If You've Ever Wondered...

I'm kind of tired of packing and unpacking--having just got home from Cincinnati.  I have not the energy to whip up an original blog entry for you folks, today.  However, I've updated the Weird Adventures Index with some posts you might have missed.

First off, peruse the "Highlights from the Dungeoneering Medicine Conference." Then check out some "Wonders from the Planes." Finally, flip through the City's photo album with my very first picture post from 2010 "Images from the City"--or if that doesn't suit you, you can attend "The Wizard's Estate Sale."

Gargoyles, Guns, and Money

Last night, "Team Victory" made it to the end of the trail and brought a murderer to brutal, shotgun-blast justice--and made themselves a tidy some in the process.

They confronted Viviane Vandemaur about the murder of her husband over a continental breakfast served in her penthouse suite on the Upper Eldside. She was too tough an egg to crack easy, so they forced her into the pocket dimension bolthole accessible through the palimpsest they stole.

There, she bared her claws and went on the attack.  It took several shotgun blasts and sword cane stabs, but she finally fled through one of the openings in the floor to--well, whatever strange dimension was outside the cube.  Even there she tried to crawl across the outside surface and escape, but Boris was dogged, and Ivanka still had shells.

The thing that called itself Viviane Vandemaur eventually went flying off into otherspace.

Her gargloyle mook demanded the orb that kept him at bay in return for leaving them alone and--uncharacteristically trusting--the guys handed it over, after extracting a promise from the gargoyle to do them a solid at some point in the future.

That done, the gang headed over to Urania Vandemaur’s mansion to collect the bounty on her son’s murderer. They were surprised to find Indrid Bliss there with her.  Under the sharp eye of Urania, and with the other orb to exchange, Indrid filled in some of the missing pieces of the puzzle:  The original Viviane was the cigarette girl in the picture with John Vandemaur, whose identity and likeness his partner (the Viviane they all knew) stole.  Then, she got greedy and tried to steal Vandemaur’s identity (and his fortune) and cut Bliss out all together.  Bliss claimed to have botched the ritual that would have allowed her to steal Vandemaur's identity sufficiently to fool most magics, but she got the jump on him and put him in the coffin.

Bliss wanted the alien glass sphere back in return for this information, and Creskin (against his better judgement) was coaxed into giving it to him by Urania.  Bliss left, and no one was sorry to see him go.

The guys then collected their substantial payment, and left the games of the rich and sorcerous behind--for the moment.

The Room at the End of the Hall

An ominous door at the end of a hall in a cheap tenament somewhere in the City.  We step over the drunk sleep it off outside.  Behind the door we find:

1. Two sets of men's clothes in puddles of goo.
2. A roiling red-tinged fog that seems to pulsate as if with the beating of a heart.
3. A well-dressed man from nowhere.
4. Walls bear but for peeling paint.  The faint sound of a child sobbing.
5. A group of 1d6 hobogoblins gathered around table watching two men play Russian roulette.
6. A single bed with a large constrictor snake curled upon it with a ominous bulge.
7. Smears of blood on the floor; a naked hanging lightbulb swinging, as if recently disturbed.
8. A nest of bugbear hatchlings and their strange birthing machinery.
9. A hillybilly giantess in a gingham dress sitting on a bed and sobbing into her hands.
10. The grim reaper seated at a table with a chess board.
11. The complete skin of an elderly man draped across a bed as if in repose.
12. Pulp magazines stacked almost ceiling high and forming a veritable maze.

Other ideas?

The Kind of Dame Gargoyles Like

In the City, Creskin, Don Diabolico, and Boris (now calling themselves--somewhat prematurely--Team Victory) had dinner at the posh “Pauper’s Row” mansion of Urania Vandemaur. They discovered the Vandemaur matriarch most certainly does not approve of the cigarette-girl from across the Eldritch River that her son, John, chose to marry. In fact, she’s certain Viviane killed her son--and is willing to pay to have her brought to justice by any means necessary.

Never ones to blanch from suggestions of illegal deeds where money’s involved, our heroes take her up on her offer. They also take note of a tidbit dropped by Urania--insignificant to her, but very significant to our would-be detectives: John Vandemaur had remarked that "even gargoyles loved" Viviane.

A late night meeting with a shady forensic necromancer confirms the skinned body they found was indeed John Vandemaur and that he may have been betrayed by someone he called “darling.” His traumatized soul can’t give them anymore, but that’s enough.

The boys are eager to confront Viviane, but she won’t see them until tomorrow. They try to use the map they took from Bliss’s extradimensional bolt-hole to find more clues, but without a lot of success. Finally, they're able to use the second glass sphere to contact Bliss, and he offers a meeting back at Club Tekeli-Li.

One exorbitant cab ride later, they’re attempting to interrogate Bliss at the club. He wants the spheres back, but our heroes won’t budge. They manage to get Bliss to give up quite a bit: He was Faustus Bleys--and the inhuman being that calls itself Viviane Vandemaur was Bleys’s scribe mentioned in the tome. Viviane double-crossed Bliss for obscure reasons and put him in the coffin. He also claims she killed John Vandemaur. Still, Viviane’s motives remain a mystery. Why did she hire them? Was it just to get them out of the way as Bliss claims? And what’s the true purpose of the spheres? Bliss wants one badly (the one they stole from him), as he says it allows him to open “certain doors.”

Our heroes meeting with Viviane will likely turn into a battle--against an inhuman killer.

This adventure also marked the debut of Creskin’s new henchman (courtesy of Fleischschild’s Institute in Lichmond): cornfed and none too bright, Moose Magoon:

 

Creskin plans to put him in a sequined outfit as a stage assistant, too.

Images From Beyond the City

Even if the locals think it's the center of the world, there's plenty of adventure to be had beyond the City:

"Yeah, she was a thousand years old and evil, but you had to admit: that mummy could make a cleric kick out a stainglass window."*

The whole time they were guests of the Monkey King of the South Seas they were in constant danger from his capricious (and often deadly) sense of humor. Still, he had a helluva palace band.

Everywhere the two grifter eikones manifested, they acted out the same mystery play.  Thick versus thin.  Lean versus plenty. Either way, it never worked out well for the locals, in the end.

"The Courser is our only chance to make it in time!  If we can outrun Grandfather Winter, we can easily reach the Northern Ruthenian wastes and retrieve the fragment before Donander's zeppelin is even across the Staarkish border."

*With apologies to Raymond Chandler for partially appropriating his line.

Doorway to Weird

Last night was another installment of our Weird Adventures game in Lorefinder.  The gang was reunited after a few weeks of partial party adventuring and they made their way back to the Thaumaturgical Society library in Paladin Hill. Thanks to Creskin's membership, they got access to the tome they were looking for in manuscript form: Incursions from Elsewhere by Montagu Ware.

Poring over the manuscript, Creskin finds a chapter on Hoborxen and its alien overlay. Interestingly, Ware mentions a visit by a wizard from the alien city--Faustus Bleys--and his nonhuman scribe.  There was once an illustration on the facing page but it had been torn out.  Creskin also notices the page he's reading is a palimpsest--and the original writing not quite scraped off appears to be a still-functional spell. The spell (when read) should open a doorway to a pocket dimension.

Creskin tears out the page and the guys leave with the librarian none the wiser.  In a secluded alley in Grimalkin Village, Creskin reads the spell.  The page expands to become a doorway.  They step through into a crazy cubical bronze room with doors on all the walls and the ceiling.  And perhaps weirdest of all, a floating, mumbling head in the center.

An attempt to decipher the head's utterances, gets acid vomitted at Creskin for his trouble.  Bored with that conversation, Boris puts a bullet through the head before it can attack them.  Don Diabolico explores the other doors finding: a gold box containing restive, jumping bird skulls, each polished to a porcelain sheen and wrapped in tissue paper; a room that's walls and ceilings are coated with moving globules of a viscous, oil-slick irridescent substance; and a room indentical to the one they're in--complete with duplicates of our heroes in it.

Diabolico plays with these weird places, while Creskin and Boris are sure that all of them are potentially deadly.  After Boris goes out and comes back with a ladder, their able to get into the strangely normal room on the other side of the ceiling door.  Amid the fairly mundane furnishing, they find Indrid Bliss's coat, another glass orb, and a photo of a younger John Vandemaur and Vivaine Vandemaur dressed as a cigarette girl--in a hopping Club Tekeli-Li!

Taking these items with them (as well as an ooze sample and the box of bird schools), the gang runs into Indrid Bliss on the way out.  He's miffed they broke into his place and demands his "beacon" back.  Creskin threatens to break the orbs and Bliss back off, disappearing into a shimmering door.

Questions abound, but the boys are more convinced than ever that Viviane Vandemaur is hiding something.

It Just Gets More Weird: Updates to the Index

I've added a few more entries to the Weird Adventures Index page for your edification and enjoyment.  First off, a couple of interesting characters of the sort the City frequently produces: the paladin of the working poor, Joan Darkling, and the oozing, accidental crime lord, Waxy Moldoon.

In the monster section, the formians are staging a very efficient and quiet invasion. A couple of para-elementals are a bit more likely to get noticed: petro-elementals rise from oil wells and mephiti menace Char Hill, a town atop a coal seam fire.  Tuning in to a radio para-elemental can be just as nasty, but in a more different way.

After that, if your looking for a an escape from those noxious (and toxic) creatures, how about a vacation to that sweet tooth Shangri-La, the Rock Candy Mountain.

Swarm of Husks

Likely the product of a deranged (and necromantically adept) mind, a swarm of husks is composed of undead insects that died in light fixtures or between window panes. These creatures died in crude despair as only the mindless can know it, and that inchoate emotion, combined with energy from the negative plane, is a powerful force.  These swarms take some time to gather, but once formed will do the bidding of the necromancer who raised them.

Husk swarms have the standard properties of a swarm of diminutive creatures, plus those standard to undead. Any creature beginning its turn inside the swarm must make a saving throw or be nauseated for 1 round. The husk swarm is hungry for life force and will crawl into the mouth or nostrils of a victim (failed saving throw) over a period of 1 minute.  Once inside a living thing, they drain 1d4 levels from it (or add negative levels, however you want to look at) like the spell enervation.

Some anecdotal reports suggest that bright lights can attract a swarm, distracting them from living targets.

Saint Joan of the City

On the southern end of Eldside Park there is a bronze statue of a stern-faced woman in plate armor holding a sword. The lady couldn’t be more out of place, surrounded by greenery and the picnicking wealthy. Her battles were fought in the stockyards, waterfront, and railyards. This is Joan Darkling--to the City’s labor movement, Saint Joan.

Joan Darkling was born in the Smaragdine coal country. She saw the worst of the mining companies' attempts to stop miners from organizing. Strikers were shot by hired mercenaries. Agitators died of poisoning from deadly ores inserted by malign kobolds imported from Ealderde. Joan left the Smaragdines in her teen years and became an adventurer, but never forgot where she came from.

Joan survived many a delve to retired from adventuring young. She took up the cause of the City’s workers with the same zeal she’d showed in slaying monsters. She wore magical plate armor she had scavenged from a delve to labor rallies. They were just another form of battle.

The famous folk song about Joan says she died after her battle with the “Golem of Capitalism”--a brazen, bull-headed construct sent against her by a consortium of robber barons. She defeated the bull, but succumbed to poisoning, caused by the alchemical smoke rising from the bull’s boiler and snorted from its nostrils. That’s what the song says.

In reality, no one knows what became of Joan Darkling. It is true that she disappeared soon after her battle with the golem, but no death was ever recorded, and the last to see her say they she was pained by a few wounds but seemed in no way dying.

Some say Joan sleeps somewhere in a subterranean chamber, awaiting the time when she is needed again. When injustices visited upon the poor and downtrodden worker will again require her to do battle with monsters.

Joan Darkling’s Sword: Joan wielded a Holy Avenger, an intelligent blade who adopted Darkling's crusade. It has a particular dislike of fat cats and acts as a bane of monied interests and their agents, getting a +1 against such individuals, regardless of alignment.

Spirit of Radio

Sometimes the voice on the airwaves isn’t human. Late night on an empty frequency you can sometimes hear plaintive whispers between the static: the lonely call of a radio spirit. These electromagnetic para-elementals appear to arise spontaneously from radio transmissions. They're often a nuisance--and sometimes a real danger--within the City and elsewhere.

Radio para-elementals can manifest in any radio. They typically speak in snippets of broadcasts they’ve overheard, mimicking the various voices whose words they steal. They can, however, mimic a single radio personality's voice if they choose, but seem to do it less commonly. Having matured in a sea of pitchmen and songtresses, they develop uncanny abilities to manipulate humans with their assumed voices. They can replicate the bard-like abilities of fascinate, suggestion, and mass suggestion.

They’re not limited to mimicking human voices. They can fascinate equally well with music, or lull to sleep with a magical lullaby. Also, they can create a high volume static which acts as a sonic burst--though this typically blows out the speaker of the radio they're utilizing.

If particularly enraged, a spirit can arc forth from a speaker as pure electricity. It does 1d6 points of damage (additional 1d6 to someone in metal armor). This is treated as a charging attack. This attack causes the para-elemental to dissipate with the effort.  It takes then 2d6 days to reform.

RADIO PARA-ELEMENTAL
AC: 2 [18]
Move: 18
HD: 6
Attacks/Dmg: 1 spell-like power or arc
Defenses: immune to electricity, and other elemental immunities
Special: Vulnerable to water (1d8 points per gallon of water, or double damage on water-based spells), spell like abilities as above (and perhaps other bardic abilities): fascinate, suggestion, mass suggestion, sonic burst.

More Items from the Planes

Here are more items from the Planes Beyond that sometimes find their way into the City:

Mechanoid Pheremones: A vial of volatile liquid containing signalling chemicals (not actually pheremones) for the polyhedral automata from Machina responsible for the repairing reality and defending it from chaos. The the vial is good for two uses. Chaotic individuals or magic-users casting spells in their presence will at least be thoroughly examined by the automata, and possibly attacked. The mechanoids can follow the trail of the chemicals anywhere in the Material Plane, though they always appear where the vial was first opened unless it is quickly capped.

Horn of Glory: A curving bronze horn which, when blown, summons 1d6+1 incorporeal constructs, echoes of the shades of 5th level human warriors residing in the Halls of Valor. They serve the summoner unquestioningly--as look as the service involves battle (otherwise, they disappear). The warriors dissipate at the end of the battle. The horn may be blown once per week.

“The Usual”: Euphemistic name for a noxious drink smuggled to the Material Plane from the city in the Land of Beasts, but probably originating in Dreamland. It reputedly contains Cobra Fang Juice, Hydrogen Bitters, and Old Panther. Consuming it causes all but the strongest to pass out after experiencing a strange fit (failed saving throw at -2). It’s said that some gain one important insight about the past, present, or future after consumption.

X-Ray Specs

A cheap magic item sometimes found in the City, X-Ray Spectacles are apparently mass-produced and sold in the back of lurid pulps and comics.  The item is sold for as little as a single Union dollar--with good reason, as 90% or more are fakes whose only magical power is to appear faintly magical, distort one's vision slightly when wearing them, and cause headaches.  The real X-Ray Spectacles (sold from identical ads as the fake ones) are identical cardboard glasses (not unlike old fashion 3-D glasses in our world ) with swirling, swifting patterns in the thin, plastic lens.

Real X-Ray Spectacles confer the power to see through solid matter, though things seen are not in color and somewhat hazy.  This is uneffected by illumination.  Vision range is 20 feet, and the viewer can see through 1 foot or so of most materials with concentration, though only 1 inch of solid metal, with a round's concentration.  Without concetration, the wearer can see through no more than a quarter of an inch, which mainly makes them good for seeing through clothes.  Even without concetration, they see through illusions of most types.
The unknown manufactures of the spectacles make a shoddy product which extraplanar energies.  Repeated use or extended wear of the spectacles (more than once a day, or for more than 2 mintues) requires a saving throw or else suffering 1 point reduction in Constitution.  Every day the spectacles are in a person's possession (and not kept in a lead-lined or magically warded container) has a cumulative 5% chance of attracting the unwanted attention of malign astral entities.

Highlights from the Dungeoneering Medicine Conference

In 5887, the City Medical Society hosted a symposium on unusual maladies seen among delvers and possible treatments. Here are a few of the highlights:

Spectral Encounter-Induced Cataracts: J.H. Shaxwell discussed a series of cases of cataracts resulting from close encounter with incorporeal undead. Shaxwell theorizes this is the result of negative energy exposure.

Care of the Soul-Dislocated Patient: Trelane Cantor described the care provided unfortunates who have had their astral bodies separated via thaumaturgy. Emphasis was placed on environmental safety.

A Case of Amathocosis: A unique pneumoconiosis resulting from inhalation of the particulate matter left after a demilich encounter was described by Nyland Tonsure.

Antibiotic Resistance of Infernal Acquired Venereal Disease: Villard M. Sturm warns that succubi derived sexually transmitted diseases often required potent alchemical intervention.

Candy Zombies

Originally the flight of fantasy of a deranged alchemist with a sweet tooth, candy zombies now seem to be produced continuously in small quantities in the City by parties unknown. These poorly-formed, jelly confection figures aren’t actually undead but resemble zombies in their shambling, occasional moaning, and slack-jawed, vacant stares.

Candy zombies are prepared at the size of about 1.5 inches, however, they grow to roughly man-size over the next 24 hours if prepared properly. They can move their limbs from a few minutes after creation, but don’t take their first steps until they are perhaps 10 hours old. When fully grown, they are like normal zombies in most respects, except that they are susceptible to water--a river or fire hose can dissolve them in 2-20 minutes.

Perhaps the strangest danger of the candy zombies is in their exquisite sweetness. Any human that gets a taste of the candy zombie’s substance (whether by an accidental bite during a grapple or purposefully) must make a saving throw vs. disease or become addict to the taste of candy zombie, willing to do anything to obtain more unless cured by magical means.

The Blackmailer and the Baboon

In last night's Weird Adventures game, Creskin and Don Diabolico set out to help poor, wayward deb Sue Ann Wilde who'd been taken advantage of by her ex-boyfriend--the now deceased ghoul, Dean.  Dean had taken her to a antiquarian book dealer, Leland Throne, who dabbled in photography--specifically, compromising photos he could presumably sell to private collectors or use as blackmail.

Diabolico got to show off his gentleman thief skills by getting them into Throne's book shop in the middle of the night.  A hidden ledger and a stray picture of Sue Ann let the boys know they were on the right track.  They confirmed Throne was planning to call Sue Ann's wealthy father for blackmail.

The two paid a visit to Throne's residence on the Upper Eld Side. They discovered that Throne had gaudy tastes in home furnishings--and had a pet baboon!

Not wanting to tangle with a baboon and Throne in the middle of the night, our heroes returned rested (and spell replenished) the next day when Throne was at work.

A quick sleep spell put the the baboon down.  Rummaging through Throne's stuff turned up a lot of risque photos--including the ones of poor Sue Ann.  They also found the vial with the potion Throne had used to drug her and another with potion of bull's vigor--which the local pharmacist implied was a sexual enhancement. 

So they don't come off as too altruistic, I should point out that Creskin and Diabolico robbed both Throne's backroom safe at work and his strongbox at home.  They even stole his camera and the decorative (maybe) scimitar hanging on the wall over his bed.  Maybe we can file that all under "getting what he deserved?"

Waxy

Here's some new art by Loston Wallace for a little Weird Adventures project for Gen Con.  This is Waxy Moldoon. His story illustrates how fortune and failure can sometimes go hand and hand in the City. Waxy was a sadsack wiseguy wannabe, until an chance meeting with Mr. Scratch (if there's such a thing) left him something more--and less--than human.  Waxy's flesh seems to be melting--slowly.  A touch of his uncovered flesh can pass his condition on to others, in a more acute form. Anybody touched by Waxy who fails a saving throw will find his or her flesh beginning to liquify.  Success at a second saving throw means the liquification stops a point where the victim is still alive, though not much more than a lumpen mass.  Failure means the victim dies leaving only a puddle.  The process takes d100 hours.

Waxy's power has gotten him closer to being the big shot he always wanted to be.  He's got soldiers behind him, and he's an up and comer in the City's underworld, but he still isn't happy.  Everybody Waxy's touch sends oozing into oblivion is another reminder just what maybe waiting for him one day.

"Hello, Nurse!": Healing in the City

The adventurer's life in the City is made a little less convenient by the absence of readily available clerical healing.  True faith healing is rare (though claims of it are a bit more common), and priests that bother to learn thaumaturgy don't usually spend a lot of time on the simple healing arts.  Medical technology is, of course, more advanced than in your standard Medieval setting, but accessing it sometimes brings questions adventurer-types would rather avoid.

The corner drug store offers a solution. On its shelves, various alchemical tonics and medications can be found that offer restored energy and faster healing. Many of these function similarly to standard cure light or (less commonly) medium wounds potions found in other worlds, but with an important difference: They offer the equivalent healing of 8 hours of restorative sleep plus enhanced energy in the form of temporary hit points. These dissipate within 12 hours.

Further consumption can extend this time period, but at diminishing returns. Consuming another dosage within a 24 hour period confers only temporary hit points--and these last 6 hours.  Further doses do nothing--most of the time.  Sometimes they shock the system and act as a poison causing light wounds.

Though Union laws require drugs to be pure, no human or animal testing is required prior to marketing. Sometimes alchemical medications have unintended consequences, and there are rare and tragic instances where they are outright toxic.  It's probably best to consume them only as directed by a physician.

Brain-Eating Beatniks

Is how the wizard "Amazing" Kreskin described their foes in the graveyard of Barrow Island.  In last night's Weird Adventures game (in Lorefinder), Boris, Kreskin, and Don Diabolico were ambushed by ghoul hooligans out for dangerous kicks.  The punks got danger in a lethal dose: The fact that that were teenagers didn't spare them from the guns of our hardboiled adventurers.  Only one of the three attackers escaped with his life.

The trouble with ghouls didn't stop there.  The casket of John Vandemaur (what the guys had been hired to get) had already been removed from the family crypt.  A little investigation led them to another crypt with the sounds of jazz and poetry recitation coming from within.  Stealthy scouting by Diabolico revealed a number group of young ghouls who not only had the casket they were looking for, but were in the company of the missing debutante, Sue Ann Wylde.

Kreskin's pulled a little hypnotism on them allowed the casket and the girl to be extracted with a shot being fired.  The poetical rebel that led the band of miscreants didn't go down so easy, though.  He had a head full of aklo and was plugged into the dread outsider gods of the anarchists.  He pulled a switchblade made of swirling darkness.  Fortunately for our gang (and unfortunately for the kid) he wasn't impervious to bullets.

Retreiving the casket led to more surprises.  Inside wasn't the body of John Vandemaur, but instead the quite living (and angry), Indrid Bliss.  Bliss was bond and magically gagged by somebody.  He was evasive about how this happened, and who did it, but he seemed to blame John Vandemaur--who he said was still very much alive.

Bliss wasn't much inclined for conversation.  He tried to escape once by a dimenson door, only to be nabbed by Boris.  The group hoped that Heward Kane might be able to illuminate the situation more, but they were denied the opportunity to introduce him to Bliss by the intervention of a gargoyle who spirited Bliss away.

Checking in with Kane they find (unsurprisingly) that's he's at a loss to explain any of this--but he does tell them Viviane Vandemaur (the supposed widow) wants to meet with them.

To be continued.

Curse of the Wolf

Besides the usual sorts of lycanthropes, the City sometimes sees a rarer sort created by an elixir from the Outer Planes. Known as the Potion of Werewolfism, the magical elixir is thought to be brought to the Prime Material Plane by agents unknown from the Land of Beasts. It appears as a shockingly effervescent liquid of shifting color within a somewhat oversized test tube stoppered with a cork.

Imbibing the liquid has the immediate effect of transforming the drinker into an anthropomorphic wolf resembling the inhabitants of the Land of Beasts. Despite the startling change, people encountering the person for the first time in werewolf form will not react as if anything is unusual: such is the extraplanar magic of the potion.  This initial transformation lasts 1d100 minutes, but there is a 50% chance that the potion has given the imbiber the hiccups and each hiccup will bring a shift between forms. After the initial transformation, the imbiber will return to normal, but the wolf form will re-emerge ever night at sundown.

Persons suffering from this werewolfism aren't ravening beast like common lycanthropes but are compulsive carousers and cads. No attractive member of the opposite sex is safe from their crude come-ons. While in werewolf form a individual can be hurt, but quickly shrugs off any damage sustained (regenerating like trolls). They do not have any particular susceptibility to silver.

Victims of this “werewolf curse” often make themselves destitute with their spending and unwelcome in any night-spot in town with their skirt-chasing as they fulfill their wolfish appetites.

Wandering Through the Graveyard

Barrow Island now serves as the City's potter's field, but it has been the site of burials going back even to pre-colonial times.  It's located close to Empire Island in the Wyrd River.  Despite it's proximity, there are no bridges with the island as their destination.

The Mortuary Division of the City Department of Hospitals ships an average of around 200 corpses to the island weekly (as well as amputated limbs) from it's offices at Blackmoore Hospital.  The simple and unadorned pine boxes are laid three deep with a marker inscribed with a code by the barrow men.

The public is allowed limited visitation to the island. A ferry leaves from a terminal at the end of 14th Street.  Ferries leave from the terminal at ten in the morning and two in the afternoon.  The return trips from the Barrow Island docks leave at noon and four.  Non-official visitors at other times require special permission.

Here's a rough map of the island (scale: 1 in.=600 ft.):

The dark paths are paved or cobbled roads.  The lighter ones are trails or less well-kept routes.  The building at the junction of the paths is the mortuary headquarters.  Here photos and descriptions are kept on the unidentified bodies in the potter's fields, as well as older burial records of the other cemeteries (if they exist).  The buildings behind it are storage and some staff quarters, and the power plant (a former crematorium).

There are other buildings on the island: the decaying remnants of the former settlement and the shanties of barrow men.

In the south of the island, the dashed line represents the path of the Wychwire Bridge.  One support column of the bridge stands on the island and houses an elevator down from the bridge that can only be accessed with a key.

At night, when the barrow men cluster around their campfires and tell their macabre tales, the island becomes a more dangerous place.  Various forms of undead have been known lurk amid its crypts and mausoleums.  Ghouls (not undead--but cannibalistic) occasionally make in-rounds onto the isle before the Barrow Men can drive them off.  If the tales of the barrow men are to be believed, stranger less well-known horrors are sometimes encountered--but of course, the barrow men don't let truth get in the way of a good story.