go where few lawbringers had gone before.
When they reached one of the old airlocks that marked the boundary between the Central Spire and the Graveyard the security at the checkpoint snapped to surprised attention. They didn’t even think to deactivate the scanners as Virgil stepped through and had to quick turn off the sirens as the rest of the team marched through after him. “[We’ll get you into the database when we return.]” Sunplume shrugged it off.
“My work takes me where it takes me Station Chief. It might not be necessary.” Virgil replied as he glanced at the map in his hand. “We sure this is accurate?”
“The wrecks closest to the spire are most well mapped. It isn’t until we get to the fringe that it might be inaccurate. However I tried to take a quick ping of the area around the charity for us so… we can hope.” Iruno explained sounding hopeful. As they headed further into the makeshift halls that connected hundreds of old ships of dozens of ship classes the xenos were slowly getting more tense. Strange music would drift in and out of earshot as they passed through junctions. And they were quick to rush past any place that had cooking going on.
“[How can you possibly stand food prepared with chemical warfare materials?!]” Sunplume nearly gagged despite his suit filters as they passed by a foodcourt of sorts set up inside an old freighter.
“Never tried samosas? They’re delicious.” Virgil teased, having no issues walking through the Graveyard without any filters. Though he had his mask just in case they were vented. Which was a greater concern as they marched further into the fringes.
At times they would pause as the metal junctions or tubes around them would let out ominous groans. There were a few sections missing gravity that they had to swim through. And once they even found a red button randomly set into a wall. There were yellow notes all around it. “Do not push. Ever! This means you!” Even so Virgil noticed Iruno slowly reaching for the button until he smacked the xeno’s hand away. Thankfully the others weren’t so curious.
Soon the map was beginning to get a little trickier to navigate but thankfully it was no longer needed. They started seeing signs posted up all over for the Chicago All Saints Hospital. Virgil glowered a little as he saw the name of the “Charity” that his target had set up. He wondered how many of the donations from the auction had been made out to C.A.S.H. But finally they reached the junction leading up to the ship. The door to the “hospital” were closed but he didn’t see any guards or sentries.
“Okay. Spread your team around the exits. I’m going in first. I’ll need you to use your credentials to unlock the ship and get us inside.” Virgil began to command.
“[Why mine?]” Sunplume asked.
“Because I’m not in the station computer yet am I?” Virgil reminded him.
“[Right right… I guess that means I’m with you?]” Sunplume gripped his rifle tighter.
“Guess so.” Virgil nodded. “Right, when we trigger the station alert, just announce yourselves. Shoot with stuns first and only use lethal force if absolutely necessary. It’s not clear if the crew is mostly human or what. But be prepared.” He announced to the rest of the team and waited for various blinks, head rolls, or horn wiggles to get confirmation they understood. “Right… let's go.”
With that Virgil turned and headed up the main gantry as the rest of the security team spread out around the other tubes. Sunplume followed him up and quickly tapped his code into the terminal to force the ship to open up. Thankfully that didn’t trigger any alarms and they were soon inside the main entry. Around them was a sparkling clean white “hospital” that for some reason had a lot of beds out in open view. There were signs over certain areas announcing that they were donated by various wealthy patrons in the name of bringing affordable healthcare to the poor fringes of the Graveyard. Virgil couldn’t help but notice that as fancy and clean as it all was he didn’t see anything more serious than automated first aid stations attached to the various frames.
The whole area was also too small to be the bulk of the freighter. So he guided Sunplume to a door in the side. “To Doctor’s Lounge.” It announced. Thankfully it wasn’t locked and they crept through. The gleaming white hall turned a corner and they very suddenly found themselves in ordinary halls. No signs of the cleanliness from earlier. There also wasn’t a lounge, but a door into the main hold that the “hospital” was nestled within.
There were cartes of various goods around them filled with Earth “artifacts” from the looks of things. But they didn’t have time to check them out as they carefully navigated the hold towards the sound of talking. Soon they peered over a crate to see a group of people standing before a docking tube that no doubt lead to the newly arrived “diplomatic” ship.
“The price reflects the trouble I went through acquiring this piece.” A human in a very fancy suit was standing before an Exceptionalis. The brightly colored avian was examining a case set on a table between them. Around the Exceptionalis were four Sivesh infiltrators. There was no doubt that they were from the Autocracy then. Behind the human were two Nurlich, an especially fat Quarthar, and even a tall gangly Ganik in the back. Virgil wasn’t too surprised his target had trouble finding human help in dealing with the Autocracy considering they were the reason humans were refugees.
“I’m merely concerned over the authenticity. You won’t let me handle the book directly.” The Exceptionalis muttered, fiddling with the case.
“It’s an ancient book. It’ll fall apart if you touch it. I had this all set up with your mistress. You’re just supposed to be here to pay me and leave. Why are you drawing things out?” The human asked with a growl.
Virgil nudged Sunplume and whispered. “Now.” The xeno nodded and hit a button on his wrist as klaxons suddenly blared throughout the ship.
“[Attention! Attention! This is a Station Security alert! Your ship is involved in criminal behavior! Your crew is surrounded! Drop your weapons now and surrender!]” The automated message blared.
“[It’s an ambush!]” The Exceptionalis cried out and grabbed for the case. The human meanwhile grabbed for it as well and weapons were drawn.
“[Maybe they’ll just kill each other?]” Sunplum muttered hopefully.
“Look out! Sniper!” Virgil called and knocked Sunplume down as he raised the shotgun and fired into the corner of the hold. With that shot chaos broke out through the ship. The two sides of the deal began to fire upon one another and elsewhere in the ships surprised crew tried to run for it only to find security teams waiting. Sunplume was pulling himself back up as Virgil laid down fire over the crate. There was a hiss somewhere he could hear over the gunfire and something seemed off about the muzzle flashes he was seeing. He tried to draw a bead on the diplomat and the Exceptionalis fighting over the case when Virgil shook his shoulder and ruined his aim. “Sunplume! There’s an oxygen leak! Look at the muzzle flashes! They’re too bright!”
Sunplume blinked a little and looked around, realizing that Virgil was right. The flares were getting brighter and longer, indicating the hold was filling with oxygen. Then he spied a busted oxygen tank in the corner that was obviously filling the hold with the flammable gas far more quickly than was safe. “[We have to get out of here! It’ll explode!]” Sunplume warned and tried to grab Virgil’s arm and run for it his flight instinct kicking in hard.
“No! The marshals always get their target!” Virgil announced. “You go! I’ll see you in a minute!” Virgil insisted. The xeno hesitated a moment, partially shamed by the human’s display of bravery. But as his suit began to blare a dangerous atmosphere warning he couldn’t help but run. Unable to defeat his evolutionary programming. Rushing back through the fake hospital he was just about to run out the tube into the station when a shot made him squawk and duck back around the bulkhead.
“[It’s me you idiots!]” He screeched and then glanced around the door to see his worried team. This time when he ran out the boarding tube they didn’t try to shoot at him. “[Reports from the other teams?]” He demanded from Iruno.
“[They’re firing on the crew as they try to escape! At first they were fighting back… but now I’m getting word they’re mostly surrendering as they flee the ship. What’s going on in there?]” The smaller avian asked with concern as he monitored the comms.
“[There’s an oxygen leak. The ship’s going to explode!]” Sunplume warned.
“[Where’s the human marshal?]” Iruno asked, leaning around Sunplume.
“[He’s still inside… He said he’ll be right behind me.]” Sunplume looked back up the gantry. They could hear the gunfire inside. “[Come on…]” He muttered after a minute of watching. Virgil didn’t have long… he needed to get out of there!
“[Sir! I’m getting word the Autocracy vessel is trying to pull away!]” Iruno informed him and the team had to cling to the walls of the junction as the halls around them shook. They could hear the metallic groaning and grinding as the ship tried to break free. But before it got further there was a flash from the door to the hospital ship.
“[Get down!]” Sunplume cried out and pulled Iruno down as a fireball erupted from the door and a gout of flame filled the junction for a moment before the automatic doors slammed shut. They could hear muffle explosions from the far side and more metallic grinding and ripping as the ship was consumed in the blasts. It took several minutes before everything stopped shaking and rumbling and Sunplume could finally stand. He stared with shock at the blast door ahead of him and then looked to Iruno. “[Did Virgil make it out at any of the other exit points? Get the teams to report!]”
Iruno squawked and quickly began to call the other teams trying to find any sign of the human. But after a short conversation with them both he just sadly looked up at Sunplume and shook his head. “[Sir… I’m sorry but no one has seen him. I think… I think he might have died trying to get his target… You know how insane humans are sir.]”
“[Insane?]” Sunplume asked aloud. He had thought so too very recently. “[Maybe…]” He finally conceded. “[But also the most courageous beings I’ve ever met… Get the cutters out here. Maybe we can find something in the wreckage… And it’s time I go about changing our policy on hiring humans.]”
“[Are you sure sir? We might get more… idealists.]” Iruno warned.
“[Yes, I’m sure. It’s time to shine the light of justice on even the deepest fringes…]” Sunplume nodded.
It had taken three days to safely comb through the wreckage. The security team was in the break room standing around a slab of charred flesh that made the Quarthar nauseous but they were willing to take suppressants for the occasion. Off to the side one of the Nurlich was holding a human instrument and waiting for Sunplume’s orders. The chief stood before the slab of charred flesh that was all they could find of Virgil Holliday. Alliance Marshal. That… or a slab of the human meat known as pork. The coroner had said it was a 50/50 chance either way. But it was all they had.
“[Friends… we are here to mourn the loss of a lawbringer who in a very brief window of time shamed us all. He taught us more about duty, honor, and sacrifice in that brief time than a life of working security has managed to impart on me. But with this we can learn and move forward. We shall honor him in the human fashion.]” Sunplume raised a glass filled with the strongest form of alcohol each species could tolerate. “In the tongue of humans. Feliz Navidad.”
“Feliz Navidad!” The rest of the room echoed except a confused Iruno.
“[Play the music.]” Sunplume nodded to the Nurlich who took a deep breath and then began to play. But he didn’t get more than ten seconds in before the others began to cover their ears, or earholes and Sunplume waved him off. “[Stop! Stop stop! I thought you said you watched a video on how to play that! It’s awful!]”
“[I’m telling you this is how the pipebag is supposed to sound!]” The Nurlich protested.
“[Stop making things up just because you can’t play it! You’re insulting the honor of a great man!]” Sunplume seethed. But then sighed and shook his head. “[It matters not. In the most human tradition we shall now all get drunk and vomit in order to honor his memory.]”
“What’s going on in here?” The security team looked over with surprise to see a Califae standing in the doorway. He was wearing a well fitted suit cut in the human style. The species always did like dressing like the humans who had uplifted them.
“[We’re trying to mourn the loss of a true bringer of law! This is a private funeral for Alliance Marshal Virgil Holliday. Now go away! Take your complaints somewhere else! Whatever it is you want.]” Sunplume waved the figure off.
“A funeral for Virgil Holliday? I find that hard to believe.” The Califae muttered and crossed his arms to glare at Sunplume. The Kalisen’s feathers ruffled up with obvious anger as he marched over.
“[How dare you! What’s so hard to believe? That we’d honor the sacrifice of a human? What do you know about sacrifice or the bond of those who bring law together?! Why would you possibly barge in here and ruin this sacred moment with your disbelief?!]” He demanded to know.
“I find it hard to believe. Because I am Alliance Marshal Virgil Holliday.” The Califae announced and pulled free his badge to hand to the now stunned Sunplume.
“[That’s… impossible…]” The avian muttered and looked at the badge. All around the room the others murmured in shock. “[But… we… his badge… It… checked out didn’t it?]”
“[Did we… did we actually run his badge?]” Iruno asked and the security personnel began to shuffled around, not daring look at the Califae.
“Okay. Someone is going to have to explain to me just what the hell is going on here.”
Several jumps away a man was leaning back in the captain’s chair of his ship. Besides him an extremely expensive scanner was slowly processing a case and besides it an equally expensive 3D printer was slowly assembling what looked to be a very old and worn book. “If you had just accepted my original offer we could have avoided all this unpleasantness couldn’t we Inquisitarch?”
“Mmhhh… his price was better…” The female Superialis on the screen glared at him.
“And now not only has the price doubled but your favorite consort is dead. Funny how that happens isn’t it?” The man grinned.
“Mmmhhhh… Why would you even dream that I would purchase it from you now?” She asked.
“Because I know how bad you want it. So you’ll pay my new price. And you’ll forget all about your old consort. Mostly because I’ll be there to knock his memory out of your head if only you’d let me into your nest.” His grin somehow widened further.
“My… you are a confident one aren’t you?” The xeno muttered with a quiver of her feathers. “Fine. I accept.”
“You’ll let me into your nest? Excellent.” The man clapped his hands.
“On the price.” She corrected him. “The only time I’d let you into my nest is if you were delivered wrapped in chains. And it wouldn’t be on your terms even if you like that sort of thing… [Freaky humans and their fetishes…]” She muttered that last bit unaware his translator worked on the language of the Autocracy’s aristocracy.
“[You don’t know what you’re missing my silk feathered dove.]” He purred back in the same tongue and caught her surprised look as well as the unfurling of her tail in embarrassment. “I’ll send you the details on the meeting point.” He then cut the feed before she could reply. After a moment he tapped on the display and another channel opened up. “Tell your boss that I’ve still got the merchandise. After the Autocracy tried to betray me I’m not sure I want to sell to them.”
“This might not surprise you… but considering his affiliation with the Syndicate there’s concerns about if he can trust you…” Came the reply from a dark screen. As if that would keep him from tracing its source and knowing who he was dealing with.
“I offered to sell human artifacts to an Inquisitarch and he thinks I’d betray a rising crime lord just because he’s not fond of human competition? Please. It’s just business. And we all know that when the price is right your boss won’t say no. And trust me… the price is right.” He grinned at the blank screen.
“Send the details… But know we’ll be bringing muscle. That’s non-negotiable.” The voice answered.
“You won’t be disappointed! And I don’t mind that you’re bringing muscle. In fact… I’m counting on it.” His grin took a sinister twist just as he cut the feed. Oh yes… in the world of business nothing was more important than confidence. And he was man made entirely of it.
submitted by RegalLegalEagle to HFY [link] [comments]

The Asylum Tapes 01

The first true session. Showtime. I had time to prep a few lists and draw a partial map. I like how the map turned out, and I'll link it and my session lists/notes below, since I don't feel like writing them all out.
We all arrived and had some pre-game chatter, and when we settled I asked the party for their final decision on the faiths that they had decided to follow, and a few questions about how they honored that faith. Its time to introduce the party, eh?

The Black Family Gang - the Black Phoenix

Right. So there's a lot of info in each entry. The first info is the family birth order. For info on the "Xborn" tags, read this(or at least the handy chart at the top). The title is the gang position (for the moment). The last bit is how they show their devotion to their chosen deity.
I showed them the map of the neighborhood of Saint Jabber's Mound in the district of Crud.
I should explain the map symbols. Fat whitespace are the main roads, secondary roads are also named. The laneways that run through the houses (tiny squares) are unnamed. Larger unlabeled buildings are bigger houses. Any partial squares are ruins. The labelled squares are taverns or other items of interest (explained in the text as they are encountered). The small black circles are wells, and the small squiggles near the houses are small food gardens.
Since I didn't get to finish the map I told them that the areas that were blank are controlled by gangs that are too strong for them to fight :) They accepted this meta-explanation and I went on to show them that their neighborhood is controlled by three gangs and two guilds.
I didn't have any plot prepared, of course, I had only to introduce the Catalyst - the event that forces the party to first act. The catalyst in this case was going to be a simple challenge by the gang members who ruled the territory where the party discovered their arson-destroyed house. The rest of the story would be driven by the party.
I asked them which house would be theirs, and they picked a spot in Shitkicker territory. And now I had my Catalyst gang. Perfect.
If you care, the destroyed house is on the map as a box with an X in it just below the Choked Goat Tavern.
Here's my notes for the Neighborhood Info and my two encounter tables - Encounters and Jumble Encounters. I'm not going to explain any of it. If you are super curious, ask in the comments. Thanks.

Showtime

It is Fishday. Year 565.
Oh yeah. I'm using the Gregorian Calendar, set to northern hemisphere seasons, but I've changed all the names of the days for fun. At least I kept the first letters the same :)
  • Shunday
  • Muckday
  • Trapday
  • Washday
  • Titheday (very important if you read the Temples post you'll now know why my one player panicked and asked how long they had until Titheday. I laughed and said I'd give them a week. I'm a softie.)
  • Fishday
  • Slowday
Also, there will be no scenes in the Asylum this session. Best to get them established in the city first, and then I'll come back to it. Probably session 3, maybe 4. We'll see.

OY! WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU LOT?

We dropped into the narrative at the party's destroyed house. If they were going to have any kind of security here, they were going to have to carve a bloody swathe through the Shitkicker gang and take their territory for themselves. They decided to head to Tom's tavern, a few planks on barrels and half-a-dozen chairs and crude tables for atmosphere. It was not the swankiest way to enter the Game, but you had to start somewhere right? They took what meager possessions they had and headed for Tom's, intent on persuading the owner to pay them the protection money they paid the Shitkickers.
It didn't take long to find trouble. As the party neared the tavern, a group of Shitkickers, led by Bruiser, pipes up with a challenge. Now I meant to use this low, kinda nasally British dialect, don't ask me which one because I wish I knew, one that sounded appropriately thuggish, but for some weird reason I opened my mouth and this ocker 'Strayan twang came spilling out of my mouth and by the time I realized I had fucked up it was far too late and there was sudden bloodshed and Bruiser and four his five pals ended up gutted in the stinking streets. A fifth managed to get away. A quick search of the bodies turned up a chunky iron key and some paltry coinage. They hurried to the tavern only to be met by the arriving reinforcements. Mr Dundee (if yer gonna go Oz, go all the way, I say) with a chest of sheathed daggers coated in poison and 5 thugs - Ratboy, Short Guy, Tall Guy, Fat Guy and Skinny Guy. The Phoenix took a few licks, but the fury was upon them and this group also lay dead and flyblown in the dusty streets. Violet took a few poisoned daggers to replace her now-expended poison darts. A search of Mr Dundee showed a folded sheet of vellum with a seal on it. The seal had an icon of a pig's head on it.
Archie didn't even hesistate and snapped the seal.
Oh. I should mention this. I roll some skills on behalf of the player, behind my shield, and relay what they discover based on the roll's results. Low rolls mean misinformation. Archie rolled low.
I should mention that the party, with the exception of Vice, are virtually illiterate. They can get by with basic language if they take their time, but Archie rolled a 3, and I told him the letter was actually a simple substitution code and that he deciphered it to say that it was a contract placed on the party by Nick the Pig.
Not true at all, and I don't know what the letter really says yet. I know that its something the party should definitely not have and that its important. I think maybe it's some kind of letter of introduction to some other organization, and the gang's gone and fucked that all up by killing the messenger and swiping the letter.
Right. So they head to Tom's. There's a few drunks in the gloom, but this place is pretty much dead. Tom is an old guy, long silver hair, not the cleanest man you've ever seen. He's irascible and begins arguing with the party straight away. Sure, he hates the Shitkickers as much as any normal person would, but you "can't fight the Pig". Outrageously the party wants half of his weekly earnings, and after a lot more talking and arguing (and knocking Tom out and tying him to a chair) old Tom finally relents. They want Tom's to be their base of operations and he is in no position to say no, so he reluctantly agrees. He tells them a little bit about Nick the Pig, that he lives in Pig Manor (no surprise there) and that he keeps women there that he buys from a pimp at a tavern called The Choked Goat. Tom also gives up the fact that the Shitkickers brew their own moonshine and that there's a dealer named Billy Shitheel who hangs out near the well near the Choked Goat who might know more.
Violet, who has shown a liking for being on rooftops, is atop Tom's, brewing a new batch of poison.
I should mention that Archie meets a talking dog named Chopper. Was hanging around Tom's and starting hassling him for food. Crabby and rude, the dog ended up eating a jar of pickled eggs on the bartop before pissing off to whereabouts unknown. We'll see him again :)
Vice, who I should mention as a Slothborn follower of Shakendul, is completely nude and covered from head to toe in tattoos of erect penises. Which isn't as weird as it sounds in this town, but the rogue is clearly pious. He's elected to stay behind and watch Tom, who he lets go home to rest.
Also, I should mention that the tavern has two doors which can both be barred from the inside. This will come into context later.
The rest of the party goes to talk to this new contact.

What's That, Lassie?

Billy Shitheel is a dreamshit dealer. Dreamshit is a very expensive hallucinogen that I stole (like so many other things, especially in this setting) from author China Mieville. I added VeryTea as well (cannabis) and WhiteLeaf, my fantasy yayo that comes wrapped in a nice leaf. I might add a few more. Coming up with cool names is clearly not my fort, guilty as charged.
Billy gets questioned by Walter. Hard. So hard that Billy ends up going ass over teakettle and into the well. Flinch relieved him of 3 doses of dreamshit before he went swimming, and the act itself loosened a brick on the well's rim that revealed 8 more doses. Pocketed. Billy's yelling his head off and trying not to drown and Flinch and the gang are off to see if they can find a pimp Billy mentioned might know something about the Pig's ladyfriends.
Violet decides to find her brothers as they've been gone awhile. She heads on the rooftops for most of the way to the well, but as she doesn't see them, she decides to return to Tom's.
Vice realizes Tom is a bit too quiet for a sick old man asleep, and when he checks on him, Tom is gone. He searches the house and finds a trapdoor under a rug in the bedroom. It leads to a ladder and a tunnel.
The rest of the gang is at the Choked Goat and they find Mr Fabulous, the pimp, not in the best of moods and unwilling to talk right now. He tells them to come back tomorrow, but he does tell them that he's the one who supplies The Pig with his prostitutes - the Pig buys them, he doesn't rent them, and he always delivers the girls in person to Pig's Manor the morning after he gets the word via runner which girls The Pig wants. They split before getting thrown out for hassling the barkeep. Archie has been spreading the word of the Shitkickers demise all over town and trying to get people to pay the Black Phoenix instead for their booze and protection. Its not going well. Every business is locked up by Nick the Pig or Jimmy the Jake, and the party has murdered about 20 of the Pig's employees and its not even dinner time yet.
They arrive back at Tom's at the same time as Violet's return. All of them find Tom's partially on fire. The doors are locked and Vice runs to tell them what he's found. They follow the tunnel a short way and find another ladder leading up to a trapdoor. The trapdoor is hot. They go up and find themselves in Tom's tavern, behind the kegs. The place is full of smoke and the doors are barred. Tom is nowhere. They leave and when they reach the street again they find a bucket-brigade of people trying to put the fire out.
They swear a lot, realizing they now have no safe place to stay and that their plan for Tom's is (literally) in ashes. They argue for a while, deciding what to do. They realize Billy-in-the-Well is a liability, so Violet and Walter head back to drop rocks on his head and after that mess is cleaned up, the gang heads to the dump on Dawn Lane, where the Shitkickers like to hang out and party.

I'm Just a Harmless Wittle Girl

The gang finds the last group of Shitkickers hanging out and getting drunk. There's six of them, and one is tripping hard on BugOut (speed and hallucinations). A quick group strategy sees Violet playing the vamp and getting one of the Shitkickers to drink with her while the rest of the gang circles around for an ambush. She poisons the jug, and when one of the guys tries to get handsy, he suddenly realizes his stomach ache is betrayal, as does one of the others. Cue shitstorm.
The party gets banged up but the last of the Shitkickers lay gurgling in their own juices, except that one guy who's fully wigging out now and loudly proclaims that he knows that the party sees the way and yes, yes, YES! he can walk the path with them, "To the green man and beyond, through secret pathways and whispered truths." The party is taken aback, but agrees, and BOOM this guy is off, practically running, keeping up a running litany of mystical poetry and fully convinced the party are "the Chosen Ones". Vice also finds a stashed jug of 'shine that he happy liberates for himself. They call the guy they are following, "The Stoner", as he never offered his name.
This didn't set off any alarm bells in my group. No one blinked, and they followed him. Now the encounter that happened after this seemed pretty great for the party - but oh, mercy. It so wasn't. They encountered a druid in Galron. One who's attuned to the fuckin' place. Tsk. Well, they'll find out later. I promise :)

Who Says So? The Man in the Funny Hat

The Black Phoenix follows Stoner to Old Vannay Park, to a location that is hidden by a large patch of scrub around an ancient walnut tree. An old man lounges, catlike, in a branch above them. Stoner says he's brought "true and wise folk, who walk the sacred paths", and the Green Man jumps down, delighted, rubs his hands and invites them into the scrub, where they discover 3 stills bubbling away and many jugs of moonshine.
They make a trade. 6 jugs, at 10 silver coins each, for 30 coins and 6 doses of Dreamshit (at 5 sp each). The Green Man is very happy with the transaction and bids them to "come again anytime, my friends, anytime!". They look around for Stoner, but he's wandered off somewhere. They ask the Green Man if they can camp in the park, but the Man grows grim and warns them of the "cannibal quicklings who sleep during the day and prowl the wood at night". This is a complete and total lie, but the party decides to get while the getting is good.
Now the have a dilemma. They have a bit over a half-dozen jugs of 'shine and no safe place to stash it. Selling it is the best option right? They decide to head to the tavern known as The Maggot, to the East on the Mounds Road. I think it might have been Tom (?) who told them about a fence that hangs out there named Doodad Jennings.
Before they can find a place to hide the jugs, there is an encounter. A Jumble Encounter. I rolled "the slithering men". The air sparked and crackled behind the party and they saw a tiny shape getting larger and larger and they ran. Oh how they ran. Archie looked back and saw this long slime-like blob, with the organs of a man spread all through and down it, in the wrong order, and a mans face floating under the surface of the slime, but with a huge lamprey mouth, ringed with teeth. The slithering man reached out towards him, closer and closer, until the event passed and all was quiet again. The player was freaked the fuck out and it took the party a minute to calm him down. Then they remembered they were standing out in the open with all this booze. They find some nearby ruins and stash all but one of the jugs and head to the tavern.

My Friend Doesn't Like You

The Maggot is a rough place full of dangerous people. They split up. Flinch finds Doodad and tries to make a deal but the old rogue speaks to him in Galmok, the "common tongue" of the Guilds, and Flinch, only a street punk, has no clue what he's saying, so he leaves, but asks if he can at least point out one of the Sellblades (assassins) that frequent this place. Doodad points to a woman eating her lunch in the far part of the tavern.
This is Amy Knives. Flinch asks her how much she would charge to make Nick the Pig a deader. After she chokes on her ale and brays laughter in his face, she said 40 gold, and that's if she had a concussion and was blind, puking drunk. This coincides with Archie, ever the charmer, getting screamed at by the barkeep.
Archie tried to make a deal for the shine, but the barkeep barked at him to leave, and the party had to haul him out of there, and just in time, because a large group of gang members from the 19th Street Jump have come looking for them.
They hide out in the ruins for a bit before they decide to make a break for the Mounds Road and hitch a ride down West, to the Six Rats Tavern, since its not in the Pig's territory, and finally sell this damn 'shine.
A wagoner gives them a lift in exchange for a jug. The party agrees, but squeezes a few coins out of him too. Before they hop into the wagon, Walter finds a scrap of paper stuck to his boot. Its an open, unsigned invitation to a party tomorrow night at the Octopus' Garden, a park on the edge of the neighborhood. He keeps it.

I See Rats Eyes

The Murderboys gang controls this tavern, and they are mercenaries, and have no beef with anyone who shows proper respect. Walter is in charge of negotiations this time, and the barkeep agrees to buy the remaining jugs for cash. The party celebrates by having a meal. Violet heads to the roof to keep an eye out for trouble. There's a gang of Murderboys getting high up there but they leave her alone.
Night falls. Violet is about to leave, when she sees a huge mob with actual torches approaching the tavern, with an ever larger man leading the procession. She realizes she's got no time to warn the party, so she climbs in through one of the windows and races down the stairs and shouts at them to climb out the windows, just as the mob kicks in the door.
They flee into the night, and end up in some ruins right next to the Octopus' Garden. There are groups hunting them (and taunting them) all around. Because they are hiding, they don't actually know who it is (its The Jump).
Violet finds a piece of paper in her armor that says, "Its time we were introduced" and its signed, "Mr Nicholas."
We wrapped there and the party had a lot to say. Worried, mostly, but excited. This was a good session. They also voted on each other's "juice" - as explained in this post, and though Walter gets a lot, there's no challenge for leadership.

DM's Wrap Up

Right, so the party did a huge amount of stuff in 6 hours or so, and they riled up a lot of people.
So far they've:
  • Eradicated an entire gang
  • Forced a scared old man to burn down his own pub (denying the party the use of it) and flee his home
  • Murdered a drug dealer
  • Bragged about murdering the Shitkickers in every tavern in the neighborhood
  • Offered their services to every tavern in the neighborhood
  • Bought cursed moonshine from a very evil Druid
  • Got themselves noticed by the Powers-That-Be
So what's the fallout of all this?
Well lets start with the cursed shine. Violet let some of it touch her tongue when she pretended to drink the poisoned jug she doctored. The wagoner bought one. The Six Rats bought six and sold drinks out of 2 of them.
I knew this Green Man was a bad dude from the start, but I thought I'd wait and decide on the curse. This is what I've decided:
  • Violet will awaken with a vine growing out of her tongue. I'm going to see if the player is willing to wear a clothespin on her tongue, but barring that, she's going to be difficult to understand and have trouble eating and drinking. This vine is going to grow, daily, until she can find a way to remove it. I haven't thought of a way for her to do that yet. Something will come up.
  • The others who drank the shine will die, and their corpses will feed the adult form of the vine, which will be an Assassin Vine. This will be linked to the Black Phoenix and will actually help their reputation.
The situation with Nick The Pig. Well. I knew from the start that he didn't really exist. He's just a cover identity for Jimmy the Jake, the real boss of St. Jabber's Mound. The Jake has many "cutout identities" and has very astute actors who he controls utterly, and who play these parts to perfection. The Pig, if the party will agree to sit down with him, will berate the party for fucking up his business and then tell them they work for him and tax the everloving shit out of them. He says, "80%, paid daily and in fuckin person or I send the entire hood at ya."
This could go either way. If the party balks, and a fight starts, I'm going to have an assassin suddenly de-cloak from Invisibility while murdering "The Pig". The assassin will help the party escape and try to get them to come to another location, where they will be met by another cutout. I haven't decided who yet.
If the party agrees, then its game on until they decide the leash is too tight. If this goes on too long without them rebelling, I'll have to do something to shift the narrative. This is about the gang's ascension, and they have to move forward.
What else. Well, I fucked up a bunch of NPCs. Sigh. I'm not great at them. I have maybe a few bits of dialogue to say and then its all really bad improv, usually. Maybe I'm too hard on myself. It never feels good, though.
Most of the NPCs they've met have lied to them, or reported them to their bosses. The party isn't going to be able to operate with impunity without me putting some kind of thumb on them, in the hopes that they'll bite the motherfucker.
They've got some cash, and some drugs, and they've only played out 1 day and they are already hiding from a mob.
Yep, this is one of my campaigns.
Cheers for sticking around and reading.
We'll see you in 2 weeks :)
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The digital era is upon us yielding a multitude of new opportunities to create financial abundance, perform meaningful work at scale and build a lifestyle that was never possible before. Rogue Lounge also offers 20 beers on tap and a selection of cocktails. The restaurant is open for dinner and drinks during the week till 2AM serving food till 1AM and serves lunch on the weekend. Menu. Main Menu. Small Plates. Calamari. $12.00. Pan-seared, golden calamari served with a cucumber-mint mignonette. With summer upon us, one thing that Jamie has wanted is a set of outdoor chaise lounge chairs for the back deck. One day when I saw her laying on the deck trying to catch some rays, I decided it was time. After settling on these cushions from Target it was time to start designing a chaise lounge to suit them. I knew we wanted the loungers to recline and have three stops (flat, 45 degrees and Rogue USA Aluminum Collars are sold in pairs and measure 1.5” in width, making them compatible not only with Rogue barbells like the Ohio Bar and Bella Bar, but any standard Olympic bar and Oly plates in the industry. A unique lock-open nylon lever includes a snap flexure that fully opens the collar for easier installation and locks it down I think that they have a rogue reputation because of: 1. They used to (maybe still?) have a minimum exposure clause where affiliates who did not send enough of monthly NDC got kicked out from the program.

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