Weird Revisited: The Two Cities of Hoborxen

I think this post from February of 2011 may be one of my favorite Weird Adventures related posts...

On some moonless night in the City, you can look across the Eldritch River and see on the other bank a shining, alien city with buildings that look as if there made of blown glass and infused with a pale, fluorescent glow. In the morning, you might look again at the same place on the far bank, wondering if the strange city had just been dream, and you’d see the gray smokestacks and worn docks of humdrum Hoborxen, and you’d be sure you that it had been.

And you’d be wrong.

Since the earliest days of Ealderdish settlement, strange things have been seen and heard in the area that would eventually become the city of Hoborxen. These irruptions from elsewhere have only increased over the centuries since. Now, in the night, the working class neighborhoods and decaying waterfront of day Hoborxen are intruded upon, and sometimes replaced, by an otherworldly city of tall spires, all its buildings made of something resembling glass, warm to the touch like the mantle of a recently lit lantern.

Every night, some part of Hoborxen is replaced by the intruder--sometimes only a single structure, other times an entire neighborhood. On nights of the new moon, Horboxen is entirely replaced. The city begins to appear at dusk, as if emerging from an unseen but evaporating fog, or coalescing from the dying light. The strange glow of its structures rises slowly; it's brightest at midnight and wanes toward dawn.

No human inhabitants of the alien city are ever seen, but it's not completely deserted. Fairy-like creatures--obscenely jabbering, cinereous, and moth-winged--sometimes buzz about its streets or lewdly call from high perches. A low growl, a sound as much felt in the bones as heard, periodically reverberates through the streets, and some explorers have claimed to heard a woman crying or laughing softly.

Exploration of the glassy structures usually turns up everyday detritus from Hoborxen, most of which is of little value. Sometimes, things lost elsewhere in the world turn up here, but again seldom anything of real value except perhaps to the one that lost it. It’s a common tale among adventurers that there's a great treasure haul somewhere in the city, but no one has retrieved anything more than a few enigmatic, otherworldly trinkets.

Would-be treasure-hunters should weigh the likely gain against the potential dangers.  A number of people entering the areas of the alien city are never seen again. 

The people of Hoborxen are inured to these nocturnal visitations, and rarely remark on them, though addiction, violence, and suicide are more common there than in neighboring towns. No one knows where they go when they’re elsewhere. “Nowhere,” they say, and shrug and turn away.

Some thaumaturgist muse darkly that there may come a time when Hoborxen will be gone entirely, every night. And after that, will the incursion spread?

Weird Revisited: Afterlife During Wartime

This post first appeared in February of 2012. It was intended for the world of Weird Adventures but is usuable anywhere really...

Explorers in the planes beyond have recorded two noumenal realms devoted to the concept of war, though from two different perspectives. One is a shining realm of trumpets sounding the call to glorious battle for a righteous cause. The other is a grim place of endless, grinding war of attrition, leading to an apocalypse they may never come.

The Halls of Valor or the Fields of Glory is the name given to the after-life for the heroic warrior dead of several pagan faiths. Its trappings are pre-modern, though never in history did swords and spears so gleam, or armor so shine. The warriors revel all night in feasting halls and walk out at dawn (strangely hangover free) to do battle with representatives arriving from places of evil and chaos (or at least the representations of such beings). Occasionally (if that word has much meaning in a timeless place) tourneys are held, and the warriors pit themselves against each other. While dire wounds are suffered, they heal quickly and wound and pain are forgotten in the face of glory.

There have been some warriors of the Oecumenical faith, or even soldiers from modern times, who fell in battle and were taken to Halls of Valor in some sort of cosmic error. Some warm to the place after a while, but others seek a way out by appeal to the pagan gods who rule there. Sometimes, angels try to recruit such misplaced warriors to serve in the Heavenly Hosts. This is considered by the eikone Management a tidy solution to the problem of a misplaced soul.

The other realm is a place of blood-red skies, where clouds of ash are buffeted by winds thick with the smell of death. This is the Plains of Armageddon, the Eternal Battlefield. Here, the souls of warriors damned by their actions in war are conscripted as soon as they arrive into the army of one faction or another. Weapons are supplied by agents of the Hell Syndicate or the demon lords of the Pits; They use the armies here as proxies for their own agendas. Warriors from infinite worlds and all of history do battle in bleak and blasted landscapes where no one is truly trustworthy and most hands are actively raised against every other.

Some of the damned delight in bloodlust and slaughter and give themselves over fully to their not entirely metaphorical demons. Others seek desperately to escape and sign faustian deals to return the the Material world as diabolic thralls. Others are lucky enough to make contact with the agents.of Heaven and make other deals for a chance at working off the stain on their souls.

Weird Revisited: From The Mound

This post first appeared almost eight years ago to the day. The original version ended with a blank #9, but commentors filled in more, included here:

You never know what might be found in those ancient mounds doitting the Strange New World and perhaps other worlds, as well. Here are a few suggestions:

1. Eight giant (8-9 ft. tall) human-like skeletons in breast-plates and ornaments of a copper-like (but harder) metal. Armor is +1 but half the usual weight.  
2. 2d10 eggs that will hatch dungeon chickens if incubated.
3. A phantasmagoria magic lantern obviously of more recent manufacture than the mound itself.
4. Three partially buried skulls inscribed with mystical designs, which upon closer inspection are actually necrophidii.
5. The mummified corpses of 1d8 children of both sexes who were killed by ritual strangulation. They will rise as undead mummies on the first night of the new moon after excavation. 
6. A sarcophagi contain a person in strange, futuristic outfit. If the round, reflective glass helmet is removed it will reveal the apparently dead (but remarkably undecayed) body of one of the PCs at an advanced age.
7. A glass pyramid containing a Mantid Warrior-Nun, who is alert and active, but unable to escape.
8. A beautiful woman in ancient garb, who appears to be asleep. Approaching close enough to touch the woman (even if not actually doing so) will allow her to take possession of a victim’s body as per the magic jar spell. If successful, the victim’s soul enters a large gem in her regalia.
9. A copy of a murder ballad tattooed into the skin of its victim preserved in a whiskey jar. (Tim Shorts)
10. An ancient spacecraft. A 20% chance of a given system being operational, with the first checked being the entry mechanism. Think of the data banks... (Porky)
11. A tomb decorated with a finely detailed model of the surrounding area at it was at the time of the original internment. The art style might be native, OOPS Oriental ("How did a diamyo of the Demon Isles end up here?"), mysterious Ancient, etc.If the investigators can work out what they are looking at (the gross landforms are the same, but the rivers have shifted course slightly and some of the distances are just plain wrong according to modern survey maps) it acts as a Treasure Map to 1d6 previously unknown ancient native sites.The models have resale value as antiquaries, but there is a non-trivial chance that removing 1 or more destroys the Treasure Map effect. (Chris Hogan)
12. One really, really big egg. (NetherWerks)

Weird Revisited: Mushrooms, Pigs and Cold Light

This post originally appeared five years ago today. It was one of a few posts looking at the Old World (Ealderde) in Weird Adventures:

The thaumaturgic forces unleashed by the Great War have left much of Ealderde strange. For an example of just how weird this transformation can be, one need look no farther than Lumière,the former capital of Neustrie and the Gallian Alliance. Once Lumière’s lights were emblematic of a city that never slept, a place of art and culture. Today, Lumière is a bombed out ruin, and the amber luminescence that crawls or flows through its streets and buildings is something of another world.

The thing is alive; almost everyone agrees on that, but little they agree on little else. Is it matter? Some gelatinous substance similar to the strange denizens of the underground? Or is it pure energy, somehow thickened and held? If it’s the latter, it’s light with no heat.

In the day, it seems to hide in the skeletons of buildings, perhaps fearing the sun. At night it pours forth and spreads out over whole blocks. Rats and vermin flee it. Living things it touches develop strange tumors or growths. When it first rose, victims caught in its path were left rooted to the spot, transformed into masses of cancer.

The glowing touch of the thing seems to have created at least one mutant species. The wild swine that moved into the city to root and scavenge after the devastation of the war have been changed. They've grown large, and bloated and pale as grubs, with eyes that glow with a paler yellow that the thing. Though they can’t speak, they seem to have evolved an evil intelligence. They roam the streets in herds, seeming to take pleasure in spoiling what remains of the works of man, and looking (though they're hardly picky eaters) for their primary form of sustenance: fungal spores.

The Mushrooms, the swines' unrelenting foes, resent their progency being consumed by the swine with a displeasure that's more cold practicality than horror. These fungal sapients likely lived beneath the city even in previous times (certain legends hint at their presence) but when the humans fled they saw an opportunity. From their inhuman alchemical laboratories they create structures from fungal stock and weaponize molds to strike at the swine and keep humans away.

Looters and treasure seekers make forays into the ruin of Lumière, but it's a dangerous undertaking. Even if the poured-honey creeping of the luminescent thing can be avoided, there are the packs of hungry swine to be outwitted, and the silent and dispassionate Mushroom scientists to be dealt with.

Infinite Earths

This a diagram of "major divergences" of parallel realities in Mark Gruenwald's A Primer on Reality in Comic Books. Things have only gotten more complicated since 1977.

DC has always had more alternate earths, thanks to their desire to explain away continuity errors by saying they took place in another reality (Marvel No-Prizes were simpler), but then Crisis came and they got rid of them all. After a few more crises, they came back though. Check out a list of them here.

Marvel traditionally had very few and didn't give them number (too DC, I guess). In 1983, Alan Moore and Alan Davis did a story for Marvel UK where the main Marvel earth was given the designation 616. Fans ran with that, and from a throwaway line, Marvel parallel Earths got numbers, too. Find them here. Of course, this probably doesn't catalog all the dystopian alternate futures the X-Men wind up in. Those guys just can't catch a break.

Any, I'm sure all of this can be plenty useful for a superhero game.

And the Superhuman Krewe

The Southron canal city of New Ylourgne has a culture all its own. This is as apparent in its magical traditions as anywhere else. While a  professional, (somewhat) public, and singular Thaumaturgical Society holds sway in the City, New Ylourgne is home to a patchwork of societies and cabals, secretive in their teachings but often flamboyantly public in their rivalry.

Despite the tales sometimes heard in the Sorcerers' Quarter, most of these mystical societies or “krewes” don’t trace their traditions to the Averoignian magocracy that once ruled the city. Most seem instead to date back about fifty years, and the oldest rarely more than a century. They began as as social clubs for local thaumaturges (and non-thaumaturgist adventurers), who threw public parties and helped fund parades and celebrations related to Oecumenical holy days. These krewes began to compete for public acclaim, and thaumaturgical spectacle was part of winning these contests.The spells that created illusions and wonders became closely guarded secrets, hidden behind layers of coded language, and artificial mythology, unique to each krewe.

There was some precedent for these organizations. The mages of the Black Folk had long formed gender-specific orders for socialization and the exchange of knowledge.These orders waged ritualized magical battles in order-specific costumes in the city’s streets. Though this practice was suppressed by the ruling Averoignian sorcerers, it was never completely eliminated. The krewes may have been inspired to a degree by these groups, and in turn the Black Folk orders have conformed their primary ritual performances and competitions to the Oecumenical holiday calendar.

The krewes typically have exalted or archaic sounding names, harkening to some legendary founder or progenitor. The officers of the krewes (which are typically almost every thaumaturgy practicing member) take on ornate and nonsensical titles, and often go masked in public performances to evoke an air of mystery. Much of this mummery is magical enhanced; in many ways, the krewes are as adept as illusionists at fooling the public.

While the vast majority of the krewes are only out for fun and entertainment, the magics they wield are very real. Though it happens less these days, it’s not unheard of for serious magical feuds to exist between krewes that have ended in death.

Soldiers for Salvation

Every adventurer has at least heard of the Hell Syndicate and its infernal bosses, but fewer are aware that the agents of Heaven are also active in the world. Worldwide, they’re a varied lot--more variable even than the differing versions of the Supreme Being espoused by world religions and encountered by planar travelers--but they have similar aims: They make sure the multiverse functions as it should and they motivate humans to confront the forces of evil.

The followers of the Good Book call these beings “angels.” In the Astral and beyond they can be powerful and frightening, bigger and stronger than many earthly eikones. Their forms are too big and strange for the Material Plane, but in the higher realms they're composed of  a tumult of wings and heads of animals or geometric solids and fire. Always fire.

On earth, they're are smaller and more mundane. A string of soup kitchens and homeless shelters across the Strange New World are operated by angels in human guise or their agents. From the down-and-outs, addicts, and alcoholics that take advantage of their services, the angels recruit soldiers. The most trusted of these they grant minor miraculous powers, making them essentially members of the Gifted. Others are recruited via traveling revivals or mysteriously short-lived radio evangelist shows. These folk drawn from among the working poor, the elderly, and the outcasts of society become secret members of the Army of Salvation.They wait quietly for the time when they will be called upon to perform some task for the agents of God.

Some angels on Earth are sent on missions by their superiors to right various mundane wrongs they encounter--not by direct action as much as by encouraging humans to do so. These angels seldom appear in any way angelic: They mostly look like traveling salesmen, regular clerks or the like. They rarely manifest any supernatural powers--though they are able to travel from place to place instantaneously and have the uncanny knack of avoiding serious physical harm. Other powers are available to them, but these must be cleared with their superiors and are only sanctioned in the direst need.

Mobstrosity

A King Mob or Mobstrosity is a human swarm: a regular rabble changed by rare conditions to a strange entity of singular purpose. The people making up the entity never appear to communicate but nevertheless move and act with uncanny coordination. A mobstrosity never forms from less than 20 individuals and seldom more than a 150. It seldom dissipates without blood being spilled.

In game terms a mobstrosity acts like a swarm (and has the usual characteristics of such) except that it's made up of medium sized creatures. Any to-hit roll but a "1" hits a mobstrosity, but it only takes half damage from piercing or stabbing weapons. Attack from the vanguard or outer edge of a mobstrosity does 2d6 points of damage per round. Being engulfed or trampled by it deals 5d6 per round.

Mobstrosities are best defeated not by direct engagement but by removal of the thing that led to its formation. This is often a spell or a cursed item of some sort. When a nidus for its creation can't be found, it's most prudent to get out of the area of the swarm. There are reports of the peculiar madness of a mobstrosity  being infectious and drawing new members into it.

MOBSTROSITY
HD 15+  AC: 10 (see above) Attacks: 1 swarm (see above) Save: F1 (has certain spell immunities due to its nature)

Mail Order Magic Item: The Horror Mask

This is another of those minor magic items that occasional shows up for mail order, supplied by sources unknown (and possibly extraplanar) for some inscrutable purpose.

When worn, the mask is unsettling beyond its appearance alone. Any creature below 5 HD viewing it must make a saving throw or be shaken and at a -2 to all attack rolls or saving throws. Even if a saving throw is successfully made the wearer is better able to intimidate those they deal with (bonus to reaction rolls to do so).

There is a 10% change (cumulative with each wearing greater than 5 minutes) that the mask will somehow become affixed to the wearer's face and only removal by magical means.

The Midnight Hour

The Midnight Hour is a stolen fragment of time: 60 illicit minutes secreted away in an antique pocket watch with a "man in the moon" hunter case. The captured hour is from eleven to midnight, hence the name.

The watch doesn't keep regular time. Instead, when the watch is wound, it uses up the stolen minutes. The user does so by winding the watch, closing it's lid, then re-opening it. Until the lid is closed again, the watch ticks down the captured hour. Though the hour proceeds normally for the possessor the world beyond is at a standstill, frozen in time. Frozen except for one thing: The sky turns to night for the duration of the watch's operation.

If the stories are to be believed, it pays to be cautious and only use a minute or two at the time. Weird things from the Astral Plane seep in between the moments as the Midnight Hour slips by.  They're drawn to the watch like moths to a flame. They have strange names: the Velveteen Horror, the Creeping Doomster, the Loneliness That Grins, Something Ugly, The Hole in the All, the Pain that Remembers, the Silence Between Sobs, She Loves Not--and others, found in obscure texts. No one has ever seen one and been able to describe it beyond vague, fear-informed impressions. Those owners of the watch they get a hold of are never seen again in living human form.

The other caution given regarding the Midnight Hour is that every minute used is an hour taken off the possessor's life. These are not just shaved from one's last days; they are sometimes pivotal moments, perhaps, taken from random points in a person's life. To use the watch is to gamble the time it grants against what might be lost.

From Davy Jones' Locker

Besides the riches dredged up from the wrecks at the bottom of Dead Man's Cove, the treasure grotto of the Phantom Diver contains several maritime magic items:

Spyglass: This brass spyglass allows the user to look back into the past as well as into the distance. 1d4 indicates hours, days, months, or years into the past; d20 indicates how many, at GM's discretion.

Diver's Helmet: This antique diver's helmet smells of the briny depths. It allows the wearer to see the shades of things that have died in the area, all the way back to the dawn of life. Spirits appear almost like neon lights, translucent, faintly glowing and colorful.

Whaler's Harpoon: This antique and somewhat rusted tool has a blade strangely unblunted by time. It's a normal weapon against man-sized or smaller creatures but +1 against large adversaries and +2 against anything bigger than that.

Walrus Tusk Scrimshaw: Yellowed tusk engraved with a swirling pattern that perhaps depicts eddies and currents. When held, it allows command of pinnipeds and communication with selkies. Hungry killer whales and sharks, however, will be drawn to anyone holding it.

Automata for the People

In the City today, automata are mostly in the hands of the rich, but the proponents of the technology hope that one day they will be labor-saving devices for all humanity. Since automata have been a focus of our current G+ Weird Adventures game, I though it might be a good time to talk about them a bit here.

The history of automata goes back to the golems and clockwork curiosities of antiquity. When golems relied on an animating spirit to make them move, clockwork devices were often given life by strictly mechanical properties. Modern automata engineering borrows from both these practices. Automata have mechanic joints and internal machinery to give them a wider range of applications but often rely on a vitalizing element like golems.

Theoretical advances over the past thirty years have allowed vast improvements in powering automata.  While the Steam Men of half a century ago were dependent on boilers full of coal, and the clockwork animals of Ealderdish imperial courts had springs that needed winding, the modern marvels of Mikola Donander and Hew Hazzard often utilize power broadcast through the air. So far this broadcast power is short-ranged and possibly susceptible to thaumaturgic blocking, but in the future, whole cities might run on it.

Even more advanced automata harness the power of the sun itself.  Tiny sparks of pure alchemical fire, generated in heavily shielded atomic athanors, allowed the primal force of creation to be used as a power source--and perhaps a "seed" for the germination of a living soul. The City's protector, the Titan, is the only automata known to be powered in such a way, but the future of this technology is truly limitless.

Cold Hands, Cold Heart

Rarely and for reasons unknown, a polar explorer or scientist working in refrigeration is exposed to the perfect cold of para-elemental ice and does not die. Instead, such an individual is infused with elemental essence and transformed into a Cold Man.

Though Cold Men radiate cold from within, they begin to weaken in above freezing temperatures. To survive for long in warmer climes, they require insulated clothing. Their transformation alters their appearance: Their skin becomes blue-tinged like ice and their hair turns white.  Personality changes occur, too; they become sociopaths--and often murderous ones with contempt for “warm-blooded" humanity.

Cold Men can damage living things with the intense cold of their touch.  The most dangerous ones are scientists who use their newly enhanced insights into cold to develop rods or guns through which they can focus and concentrate their cold into a deadly, freezing blast.

Cold Man
HD: 4  AC: 5  Attack: 1d6 (cold touch, or by weapon)  Special: Ice blast weapon (3d6, save for half dmg.), immunity from cold, double damage from fire.

WaRP stats:
Attack: 3 dice  Defense: 3 dice  Traits: Cold-based (immune to cold, radiates cold, susceptible to fire/heat) 4 dice; ice blast weapon (5 dice, 3 shots)  Flaw: requires insulated clothing or begins to weaken (add cumulative penalty die).

Whispers in the Dark

Old houses and buildings sometimes become havens for the strange creatures called babblers.  People seldom get a good look at babblers: they're skilled at staying hidden, owing to their ability to contort and flatten their bodies and their chameleon-like power to blend into their surroundings.  What fragmentary descriptions exist suggest they are approximately three to three and a half feet tall and look like a scrawny cross between man, gecko, and frog. They have large, milky yellow eyes and many have strange ruins cut into their skins.

Babblers crawl up from--somewhere--to invade the crawlspaces or basements of buildings. They lurk in vents or even under beds.  From hidden places, the babblers whisper to their human victims.  Their utterances are jibberish--and that gives them their name.

Babblers tones seem to wheedling at first, then plaintive.  When this fails to achieve...whatever it is their after, They may attack in anger.  The cycle may take several nocturnal visitations over as much as a week.

Those that encounter babblers often develop a peculiar aphasia "the Jabber." How the jabber is transmitted is unclear. It may be through the babbler’s bite--certainly most who develop it are bitten--but it has been suggested that only close proximity to a babbler is necessary.  The mechanism is likewise unclear.

Those exposed get a saving throw. Failure means development of an aphasia within 2d6 hours based on the following table:

1-3: anomia - character is unable to remember names either of people or objects (except in general terms).
4-5: fluent aphasia - character is able to speak in a normal manner except that they use the wrong words, and perhaps even nonexistent words.
6-7: receptive aphasia - as above, except the character is also unable to make sense of the speech of others.
8-9: expressive aphasia - character has difficulty producing fluent speech. Words are pronounced with difficulty, in a halting manner, or with odd intonation.
10: global aphasia - The character is either unable to produce speech, repeats single words (perhaps in echo-like manner) or either occasionally shouts a single expletive.

Cure disease or the like will remove the illness, but otherwise it is permanent. in most cases (75% of the time) ability to read and write is preserved.

Babbler: #App.: 1-4, HD: 1, AC 6, Atk: 1 bite or claw (1d4), Special: stick to walls, chameleon skill, transmits "the jabber."

Typhoid Mary

“Typhoid Mary” is one of the names given to women (typically young, and in unassuming professions) who become avatars for ancient and dread eikones, spirits of plague and contagion. These spirits are too old to have a voice of their own, and only the most deranged and saddest of cultists ever engage in their worship, but through a Typhoid Mary they still can let their presence be know.

Typically an avatar-to-be contracts some sort of dire infectious disease herself but for reasons unknown doesn't die.  The plague spirits transform her to a carrier instead. The illness that created her is not the only one a Typhoid Mary may spread; Through her life she may acquire more infections over time.

At the start, most Typhoid Marys are victims, as well.  Over time, the ancient whispers of the plague spirits and the horror of their existence takes its toll on their minds. They often become either willing accomplices or insane in their denial of truth of their existence.

Typhoid Marys are typically normal women other their ability to cause contagion (as per the spell with save at -2, except that a Mary need not touch someone to spread the contagion. If she wishes it, close proximity for a short time is enough.) and perhaps unusually hard to kill. An avatar who has fully embraced her role might exhibit healing, resistances, and immunities similar to a vampire.

Hell's Hoods: Sin's Queen

The Phlegethon is a river of blood, formed from the runoff from infernal slaughterhouses and soul-rendering plants. Where it snakes through the city of Dis, one finds dens of depravity and vice run by the crime family that bears its name.  Belial is the boss here, and despite what you may have heard, Belial is a woman.

Or least, Belial is now.  Like all hell lords (ladies), Belial can take many forms. These days, Belial appears as a beautiful, dark-eyed woman, usually dressed in black. Her shadow is a deep red and tangible, like velvet.

The Phlegethon family runs brothels catering to unusual, often violent tastes, torture clubs, and brutal fight club gambling houses. Phlegethon’s entertainments draw hell denizens--both devil and damned--as well as visiting debauchees from all over the multiverse.

Combat: Belial uses a cat o’ nine tails when when she wishes to draw out the encounter.  She bleeds her foe tauntingly before the final kill. She carries a silver-plated infernal pocket pistol for those occasions when she can’t be bothered. It fires bullets specially crafted from truly depraved souls that cause lingering pain and disturbing nightmares even after they’re removed unless a their curse is removed.

Diabolical Abilities: Belial can know a mortal’s secret sins or secret desires of a carnal or violent nature at a glance. Her breath can cause an intoxicated delirium. Her slightest touch can cause intense pain or pleasure.

Pacts: Belial may be summoned with a drop of blood shed by a willing victim in either fear or ecstasy, caught in a silver chalice, and then boiled away over a small flame. Belial can reveal secret sins or desires of anyone (for a price) or provide instruction in techniques to prolong pain or pleasure.

The Wild Frontier

Previously, we went back in time to take a look at the City roughly a hundred years prior to the default date of Weird Adventures.  Now, let's look back a bit further in time...

Over a century and a half ago, the City is barely worthy of the name. It's home to less than 20,000 people and occupies only the southern part of marshy Empire Island; The more northern parts of the island are a mix of small villages and a few lingering Native settlements. Beyond the band of colonies clustered along the Meropic coast, the Strange New World is wilderness.

The Smaragdines are a wild barrier to westward travel, populated mostly by Natives and monsters like the "rustic giants." Just plowing a field can turn up mysterious artifacts from the time of the Ancients. Wandering monsters can be encountered by travelers riding the lonely dirt trail through the countryside that will one day be Broad Boulevard passing through the bright lights of the Circus District.

Foes: tyrannical and corrupt colonial officals, monsters and wild animals, hostile Natives, Black folk conjure-men.

Media Inspirations: Film/TV: Brotherhood of the Wolf, Drums Across the Mohawk, Last of the Mohicans, Davy Crockett; Books: Those Who Went Remain There Still, "Wolves Beyond the Border" and "Beyond the Black River" by Robert E. Howard; the Leatherstocking Tales, the Alvin Maker novels; Comic Books: Tomahawk (either series).

Miscellaneous Inspirations: the Hellfire Club, Mystery Hill (America's Stonehenge), anything on forgotten civilizations or secret history of North America.

See also my post on "The Weird Frontier" back in 2010 and check out Wampus Country for a more whimsical take on the era.

Hell's Hoods: The Bull

A river of blood arises from slaughterhouse and rendering plant runoff flowing through a maze of ditches and channels.  This is the Malebolge: the territory of an infernal crime family of the same name. Besides running the processing facilities for damaged souls, the Malebolge family promotes violent crimes and extortion on the Material Plane.

The family’s boss is the arch-devil Moloch. Whether dressed in a butcher’s apron or a suit, he’s imposing: a hulking figure with the head of a bull.  His upper body and head are skinless, and his horns and eyes are black as onyx.  Smoke periodically snorts from his nostrils. His shadow is thick and the color of congealing blood.

Combat: Moloch fights like a minotaur--and one of great strength.  He prefers to kill foes with his hands, horns, or hooves as opposed to weapons; He particularly disdains firearms.

Diabolical Abilities: Moloch’s presence can cause fear within a 20 ft. radius. He can cause pain in anyone he touches, but he only uses this to aid coercion or intimidation. Moloch has a special interest in drawing the young into the criminal life, and despite his horrific form, has an unusual affinity with adolescents.

Pacts: Moloch may be summoned by burning money (taken from another) within a circle drawn in blood on the floor of a meat locker. Moloch can cause an “accident” to happen to a place of business. He knows the location of any secreted stashes of money, and where the remains of any individual murdered and hidden on the prime material plane may be found.   

Hell's Hoods: Two-Faced Politician

Dispater rules the infernal metropolis of Dis, but he likes to stay behind the scenes. The day to day operation of the city is overseen by an elected mayor.  For centuries that post has been held by Bifrons.

Bifrons serves as the Dis family underboss. Though publically he keeps a bit of distance from the activities of the Hell Syndicate, the damned are not fooled. They also know that whatever candidates may rise and however fierce the campaign, Bifrons is always re-elected when the ballots are counted.

When greeting his constituents and pressing the flesh, Bifrons appears as man with a moon-shaped head and a wide, benevolent grin.  He dresses in a gold business suit.  He speaks largely in political platitudes delivered in a convivial voice.  If there were genuine babies in Hell, he would probably kiss them.

In private, he reveals more of his true nature: he’s two-faced--literally.  The two faces are sagging and ill-fitting on whatever lies beneath.  They face to each side and are stitched together in the middle with rawhide. The face on Bifrons’s right is something like his public face, but ill-fitting skinned makes his appear sunken and shadowed, his sagging grin is grotesque and idiotic. The face on his left is that of snarling monster: pale green with a mouth full of crooked teeth, and irisless eyes lolling in their sockets under bushy brows.

In either form, he smells of a bit too-thick cologne. His shadow flickers and jitters like a silent movie image.

Combat: Bifrons prefers to avoid combat and talk his way out of things.  When he’s unable to do so, he prefers the personal touch: He’s an adept wrestler, as strong as a [stone] giant. For quick resolution to problems, he can backstab like a 10th level thief with his gleaming gold letter-opener, should the opportunity present itself.

Diabolic Abilities: Bifrons can charm at will. Through his oratory, he can perform various bard-like abilities, including suggestion and inspire.

Pacts: Bifrons is willing to help those dealing with issues of politics or involved in elections. He can also reveal the damaging secrets of any politician or political leader, if they exist.  A evocator must put on formal clothes and stand in front if a mirror, practicing a speech in which calls to Bifrons have been inserted. The devil will appear in the mirror in place of the person's reflection.

Bifrons may gift his suit to a mortal.  Though it’s appearance changes depends on who wears it, it always brings success and public acclaim--for a time.  Eventually, ruin and scandal are its rewards..

Hell's Hoods: Casino Infernale

Among the sinful (and dubious) pleasures of Hell are the gambling houses in its sprawling city of Dis. From every back alley dice game to high-class casino, these are owned by the Pluton family and run by the powerful capo, Asmodai. He also oversees the Hell Syndicate’s gambling interests on the Material Plane, bringing more souls to Hell's gates with the promise of riches.

Asmodai appears as a red-skinned, horned man whose good looks are spoiled by a almost perpetual leer. He dresses in the hippest of silk suits (also red). His voice is as smooth as any crooners--when he wants it to be.  He casts no shadow, but when he passes by, mortals hear fevered, whispering voices urging them to take chances, promising the big score.

Asmodai turns a pair of dice in his left hand, that he can tie to the fate of any mortal (with their consent--though not necessarily with full awareness of what they’re consenting to) for a single toss of perhaps life and death importance. He is said to be able manipulate fate on a small scale to make him difficult to kill in combat. His primary weakness is his own predilection for gambling: He finds it hard to pass on a bet.

Often seen in Hell’s ritziest casinos is a beautiful woman who appears to be made of gold. She moves gracefully amid the tables where chips redeemable for damned soul fragments are wagered, smiling (and even occasionally winking) at hard-eyed and sneering pit (fiend) bosses. This is Beleth, Asmodai’s moll. The old grimoires say her diabolic beauty has tempted men to blasphemy and murder, and not much seems to have changed. She can turn anything she touches to gold, and also return things to their original form at her whim. She’s chattier than most devils and is a good source of infernal gossip, if she takes a liking to you.

Beleth's velvet shadow is flecked with gold dancing like dust motes in a sunbeam.