Hill Cantons Bestiary: the Wereworm

The write up for the unique Slumbering Ursine Dunes pointcrawl nodes for the high-roller Kickstarter backers is finally finished. Since the regular main adventure is functionally laid-out and ready go that spells an end to all my work on the main project. Yip-f*ckin'-iee.

To celebrate here is a free critter for you; the subject of the last “Full Brad” encounter and special session macguffin, the dreaded wereworm.

"Tell me what you want done, and I will try it, if I have to walk from here to the East of East and fight the wild Were-worms in the Last Desert."

― Bilbo Baggins in The Hobbit

Wereworm

No. Enc.: 1d4 (1d4)

Alignment: Chaotic (Evil)

Movement: 120’ (above land), 60' (burrowing)

Armor Class: 3

Hit Dice: 4

Attacks: 1 (bite)

Damage: 2d6

Save: F5

Morale: 8

Hoard Class: XX

XP: 550

Thought only to be myth even by the most rigorous of borderlands sages, Wereworms do--sadly for humankind--eke out a twisted (no pun intended) existence on the edges of human civilization. In human form they appear to be perfectly normal human specimens with the notable exceptions of their mouths which seem uncomfortably circular and matched with a fetid, corrupted smell and look.

In worm form the creatures will appear to be 7-8 foot long miniature versions of the dreaded Mauve Worm (a mutation of the more common and equally dreadful Purple Worm). There gaping mouths cause considerable damage. In such form they will frequently be found burrowing underground in hopes of setting up an ambush.

Wereworms are subject to the same advantages (magic/silver weapons can only effect them, disease etc) and disadvantages (wolvesbane, lingering doubt about body image, etc) as other lycanthropes in Labyrinth Lord.  

Hill Cantons Bestiary: The Vodník

I am up to 18 unique monsters in the Slumbering Ursine Dunes mini-sandbox (now in its fourth editing iteration and about to roll onto to take off), the monster bestiary now starting rival the actual pointcrawl and adventure site write-ups in size. A big fan of new critters to torment and befuddle players this, naturally, makes me supremely happy.

To give readers a sense of the flavor of these write-ups I am posting one of the new additions blog-side, my weirdo twist on the Vodník, a watery “bogey-man” still sometimes used to scare the living poo out of kids today back in the mother land.

Vodník

No. Enc.: 1-2

Alignment: Chaotic (Evil)

Movement: 120’ (40’)

Armor Class: 4

Hit Dice: 4

Attacks: 1

Damage: 1d6 special (see below)

Save: F4

Morale: 10

Hoard Class: XX

XP: 300

It is said that among the Old Pahr people that a pessimist is someone who thinks that things couldn't be an worse--and that an optimist believes that it can! Pushing aside the old wives tale that a surfeit of strong drink drives men to melancholy, learned men attribute this pervading culture gloom to the surfeit of malovelent spirits and faeries in that people's mythology.

A particularly nasty example of the inimical Pahr spirit is the vodník, a male water nymph of a particularly sour and murderous nature. Vodník often lurk at the edges of lakes and rivers waiting for lone or small groups of village folk

Vodník are invisible in the the water before they strike, but rise as a translucent seeming serpent when they do. Each strike does 1d6 damage but worse is that the spirit serpent will attempt to drag the victim down to a watery doom. Failure to save vs. paralysis will mean that the victim is dragged into the water.

Once the Vodník has a victim under water it will shift into its true form, a pot-bellied old man covered in fine scales, and concentrate on drowning the hapless victim. It will drown a person in 1d6+1 rounds a process that can only be stopped with the creature's death.

The Vodník will only take one hit point of damage from piercing or slashing weapons, but takes full damage as normal. Fire magic will have no effect on the monster. Electrical magic will double in intensity. Casting Purify Food and Water on the creature will kill it outright.

The Vodník will become strangely mellow (read non-murderous) for 1d6 turns after the witching hour, often appearing on rocks or floating on the water smoking a carved pipe. Fishermen as such will often leave offerings of pipe weed to placate local Vodníki.

Hill Cantons Bestiary: The War-Ocelot

One of the most fun parts of writing up the Slumbering Ursine Dunes mini-sandbox has been putting together the now lengthy(ish) bestiary in the back. The booklet will have 15 unique monsters stuffed into it (that is if I have the willpower to stop cramming more in with each editing iteration).

One of the things I have tried to do throughout the campaign with mixed results is introduce a menagerie of new critters to challenge and amuse players with. Some have a foot in a fantasy reflected Slavic mythology, others have more than a bit of the gonzo (or just plain dumb) in them.

The War-Ocelot is one of the few that mixes a bit of all of them.

War-Ocelots

No. Enc.: 1d10

Alignment: Neutral

Movement: 150’ (50’)

Armor Class: 5

Hit Dice: 2

Attacks: 2

Damage: 1d6 bite, 1d8 helmet spike

Save: D2

Morale: 9

When the Boreans threw down their spears

And sprinkled Zem with their tears

Did Svat smile his work to see?

Did He who made the flumph make thee?

- The Ocelyt by Vilem of the Lake

The twin brother-heroes of the Old Pahr, Vlko and Romuilak the Lupine were the first to bring the dreaded cats of the steppes to this part of the world. With their horde of druzhinas, reverse centaurs and yes war-ocelots they carved a kingdom out of the black peaks and bottomlands of the South a thousand years ago. With such an entrance the war-ocelot demurely snarled into the pages of collected history—before vanishing anew along with that time-misted kingdom.

Centuries of selective breeding by Pahr nomads of their most beloved semi-feral ocelots had raised the adorable spotted critters into a bellicose, semi-intelligent companion. Bigger boned and wiry their feline frames were increasingly capable of sporting first elaborate harnesses and later full armored arrays complete with long piercing horn (not pictured in the transitional period array above).

War-ocelots are rarely encountered without their humans who they look upon as gullible marks who will dish out food and provide the empty boxes that make for prime napping in exchange for so little.

Industrial Necromancy, Husk Zombies and Live Nude Girls

Of the Scarlet Sultanate's peculiar institutions, one alone stands out enough to be capitalized, Industrial Necromancy.

Though roundly criticized by the priests of Ilmuqah the Third Moon, whose own divine words characterized the black art as that of “ahmoq” (which roughly translates to “the hardened excrement of an ocular bat”), it is a proscription roundly ignored due to its sheer profitability. Indeed though impossible by the metaphysics of Zem to pull off in the safe, dull confines of the corelands parts of Himyar, the entire economic basis of the satrapies bordering the Weird revolves around the zombie-worked, state-owned plantation system.

Due to the willful historical amnesia of that land's coreland inhabitants, who like many walled-off citizens in human existence prefer not to know how the metaphorical sausage is made, how this came to be is only murkily known. It is highly likely though that its time-misted origins lie in the macabre law from the suspected necrophile Sultan Eraam of the Twenty Pillars (who is said to have been a “colossal pervert” even by the standards of the Yellow sultans of that time) that deeded the corpses of all who die in the land to his personal estate.

It is also known that the inglorious smashings of the various Latter Hyperborean successor rump states by the (then) Pahr, Nemec, and the little-known Madeupname barbarian hordes, left those necromancer-kings who hadn't molted into space-god apotheosis without gainful employment. Carpet bags in hand many of the more fortunate such emigres ended up in middle-management positions as satraps of the Sultanate's outlying and entirely unprofitable marches.

Hoary old histories aside, the craft of the necromancer today has slumped away from the artistry that produced behemoth flesh-crawlers, trumpeting zombastadons and other fell wonders toward the more practical trade that primarily centers around the fast and large-scale production of the workaday undead, the Husk Zombie.

Husk Zombies

No. Enc.: 4d6 (6d6)

Alignment: Chaotic (Evil)

Movement: 120’ (40’)

Armor Class: 7

Hit Dice: 2

Attacks: 1 (weapon, preferrably a khopesh)

Damage: Weapon

Morale: 12

Exp: 30

The most striking aspect of the appearance of the common Husk Zombie is the shriveled, dried-out parchment-like skin pulled tight over the bony frame. Though the brittleness of the skin gives a fragile look, the sustaining power of that railroad-verse called the Anti-Cantons imbues the creature with a surprising strength in its new existence.

Unlike your typical murderhole zombie, the husk zombie retains a flickering of its human intelligence and consciousness and can be ordered to maintain ranges of structured tasks such as bringing in harvest or marching/wheeling in formation.

Many a critical observer has noted a fierce, malevolent look of barely repressed resentment in the eyes of such tasked husk zombies and woe unto the unwary necromancer who is negligent in his warding and frugal in his spell components!

The Kudůk, Quarterling Love-Children of the Cantons

Deep in my ancestral motherland exists a roleplaying game, DračíDoupě (DrD or Dragon's Lair), that contains some loveablely weird critters that cries out for homage and adaption to the kolach-loving peoples of the Cantons.

The Kudůk as self-imagined

Kudůk

No. Enc.: 3d6 (5d8)

Alignment: Neutral

Movement: 90’ (30’)

Armor Class: 6

Hit Dice: 1

Attacks: 1 (weapon or hurling rock)

Damage: 1d4+1 (rock) or weapon

Save: H1

Morale: 9

The wee peoples of Zěm suffer daily humiliations at the hands of a callous (yet fair) humanity. Banned from the corelands of civilization, they are forced to the margins of borderlands life living on at best in urban environs as the butt of the southlands hobbit-wrangling sport-circuit. Rurally a greater, if desperately poor separate existence has been carved out by Overking writ in the shtetls (ghettoized villages) in the frigid Marches of Nur.

There stirred on by undoubtedly by the silver-tongued lies of Black Hobbit agitators—and the occasional pogrom by bigoted Soldier-Bears--some younger buck halflings will occasion escape into the wilds of the Weird. Not quite hardy enough yet to make it in “maroon” communities of their own, these halflings will seek out the cave shelters of Feral Dwarfs. Several centuries of such intermixings has produced a now-increasingly hardy (and socially-constructed) race of dwarf-hobbit love-children, the Kudůki.

The average Kudůk combines many of the physical features of both parents, appearing alternately to outsiders as either short-bearded, linebacker-built hobbits of exceptionally dour countenance or as rosy-cheeked cherubic Harpo-esque dwarfs. 

Though most Kudůki will be found dressed in fierce-looking leathers and furs (though tastefully cut), recent drives by Kudůk nationalists have produced a unique fashion-trend introducing over-sized, triple-horned bronze helmets, thick metallic belts and light cloth chitons or tunics to the usual mix of clothing.

Internally the Kudůk mind is often one of extreme identity confusion bouncing around from a bi-polar cycling of luxury-loving complacency and temperate gluttony to a sudden obsession with the process and fruits of mining. Kudůk lairs as such will often resemble an underground jumble of crude leather pillow-stuffed salons and country-styled kitchenettes next to wholly industrial areas such as ore smelters and mine shafts.

Because of their marginal status and semi-outlaw status, quarterlings will often look on outsiders from a purely predator viewpoint: at best as valuable trade sources to cheat around the edges (placing a chubby little thumb on the scales here and there to jack up a price) or at worst severely drubbing and robbing if they outnumber/power a party by large numbers (drawing the slippery ethical line at cold-blooded murder).

Kudůk enjoy the somewhat diminished abilities and drawbacks of both groups of wee folk: 30' infravision, hiding outdoors or in natural caves at 45%, +1 to initiative if in all Kudůk party, +1 to hit when throwing rocks, and a 1 in 6 chance of detecting construction-based traps (but a 1-2 chance for secret doors). They may not use two-handed weapons.

When encountered of groups of 18 or more they will be accompanied by a 4 hit dice leader who has a 40% chance of being batshit insane.

Hill Cantons Bestiary: the Polevik

Polevik

No. Enc.: 1d8

Alignment: Lawful (Evil)

Movement: 120’ (60’)

Armor Class: 3

Hit Dice: 2

Attacks: 2 Sickles or Special (see Below)

Damage: 1d6, 1d6

Save: E2

Morale: 8

XP: 50

In the corelands of Zem the grain field is simply and drearily a place of endless toil, in the borderlands it can also be a place of terror for the unwary. Old Pahr peasants whisper tales of millenia ago when a mysterious devil called The Man introduced the Poleviki, dread spirits of the field, into the world as a gift to the lords of the land.

A Polevik, when not invisible (an effect it can cast on itself twice a day, but always dissipates for a turn after noon), appears on first glance to be a benevolent dwarf-like spirit, pale-skinned and hairy with wheat-stalk hair and beard. But behind the large-mouthed grin and mixed blue and green eyes is pure malice.

Crouching patiently and malevolently behind the sun-dappled rows a Polevik will sit for years until that one fell moment when an exhausted field hand or drunk villager lays their head down for a stolen nap. Often only a bloodied work blouse remains behind as a sober reminder of vigilance. Once a decade or so during high summer, when the field-demons fidget with boredom, they will also lead a stray individual into the fields to their doom.

Beyond the short sharp shock of their sickles, Poleviki are also known to attack by a disease-ridden touch (hit at AC9). Without a successful save vs magic those such touched will be afflicted with a virulent and dangerous yeast infection that will spread without treatment over the whole body before killing in 2-7 weeks.

Some savants maintain that a Polevik can be appeased by tossing a sack containing a rooster, a jug of white gravy, a frog and a pork chop into a hole in the field, but old wise women discount such newfangled theories of science.

Hill Cantons Bestiary: Fobbits

No. Enc.: 1d8 (5d8)

Alignment: Neutral or Lawful (Evil)

Movement: 60’ (20’)

Armor Class: 7

Hit Dice: 1 -1

Attacks: 1 (weapon)

Damage: weapon

Save: D1

Morale: 5

Hoard Class: XX

XP: 10

It is well established throughout the Cantons that the hallmark of a successful borderlands home is the placation of its hirsute house spirits, the Domovoy. But just as the tidy familiar houses of humans have their cozy domestic fae denizens, the warped dream-logic of the Weird dictates that many of the terrible murderholes of that dread zone must also have a counterpart. One of the most common of which is the danger-adverse Fobbit.

While careful to avoid bunking in easily-accessible rooms in underground environs, Fobbit teams of 1d8 may be glimpsed in corridors hastily resetting traps, carefully repainting blood smears, rejamming dungeon door hinges and other assorted work.

An actual Fobbit lair will be a heavily-barred and trapped locale usually located off a back corridor, though the rich cook smells of gourmet hot grub may be smelled as far as 10-80 feet away. A Fobbit lair will host 1d4 Remfs (2 HD Fobbit commanders), copious barricades of paperwork and a surprisingly luxurious smattering of consumer goods.

There is a 1% chance that Glamdalf, a truly-fabulous, comfort-loving wizard and inventor of the self-reading scroll, will be found in any given Fobbit lair.

Soldier Bears: A B/X or LL Monster

Painfully silly Google Plus tangent riffing is a powerful force in my psyche these days. As inspired by a tangent there about today's earlier post. 

Soldier Bears

No. Enc.: 1d6 (3d6)

Alignment: Neutral or Chaotic (Good)

Movement: 120’ (40’)

Armor Class: 6

Hit Dice: 2+2

Attacks: 2 (claws) or 1 (polearm)

Damage: 1d4 or 1d10+1

Save: F3

Morale: 9

XP: 60

The creeping influence of the Weird has made the border cantons of the Overkingdom world-famous for their quirks and eccentricities. The chilly northern Marches of Nur are no exception and one of their sharper peculiarities is an undue fondness for military companies entirely staffed by anthropomorphic bears.

Nurian Soldier Bears are direct descendents of the mad experiments of that sadly misguided naturalist and wizard Tredvell Muyr. That he was ultimately mauled and eaten by the beast-kin he so lovingly raised from animal brutality failed to dissuade the Nurians from keeping them in service. For sure only a heart made black by jaded calcification can not be moved to great sentiment by a lumbering column of these creatures drawn up in tight parade ranks.

Soldier Bears, when the pre-hibernation wanderlust is on them, will often part from their barracks-dens for tours and adventures of the Hill Cantons. As such they can be encountered paw-fishing in local mountain creeks or taking hireling odd-job positions in the Guild of Condottieri, Linkboys,Roustabouts and Stevedores.

Though considerably smaller than their feral counterparts, Soldier Bears are fierce fighters with their much-beloved polearms, gaining a +1 to damage when employing them.

The Hill Cantons Bestiary: Polymufs

Yesterday's goofball post on the custom Reincarnation table (that I will henceforth be using in the eponymous campaign) reminded me that I have been slacking in my write-ups of the horde of custom monsters I have been using. My typical excuse is that I don't tip my hand to the players, but the qualities of many of these critters are well-known to them at this point—so here we go.

The following "poor dear" creatures are an homage to the work of late John Christopher, in particular the supremely dark, post-apocalyptic Sword of the Spirits series which I ate up with delicious pre-teen anguish. They played a starring role as relatively sympathetic NPCs in the mini-campaign “dragon hunt” sideshow that took place on two small islands far to the south of the Cantons. 

Polymufs
No. Enc: 2d6/1-100
Alignment: Chaotic (Good, Evil, Whatever)
Movement: 120’
Armor Class: variable by armor
Hit Dice: ½ (house polymuf)/1 (field polymuf)/ 2 (feral polymuf)
Attacks: 1
Damage: weapon
Save: F0/F1/F2
Morale: 6/7/10
A firm, but unfair social order greets newborns on the Southlands island of Ptuj. Plagued by two centuries of increasingly bizarre mutations among the population, the local Rada (council) long-ago issued a decree-- irrespective of family social station--that all residents would be divided into three castes on birth: (at least visibly) deformity-free “citizens” (who wear their feathered hair and pastel tunics tied over the shoulder as a sign of their superiority), the “dwarfs” (midgets who are second-class craftsmen but ostensibly free), and the enslaved “polymufs” (the visibly-deformed, semi-free underclass of the island).

While many polymufs remain cowed by the centuries of servitude, others who style themselves “polymuf and proud” have weathered the treacherous local currents and slipped off into the Weird to found “freegan” maroon colonies built around a life of hand-me-down ancient literature and communal living. Life is tough for the feral maroons, yet there is a certain panache and skill in arms that accompanies those that truly “live freegan or die.”

Deformation Table (Roll d20 for each polymuf)
1-2...Almost passable (deformation under the clothes line)
3-10...Minor visible deformation
11-17...Major visible deformation
18-19...1-4 deformations at least one visible
20...Major deformation and mutation (1-4 physical, 5-6 mental on Gamma World 1^st edition mutations table)  

The Hill Cantons Big Dumb Reincarnation Chart

Tuesday night saw a tragic turn in the FLAILSNAILS world when  Ba Chim, that hitherto long-surviving scamp of a New Hampshirean landknecht-dandy, was claimed by the bloodthirsty and capricious dice-gods who cruelly took his 12 hit point life by anti-climatically slipping from a rope on a routine climb just moments after the party slew the resident godling, Grandfather Tiger, in his gabled Feral Shore temple. 

But as Sarah Silverman once famously said “when life gives you AIDS, make lemonaids” (so terrible, sorry) and after a long debate by the (cheapskate) party around the various life-raising options, it was decided to pull the elf from the sun-deprived arms of the maidens under the Holy Oak in the Valley of Am'est and have the Willie Nelson-esque High Druid of Svat the Four-Faced reincarnate his foppish ass.

I am not ashamed to admit that I fully approved of subjecting a player to the mercy of that chart having had a history of frequent abuse of that chart back in the ye old hoary day of soulless AD&D elves. Watching those elf-heavy parties slowly morph into a motley crew of talking badgers, boars and gnolls was too priceless. With the surviving players going on about using the non-standard, goofy-ass critters I love to throw at them on a custom chart I knew I had to do it (also a good excuse to catalog all my custom monsters in a single post).

awww Hell...

Roll a d24

1. Eld
2. Deodand
3. Pelgrane
4. Norker
5. Grotmen
6. Slothrog
7. Leiber Ghul
8. Polymuf
9. Fox Person
10. Black Hobbit
11. Robo-Dwarf
12. Feral Dwarf
13. Ssu
14. Qol
15. War-Bear
16. Micronaut
17. Voormis
18. Grugach
19. Hobgoblin of Foolish Consistency
20. Domovoy
21. Were-Shark
22. Ghost Minotaur
23. Serpentwoman
24. Kirbyesque Space God (in protean form)

Punchline: meet Ba Chim the Wereshark.  

Hill Cantons Bestiary: Wereshark

Read as literature J. Eric Holmes' novella The Maze of Peril is fairly awful, but a read of the book as a window into the pulpy, exuberant kitchen-sink D&D of that good doctor it is supremely enjoyable. One of my favorite sections of the book occurs in a large underworld lake dominated by a pyramid-temple of Dagon.

After the protagonists loot the fishy demonic temple, they are confronted...

“Out of the black waters of the underground lake rose a triangular dorsal fin. The creature would have been immediately recognizable as a huge shark except for the thick muscular arms and hands with which it drew itself up upon the rocks. As the entire body became visible, the startled adventurers could see humanoid legs and bare feet supporting the fish-like tail.”

Totemic beast cults—and their shape-shifting devotees--have run old in the Hill Cantons history, so I knew I had to have one for my campaign. Thus was born Andimachus, the wereshark cousin-antagonist of the resident godling of the Slumbering Ursine Dunes, the Master. Following are the stats I did for that game (he has been dispatched in a near-thing by the players long ago).

Wereshark
No. Enc.:	1d4 (1d4)
Alignment:	Chaotic (Evil)
Movement:	120’ (on land)/180' (water)
Armor Class:	3
Hit Dice:	6
Attacks:	2 (bite, clawed arms)
Damage:	2d6, 1d4, 1d4
Save:	F6
Morale:	10
XP:	1,000

Old salts will tell you of the subtle signs of the human-formed wereshark: a slight greyness of skin, a deadened, hard cast to the eye, a hint of razor among the teeth, a tendency to take positions in the banking guilds.

The monsterish version is inescapable obvious, rearing a full 8-foot tall with the pronounced snout of a shark, sharp-toothed grin, dorsal fin and muscular clawed arms. They are as fleet in the water as their fishy brethren. In this form they can only be harmed by silver or magical weapons.

Despite their bestial rapaciousness weresharks are drawn to soft luxuries in their off hours. Treasure hoards inevitably will take the form of soft, exquisitely-woven silks, velvet cushions, choice wines, fine silver dinnerware, and the like as opposed to straight cash.

Those unfortunates bitten by the wereshark will themselves become victim to lycanthropy on a 30% chance (remove curse to lift). On a full moon—at high tide—there is a 90% chance that the victim will transform into his new form and seek out others of his kind in the murky depths.  

Anti-Cantonal Eld

No. Enc.: 1d10 (20-200)

Alignment: Lawful (Evil)

Movement: 60’ (20’)

Armor Class: 3-5

Hit Dice: 2-6

Attacks: 1 (weapon)

Damage: Weapon

Save: E2-6

Morale: 10


Strange is the name of that ancient race, the Eldur. The tight-lipped followers of the Silent God are said to have coined the word, though its meaning “where a God resides” puzzles savants and sages throughout the Cantons to this day. Perhaps there is truth in the old folk tales of them as pitiless eaters of a long-forgotten deity or perhaps it involves another of that race's arcane cruel jokes.

Hailing from beyond the Veil that hangs between our world and the dark, fell place where life runs on rigid iron rails along great and horrible paths of adventure, the Eldur (often just called the Eld) are said to rule over vast estate piled high with tower-manses, monoliths, slave pens, protein vats and baroque, gargantuan gleaming metal vessel-machines

In this world the few who have witnessed—and survived--their incursions note that their appearance rarely seems by chance they invariably are seen performing strange, determined missions in the furthest corners of the Weird.

What moves their constant machinations inside of machinations little is known, but reports do consistently match up around their physical appearance: pale-whitish skin, long backward sloping skulls, delicate digits; and heights ranging around seven feet. They also favor bright single colors and enameled armor.

The Eld heavily favor long, ultra-slender sabres; short, nastily-barbed stabbing swords; and elaborately-flourished pole arms. Expert craftsmanship gives such weapons +1 to damage. There is a 25% that each group encountered over seven in number, that one of the Eld encountered will carry a piece of eldritch technology such as a Tube of Integument, Mindbox, or Interfogulator (see the upcoming Roustabout's Guide to the Hill Cantons).

All Eld are immune to the effects of sleep, charm, suggestion, and acid-based attacks.


Inspired, in part, by these guys and these and a few others that will remain vaguely mysterious to keep the players guessing. 

The Zombastodon

No. Enc.: 1-3

Alignment: Chaotic (Evil)

Movement: 120’ (40’)

Armor Class: 5

Hit Dice: 9

Attacks: 2 tusks, 1 front trample

Damage: 2d6 (tusk), 1d12 (trample)

Save: F9

Morale: 12

XP: 1,500

Though colloquially called “zomabastodons” by feckless wags who care not for life and limb, the Mammut Morbidium is a reanimated spirit-demon of the more mundane mastodon. 

It is said that Kostej the Deathless himself had a hand in the base sorcery that first revivicated the lifeless corpses of the wooly elephantine pack animals so very much beloved by the northern rump-states of the Hyperboreans in the long glacial age that ended their civilization.

Whatever their origin, Zombastodons have been imbued with a relentless fury at two-legged mammals--and a cold, undying semi-intelligence to sustain that rage over the centuries. They appear as shattered shells of their former robustness, mangy hide splitting, exposed rib bones, and a demonic red glow to their eyes.

Zombastodons have the same range of magical protections as do the more human-appearing undead. They can be turned by clerics as per their hit dice (or as “vampires” in some systems).

Though their tusks are somewhat desiccated and gnarled by the ravages of time, each tusk is still able to fetch 1d4 x 100 gp from collectors of curios and the arcane.  

Kitbashing and the Slothrog

The Undercity contest is now officially closed as of an hour ago. I have 16 submissions in hand and as usual you my lovely, mad readers have outdone yourselves. Tonight I weigh all the various bits and make hard decisions, tomorrow announce the winners.

In the meantime I have been digging on this great little article from Gary Gygax about fantasy Chainmail battles in 1972. As I wrote on Google Plus, I love the whole playful DIY ambiance of the article. At the time there were no little metal fantasy figures commercially available and you had to make do by kitbashing your own.

Reading through that piece you see Gygax joyfully talking about converting plastic giant sloth toys into balrogs, 1/72 (that's 20mm) Airfix “Robin Hood” figures into hobbits, plastic toy 54mm Indians into trolls, and 40mm Elastolin Turks into menacing orcs.

All day mad notions have been plaguing me about outfitting my own kitbashed retro array. Fortunately Ebay auctions on Elastolins are sky-high, so I can resist the urge to go fully bonkers on this, but scanning through my shockingly large amount of small plastic children's toys I have some interesting little mini-projects.

And wouldn't you know it out of some little Hobby Lobby value pack of Ice Age critters, I even have me a giant sloth! Pictured here next to a 28mm Norman archer, I reckon him to be around 35-40mm. This “Slothrog” (name appropriated from Chris Hogan) will be kitbash retro fantasy project #1.

So what to do with him to take him from that to something like this?

Perhaps drill in some metal pins and putty for horns. Maybe use some dark wash and firey red undertones. Not sure how to make myself an appropriately menacing blade of fire and nasty whip. Green putty and twine?

The Slothrog

No. Enc: 1-2

Alignment: Chaotic (Evil)

Movement: 40'

AC: -1

Hit Dice: 8

Attacks: 1 (sword, whip, or teeth)

Damage: 1d8+3, 1d6, or 1d10

Save: F8

Morale: 10

XP: 1,820

When raised from its demonic stupor, the Slothron can be a formidable foe. It can elect to use either its firey magical bastard sword +1, nasty barbed whip (save vs. paralyze when entangled by a hit) , or sharp incisor-like teeth in a combat round. The Slothron can cast Slow twice per day and can only be hit by magical weapons.  

Leiber Ghuls, Blood Rains, and Doleful Bandits

With the mysterious (and possibly living sentient) Golden Barge of the Hill Cantons, finally verging on conquered after two years of play, I feel comfortable releasing a few of the details (a few, a ship must maintain it's secrets after all). Below you'll find the write-up for one of the most commonly encountered inhabitants of that vessel.

All similarities between the Ghuls and other creatures of other world, is of course, purely coincidental. Ahem.

Leiber Ghuls

No. Enc.: 1d6 (5d6)

Alignment: Lawful (Evil)

Movement: 90’ (30’)

Armor Class: 5

Hit Dice: 3

Attacks: 1 (weapon)

Damage: Weapon+1

Save: F3

Morale: 11

Leiber Ghuls are practitioners of the Illuminated Doctrine of the Septuagint Anthropophagite (Authentic), a rather extreme mystical sect that maintains that human flesh corrupts the spirit-self.

Unlike other ascetic doctrines, however, the Leiber Ghuls posit a rather straightforward solution: ritual cannibalism. By liberating (ie eating) human and demi-human males of their flesh—women are believed to be inherently too corrupted and hobbits a delicious veal-like delicacy—they believe that they make their little corner of the world a spiritually uplifted place. Resistance is seen as a corrupted mental trick of the meat-demons and is dealt with by an upright and furious force.

Over the aeons, Leiber Ghuls have themselves been transformed by their flesh-eating practices. Their flesh is now wholly composed of a near-invisible translucent goo leaving only a dull pink skeleton to view. Because of this translucence in shadowy environs they will surprise on a 1-3 roll.

The ghuls are highly intelligent and are inordinately fond of debating amongst themselves and others the fine points of their doctrine—even in the midst of a forcible liberation. Once engaged in combat the ghuls will maintain a steady stream of locution about the urgency and inherent rightness of their doctrine until their dying breath.

When found inside their sect quarters, the ghuls will be accompanied by a Sub-Patriarch of the Cleansing Palate (6 HD of their species) and 1-3 lieutenants (4HD). Obsessively-compulsive pyramids of the clothing and bones of those liberated will be found throughout the area, occasionally items of interest will be found within said piles (luxurious clothing, dropped items) totaling up to 50-400 gp. Any weapons of worth picked up in their duties will be employed in use (though they are particularly fond of big nasty barbed weapons).

The ghuls maintain a long-lasting interdimensional friendship with the Gentlemen Ghouls of Stonehell and some distant relations in the world of Nehwon.

And now the news:

The biennial blood rains have been falling all through the Cantons this week. Expect great big buckets of thick sanguine downpours throughout most of the week. Old wives maintain that the rains are due to water miraculously forming into rain clouds over the Scarlet Sea. Men of learning, of course, reject such superstitious claptrap and counter sagely that it's the Lady's beating of the Sun Lord with her silver chains that creates the soil-enriching rain.

Renowned highwayman and scoundrel, Libor the Lugubrious, is working the main road south of Marlankh again. The canton Rada has set a bounty of 1,000 suns for his head and 50 for each of his dolorous band.  

Hobgoblins of Foolish Consistency

No. Enc.: 1d8 (4d8)
Alignment: Lawful (Evil

)

Movement: 90’ (30’)

Armor Class: 5

Hit Dice: 1

Attacks: 1 (weapon)

Damage: Weapon

Save: F1

Morale: 9

Foolishly Consistent Hobgoblins appear much like slightly-smaller Hobgoblins except for their unremittingly gray skin color and attire.

Although nominally as intelligent in cognitive functions as the more common sort of hobgoblin, their pathological small-mindedness frequently undermines their stratagems. Thus if a party finds away around pitfalls and a response strategy in one of their lairs, it is 90 percent likely on each return to the lair that these hobgoblins will be falling back on the same plan.

Foolishly Consistent Hobgoblins found in lair will be ruled by an autarch (sometimes styled as a “lifecoach”), a 5 HD member of the species known for mapping cradle-to-grave “career plans” and exacting economic accounts for his followers. There is a 80 percent chance that the autarch will be attended by 1-2 barristers, 3 HD tribal witch doctors that can cast Hypnotism once a day.

Because of their bull-minded predictability they are much loved by city officials, sages, and clergy as bodyguards.  

Robo-Dwarf as Monster

Robo-Dwarf

No. Enc.: 1d6 (3d4)

Alignment: Neutral or Chaotic (Evil)

Movement: 60’ (20’)

Armor Class: 3 (or 8 buck naked)

Hit Dice: 1+1

Attacks: 1 (weapon)

Damage: Weapon

Save: D1

Morale: 10

XP: 25

Rogue Robo-Dwarves will on occasion be encountered as NPC monsters in the wild and underground. Robo-Dwarf war cries of binary numbers and smell of dusty primrose strike fear into the organic heart chambers of humans and other bipedal life-forms. When encountered in groups over five, a 2 HD leader possessing a one-charge Baton of Poison Gas (20-foot radius, Robo-Dwarves immune) will be present.  

The Pelgrane: A Monster of Vancian Splendor Part II

No. Enc.: 1-8

Alignment: Neutral

Movement: 450 (150)

Armor Class: 5

Hit Dice: 3

Attacks: 1

Damage: 1d8

Save: F3

Morale: 8

Pelgranes are a flying, semi-sentient race with a most unpleasant and aggressive demeanor. Displaying crested, polished black beetle-like heads--complete with beak and fangs--they can make for a formidable nuisance to air-borne travelers.

Like birds of prey, pelgranes prefer to circle at great heights waiting to dive down on unsuspecting prey. As such they surprise on a 1-3 chance when outdoors. Pelgranes failing to achieve surprise will often converse with their intended prey before attacking them.

The Deodand: a Monster of Vancian Splendor

Of all the influences on my own campaign perhaps no other author has held such a powerful place in my imagination than Jack Vance. Whether it's the fairy-tale medieval picaresque of Lyonesse, the somewhat melancholy pulp fantasy of the Dying Earth, or the vast array of lesser known but equally evocative space opera worlds, I can't read more than a few pages without reaching for my brainstorm notebook to jot down a new idea for an NPC, locale, absurd encounter, or just an elusive weird fantasy tone/theme to weave into a session.

Invariably some of my favorite scenes revolve around witty, deadly exchanges between the protagonist and a harm-intending creature. The crafty deodand is a particular favorite, so I present him as a monster to spring on your unwitting players.

Deodand

No. Enc.: 1 (1-3)

Alignment: Chaotic (Evil)

Movement: 90 (30)

Armor Class: 6

Hit Dice: 4

Attacks: 3 (2 claws, 1 bite)

Damage: 1d4, 1d4, 1d8

Save: F4

Morale: 7

Deodands are intelligent, man-eating humanoids rumored to be borne of a sorcerous experiment that combined a human with a wolverine and basilisk. Deodands appear as handsome, muscular men with dull charcoal-black skin, long sharp fangs, and slitted golden or white eyes. The typical deodand prefers to wear a leather harness with bits of velvet or other rich clothes attached. There is a 30% chance that the harness is adorned with ornamental gems worth 100-400 gp.

The solitary deodand prefers to ambush his prey by stealth and will hide in shadows and move silently at a 60% chance. If caught unobserved he will surprise an unwitting party on a 1-4 roll on a d6.

Though vicious and unremitting in his desire to eat other humanoids, the deodand is also particularly interested in maintaining his own skin. If obviously overpowered or reduced to less than 1/3 hit points he will beg and plead for his life, often offering to guide a party. Adventurers should remain vigilant however if they take the creature up on any offer, as the deodand may attempt to subtly lead them into danger.