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.

Updates to the Index

In just updated the Weird Adventures Index page with links to some unusual places.  Vacation in devastated Lumiere (pre-War capital of Neustrie) with mutant pigs, mushroom scientists, and a weird glowing blob. 

Or maybe the Planes Beyond are more to your liking? In that case, check out the entry on the idyllic realm of Arcadia, and the therianthropic juke-joints in the Land of Beasts next door.  On the somber side, there's the Plane of Despair.  Shopping opportunities present themselves in Interzone--at least to buy drugs like bug powder and gray dust.

If you'd rather stay home, there are also a couple of posts on guns.

Check those out and more.

Treasures from the Underground

Adventurers delve into the underground environments of the City and the Strange New World looking for treasure. This comes in the form of relatively mundane riches and more exotic items imbued with magical power. The Ancients are generally believed to have been the builders of the underground structures, but the treasure within them comes from various sources.

Many of the mundane objects of archaeological interest found in the underground do represent the material culture of the Ancients. It’s unclear why the Ancients built the underground structures in the first place. Some are certainly tombs and are filled with the usual valuable burial goods: objects of art (many of precious metal), coins, and jewelry. Some personal weapons or armor bearing enchantments are found. The mummies themselves, embalmed by magical means, are sometimes sought by unscrupulous thaumaturgists. They can be used to “fuel” spells--though they are sometimes cursed to prevent such desecration. A few aren’t dead, but instead undead and rise to wreck vengeance on would-be defilers.

The Ancients apparently didn’t produce many magical devices--at least not that still have power (it’s long been known that thaumaturgical infusion has a half-life in nonliving things). Scrolls are the most common. Potions and ointments are almost never found; the Ancients appear to have had no real understanding of the alchemical sciences.

The Natives seemed to have mostly avoided the places of the Ancients, perhaps out of superstitious dread. Few of their artifacts, magical or otherwise, are found in the underground. There are exceptions, of course, and in the West there are structures they may have been built by Native cultures influenced by the Ancients.

Ealderdish explorers and tomb-robbers of earlier eras left their mark on the underground. Coins from historical periods and magical armor and weapons are found--often next to the moldering remains of their previous owners. Most magic armor or clothing found will be related to the Ealderdish. Some have lost their potency over time; others have been spoiled by exposure to raw magical elements (or whatever killed their previous owners) and are now “cursed” or malfunctioning.

Finally, there are anomalous items. These are either products of nonhuman species or otherwordly intelligences. Many underground structures are built around “soft spots” in the material plane, more susceptible to irruption. Indeed, one theory regarding the structures is that they are large scale mandalas or sigils for the purpose of concentrating and controlling extraplanar energy. These anomalous items are often the most dangerous--their purpose can often only be guessed at.

In Arcadia

Astral travelers sometimes finding themselves passing through a veil of mists and arriving in the apotheosis of sylvan settings, the realm of Arcadia. In this plane dwell forgotten woodland spirits and pastoral gods and creatures out of myth.

Arcadia is hyper-real; it seems more vibrant and alive than the material plane. Smells and tastes seem directly drawn from the most vivid examples in memory; everything is in technicolor and imbued with a faint glow. The world itself is alive--with potentially communicative spirits in everything. Night and day and shifts of weather are sentimental things, sensitive to the meaning of events or the mood of powerful beings.

Arcadia borders other related realms. The Land of Faerie emerges from it (though this realm also has tunnels linking it to the Lower Planes). There is also the Land of Beasts, where the iconic animal lords dwell, ruled over by King Lion.

Despite it’s ties to age-old fables, the Land of Beasts keeps up with the expectations of modern visitors. Adventures from the City have found there home mirrored there in a city of anthropomorphic animals who frequent nightclubs and drive cars. The Cat Lord can often be found here, in the swankest of night-spots.

Magical practitioners view Arcadia and its neighboring realms as places to salvage materials and items out of myth and legend, and to parley with powers that--though perhaps consciously forgotten--still retain great mythic resonance in Man's unconscious.  As with all extraplanar dealings, caution is warranted: These primal beings have agendas of their own.

Mushrooms, Pigs, and Cold Light

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.

Stories from the South Seas

The South Seas is a vaguely defined area of the Tranquil Ocean extending from Pyronesia east and north to unnumbered islands extending south from Southeast Eura and south to the mysterious south polar continent of Australis. The area is a crossroads of trade and a meeting place of exotic cultures that has captured the popular culture imagination of people in the City.

Many of of the islands in the South Seas are inhabited by people called loosely grouped as Oceanians who are believed to be the descendants of ancient Mu. Though this continent long ago disappeared beneath the waves, mysterious ruins attributed to it are sometimes found on isolated isles.

Most Oceanians are friendly--but not all. There are still rumors of strange rites and even cannibalism. Exaggerated sailors’ tales, perhaps.

There are dangers other than humans in the South Seas. Utilizing primitive smoke-belching steamships, the Demon Islanders have claimed a territory in the wake of the Great War. Here it’s hoped they can be contained, but they remain a menace to the region. Also, the Crab-men, ancestral enemies of the Oceanians, still attack settlements and even unwary ships.

Afterlife During the Wartime

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.

When Rise the Stone Giants!

Some islands in the Tranquil Ocean are noted for their rough-hewn monolithic statues. Sometimes these are whole human figures with oversized heads, other times just the heads. Explorers have wondered at these statues and proposed various theories of their origins. Only a few have witness first hand the statues' most startling secret: They aren’t statues at all.

The stone giants of the Tranquil Ocean are living things. It is believed that they are the remnant of a once wider spread species (similar beings have been encountered in other parts of the world), but they now only exist in numbers on scattered islands. Though they appear to be constructs, post mortem examination suggests they are living beings (though composed of more earth elements than humans) with a rocky integument. It's is theorized that (like gargoyles) the body of a stone giant slowly petrifies further over their long lifespans. It appears that this process may lead to the giants spending longer and longer periods immobile until they become sessile--statues, for all practical purposes.

It’s unclear how stone giants reproduce--or if they reproduce at all. Specimens which appear different ages (based on size and their level of activity) have been observed, but there are no apparent sex differences, nor do their appear to be infants or children requiring the care of adults. Some have suggested the stone giants came (or were brought) here from some distant world, but the true is unknown.

Stone giants spend long periods of time in torpor. They can stay immobile so long that they can be partially buried by sediment. Whether this is strictly physiologic or partially purposeful is unknown. Mobile stone giants can speak in booming, sonorous voices, but the immobile aged become incapable. There is some evidence that stone giants possess telepathy, and the ancients of their kind may continue to communicate in this fashion after they are immobile. Human psychics often report uneasy or fearful feelings around them that have been theorized to result from the giants’ attempts at communication at frequency below that which can be interpreted by the human mind, but can be “felt."

Caution should be taken in dealing with stone giants. They are territorial, and may attack those they feel have trespassed. Natives of islands with stone giants placated them with blood sacrifices in previous times, though it’s unclear the giants took any particular notice.

[Treat these stone giants as stone golems or greater stone golems, except that they aren’t constructs. Oh, and just in case anybody missed it, I did an interview about the origins of Weird Adventures with Chris Kutalik over at the great Hill Cantons blog last week.]

Manuscript found in Airship Wreckage, 5877

The journal of geologist Farnsworth Lake, found in the wreckage of the airship Orvendel, is the only hint we have of the fate of the Altamont Arctic Expedition of 5876. Despite it’s undisputed authenticity, the veracity of its account is controversial.
Throughout much of the early voyage, Lake describes the view of the world below as obscured by thick mists. Temperature readings of the rising air are notably higher than typical for northern Borea. Proponents of the “Polar Homeland” theory have suggested this was due to the volcano-surrounded island which was home to the ancestors of the Natives of the New World. Skeptics accept the possibility of volcanoes, but dismiss the idea of lost tribes. No credible land or sea expedition has been able to approach the area thanks to malevolent ice elementals and death frost winds.

When they had flown north of the mists, Lake describes the mountain-ringed Polar Continent, quartered by sea channels. Here, the airship made landfall and managed to make contact with the obsidian-skinned dwarf people who inhabit the ancient, perhaps pre-human cities built into the sides of the mountains. Previous expeditions had painted the dwarves as savages (and possibly) cannibals, but Lake suggests the gifts of gems the expedition brought may have placated them. Lake records that the dwarves recipricated by giving Altamont's group a portion of the tusk of a giant walrus and ancient sculptures (perhaps idols) recovered from the cities. The fact that none of these artifacts were found in the wreckage is made much of by the manuscript's critics.

Soon after leaving the dwarves, Lake records that the radio operator sighted a party of “beautiful but strange-appearing” women. These women were described as having skin like porcelain and being utterly unaffected by the cold. Historic accounts report “amazons” on the Polar Continent, but no other expeditions have ever recorded a sighting.

Altamont had planned to turn back at the edge of the maelstrom at the center of the “ring” of the Polar Continent, but for some reason, the Orendel strayed closer to the imposing spire of the Black Peak. Lake records that they begin to drift in the wind, their propellers pulled off by the mountain's magnetism. Blue fire was seen dancing across the hull. Lake theorized this was the anti-magic field of the Peak interacting with the alchemical coatings.

It was in the second day adrift that Lake describes the moaning sound beginning. All the crew heard it, though it was louder for some than others. At first, they thought it might be a natural phenomena, but soon they discerned that it was more like a chorus of voices. Their sleep was disrupted by the sound. Lake confesses he has a mounting sense of dread as the Bleak Peak filled the horizon in front of them. He reports seening shapes moving beneath the at times almost mirror-smooth surface of the mountain.

At this point Lake’s account becomes more terse and (perhaps) more confused. He mentions two of the crewmen as being “gone” but he does not comment on the particulars of their absence. He records entries he dates earlier than previous entries, but that clearly occur after. He relates Grandon’s (the historian) obsession with “runes” on the Peak that Lake cannot see. Finally, he writes that Altamont plans to extend sails to try to catch the wind and and turn southward.

The Orendel's wreckage was recovered 10 months later from an ice flow. No bodies of the crew were found, but as all the supplies were left aboard, it seems unlikely they abandoned the craft purposely. No further evidence of their fate has ever been found.

The greatest barrier to the acceptance of the manuscript's account is reconciling it with the last radio communication received from the expedition.  Though the journal appears to be written in Lake's own hand, Altamont reported that Lake died during the encounter with the polar dwarves, nearly two weeks before the journal's last entry.

Mystery House

It's most often found at the end of a stretch of dirt road, be it along a lonely bayou in the South, perched precariously on a ridge in the Smaragdines, or rising like a mirage out of the hardpan in the West. Those that seek it seldom find it without magic, but the lost are somehow drawn to it. However visitors arrive, few can forget the sprawling mansion known as the Mystery House.

One story says that Hulysses Mulciber, heir to the Mulciber Repeating Arms Company, was troubled by nightmares of a gaunt gunslinger riding ahead of an army of the ghosts of those who had died due to his family’s rifles. A medium told him that he should build a house designed to confuse and confound the spirits to escape the wrath of the Spectre of the Gun (as she named the gunslinger) and his vengeful army. Another story (more prosaically) holds he began the house as an elaborate gift to his wife who was angry over his philandering. Whatever the reason for its construction, records agree that building originally began in the Smaragdines.

The house even as conceived twisted and turned back on itself--it was almost a maze--and that was before it gained a life of its own. Hulysses didn’t live to see it; he died of blood poisoning following an accidental shooting in a hunting accident. The weapon that did the deed was, of course, one of his own company’s. His wife Ansonia, fervent believer in the reality of the grim Spectre, completed the project and paid numerous thaumaturgists (real and otherwise) to lay all sorts of protections on the house. And construction continued.

Whatever protection conferred to the house didn’t extend to Ansonia. She died of thirst, having gone mad and gotten lost in her own house. It was shortly after her death that the house disappeared from its original lot.

There are some stories of treasures in the house--mostly the mundane riches of the Mulcibers--but most who seek it do so out of curiosity. Most who find it, though, didn’t mean to. Those that have been there and survived report doors to nowhere, hallways that turn back on themselves, and rooms that shift. The stale air is filled with the low, arthritic creaks and groans of the house twisting and rearranging itself, and the distant sound of heavy footsteps--and jangling spurs.

One Night in Thrangbek

(Transcript of the Exotic Ports O’Call travelogue newsreel on the city of Thrangbek):

Bustling and cosmopolitan Thrangbek is the exotic jewel of the Gulf of Khayam. This city of approximately one million is a city of canals: It’s so crisscrossed by waterways that many of it’s citizens choose to live on houseboats. As the capital of the Kingdom of Khayam, home to majestic temples, and a center of trade, Thrangbek gets its share of visitors. Once a year, though, it plays host to an unusual convention. Players, gamblers, and spectators descend on the city in the hopes of winning the prize of enlightenment.

Despite all the magnificent temples dedicated to long-lobed, smiling Bo, the real religion of Thrangbek seems to be shatrang. To call shatrang “chess-like” is to only scratch the surface of this game whose rules are modified by a dizzying array of conditions including the position of the planets and stars, and whose pieces are infused with thaumaturgy. Shatrang players beginning training in childhood and those that can’t memorize its rules nor master the psychic control of it’s willful pieces often wind up beggars along the canals, their minds broken.

It has been theorized by Western thaumatologists that shatrang's complicated rules are actually the formulae of series of spells, disguised.  Shatrang player-adepts are said to absorb psychic energy from their opponents when they defeat them--games are popularly thought to take place not just on the Material Plane, but the Astral, as well.  This accumulation of energy allows players to advance to the next level. Their ultimate goal is the achieve the highest rank possible--a title translated as “Grand Master of Flowers.”

The final match for the ultimate title occurs away from the public. At the endgame, a portal is said to open to a higher plane, and the winner steps through to greet the other Immortals of shatrang and gain the prize of heavenly knowledge and vistas beyond the mortal realm.

As far as Exotic Ports O'Call can determine, no Grand Master has ever returned to let anyone else in on any of those secrets of the universe.

Shadow of the Beast

Somewhere in the Steel League, 5889:

“So your town is cursed, you say?”

“A demon or god makes its burrow beneath our town. It rises once a year, and everywhere it’s shadow falls turns as cold as the bitterest winter. The Natives use to placate it, somehow.  We've been less successful."

“Have you tried to kill it before?”

“Several times--and failed. Other hired adventurers. The old meat locker was made into a makeshift tomb if you’ve like to see--”

“That won’t be necessary. Two questions, Mister Mayor: Do you have enough in the town treasury to cover our fee--and do you have any dynamite hereabouts?

The Way of the Gun

“...a gun isn’t a thing of miracles. It’s a mechanical contraption that is capable of just so much and no more.”
- “One Hour” Dashiell Hammett

In the world of the City, it was opined over a century ago that “Forces beyond Man’s kin make the wizard, but with his own hand Man makes the gun, and so makes himself the Wizard’s equal.” Firearms represent the triumph of scientific arts like alchemy over the arcane; A triumph which has shaped the modern world.

The oldest firearms utilized the chemical explosive now called black powder. Given these older weapons were made by individual smiths rather than factories, they are more likely to bear enchantments. There are still matchlock and flintlock weapons in use by adventurers for this reason. The Dwergen-made wonderbuss is an example of such a weapon.

Historical sources attest to another (rarer) explosive called red powder, which is now lost. This rust-colored explosive was a closely guarded secret of a cabal of alchemists. (This group is supposed to have been called the Brethren of Steropes and resided in a mobile flying monastery always hidden behind a thunderhead--or so legends say). The compound was activated by exposure to light. It was used in guns of a wheellock mechanism where the striking of two crystals caused a small flash of light. It was also used in ceramic grenades and even in “time delayed” explosives that were placed at night, to go off with the coming dawn.

The modern form of gunpowder is a so-called “smokeless propellant” as it produces negligible smoke compared to the older compounds. It’s made from the alchemical fixation of “smokeless fire,” the same para-elemental substance (airy fire) of which jinn are composed. Modern, mass-produced guns are seldom enchanted--not purposefully, at least--but being close to death and strife sometimes leaves an arcane imprint. Adventurers and special government agents do sometimes use custom ammunition of a magical material or mundane bullets enchanted for a specific effect.

The City has stricter gun control laws many localities in the Union--at least nominally. Ownership or carry of any firearm small enough to conceal requires a license. These are issued by the police department (and usually require a bribe or a friendly contact to acquire, in addition to the licensing fee). Loaded long arms are illegal to carry (and even carrying unloaded ones will invite police involvement unless one can convince them one is on the way to a shooting range or to a hunt), but their ownership is not restricted.

In the Union overall, cities and towns closer to the wilderness or to uncleared caves or ruins have fewer restrictions than safer areas.

Any Requests?

Maybe it's because I'm in spitting distance of 600 posts and people have had time to digested Weird Adventures (and if you haven't, check out Booberry's review), or maybe it's just because it's Friday and I'm lazy, but I'm inclined to take suggestions for future posts.  So if you've got questions (burning or otherwise) you want answered about the City or the Strange New World, or some hint from a precious post you want me to expand upon, now's your chance to ask.  I won't necessarily do a post on every suggestion, but any I get will form my list for consideration when it's time to revisit the City. 

Here's some things I've thought about--but don't feel bound to this list.  It might be worth revisiting the (mis)adventures of Cap'n Clanton in the South Tranquil Sea.  There's also the Old World east of Staark as yet unchronicled.  There's always room for more famous adventurers of yesteryear. 

So that's what I've got. Anything from the audience?

In the Belly of the Beast

Leviathans are perhaps the largest and most mysterious denizens of the ocean depths. These gigantic creatures dwarf both whales and reptilian sea serpents. Their name in the gurgling language of the sea devils translates roughly as “monster-thing stronger than even the gods.” Despite their great size, the creatures are seldom seen, and carcasses are rarer still.

Some have suggested that the size of leviathans is impossible and therefore indicative of a magical nature. It has been theorized that the creatures' rarity is a by-product of the fact that they actually swim through the etheric substructure of reality, only passing through the physical world’s oceans incidentally.

The discovery of a leviathan carcass always instigates a mini-”gold rush.” The flesh and bone of the beast are of interest to alchemists (synthetic insulating blubber was an outgrowth of study of the leviathan) and thaumaturgists who use various leviathan parts for spell materials. Leviathan ambergris can be used to make perfumes and colognes easily infused with charm or suggestion properties. It’s also a psychoactive and can be smoked to produce a euphoric effect and intense sexual desire that in some individuals manifests a a mania lasting 10 x 1d4 minutes.

Less scientifically minded individuals hope to salvage treasure swallowed by the leviathan in its journeys. Whole ships laden with cargo are sometimes found (this is facilitated by the fact that internally leviathans are cavern-like, evidencing a strange paucity of organs). The loot-minded must be wary, however. Strange miasmas are sometimes produced inside a dead leviathan that can cause death or mutagenic effects on the unprotected.

The Walls of Graveston Prison

“Abandon All Hope” reads the blood red graffiti some wag has managed to scrawl on the stone cliff beside the docks. It may well be the first thing most prisoners see when emerging from the department of correction’s ferry at Graveston, the Union’s most notorious maximum security prison.

Graveston looks like a Medieval fortress and seems to rise from a rocky isle in San Tiburon Bay as if it grew from it. Popular stories suggest that sea devils once held pagan rituals on the island before the Natives were finally able to drive the humanoids. Current thaumatological theory considers this unlikely, because of the island's unusual properties: The stone which forms it generates an anti-magic zone that leeches the power from any spell.

This property made the island an ideal spot for a prison to hold thaumaturgists. Though modern Graveston holds dangerous men of all sorts, its lowest levels hold criminal mages and magical entities. Hell Syndicate hitman Charley Rictus and the murderous ventriloquist’s dummy Otto were held here at one time alongside a host of thaumaturgic wrongdoers. All of them are rendered powerless (supposedly) by the island’s stone.

There is some evidence that the current theories island's anti-magic nature are incomplete. Belief has power here, which is why the warden and guards work hard to break the spirits of the inmates. No god or spirit-form can be more powerful than their authority within Graveston’s stone walls. Some have suggested this has had the effect of allowing seepage of the Black Prison into the Material plane--which may have long term consequences.

Also, magically enhanced shivs and shanks are sometimes found among the population. Beyond the power of petty spirits and eikones yet unbroken by the screws’ clubs, life itself carries a thaumaturgic charge. And when that life is wasted in spilled blood, the blood does, too. Blood sacrifices (of their own, or better yet, others) grant prisoners power, but some of this blood power is always lost to the floor, to the walls. What might the stones do with all that power, one might wonder?

Don't Ask! Just Buy It!

Or so says Aos (channeling Jack Kirby) in his review of the Weird Adventures pdf.  Well, the same advice applies, I'm sure, to the now available hardcover and softcover versions. 

Head over to RPGNow (or Drivethrurpg, whichever) and order your copy today.  It will change your life! In a fairly minor way, most likely--but I'm sure it will be positive.

Don't (just) take my word for it.  Read this review at Fame & Fortune and this one from the Armchair Gamer.

Whiskey not included.

(Oh, and as I mentioned yesterday.  If you bought the pdf prior to the release of the hardcopy, and you now want a hardcopy, contact me for your discount. Some restrictions apply.  Void in the Outer Planes.)

The City Indexed

The Weird Adventures Index is online.  It can be reached from this post or the link under "Pages" in the sidebar.  It continues to be a work in progress, but there are already a lot of posts in a wide away of topics to review.  Which topics got a heading and which ones didn't is a bit arbitrary--and subject to future revision.

On the Weird Adventures hardcopy front: The files have been accepted by the printers, and I'm awaiting my copies to proof.  Assuming everything looks good, expect those to be available for purchase soon.

Work in Progress

As I wait for the proofs of the hardcopy versions of Weird Adventures to come back, I've been following a suggestion of sagacious Porky and working on an index of all the related posts on the City and the Strange New World.  It's still in progress, but here's a sample.  More to follow.

PEOPLE:
Adventurers
    Failed: "Spectacular Losers"
    Famous: "Lifestyles of the Adventurous and Famous", "Tall in the Saddle", "Adventurers of Yesteryear"
    Men of Magic: "Magic Men"
    Tough Guys: "Two Tough Guys"
Adversaries
    Criminals, Wanted: "Most Wanted"
    Femme Fatales: "Random Femme Fatale Table"
    Gaunt, Hieronymus: "Rogue Elephant"
    Hell Syndicate: "Hell's Hoods", "A Piece of the Action"
    Knights-Templar of Purity: "Legion of Hate"
    Sorcerers: "Five Sinister Sorcerers", "The Unknown"
Anomalous Beings
     Beings from the Void: "Out of the Void"
     Dead God Drag-Racers: "The Dead Travel Fast"
     Red Dwarf, the: "In Deep, Crimson Shadows", "Season of the Witch"
     Well-Dressed Man from Elsewhere, the: "The Well-Dressed Man from Elsewhere"
Druids: "The City's Druids"
Eikones/God-Like Beings
     Cat Lord: "Stray Cat Blues"
     Doll: "Spirits of the Age"
     Lords of Beasts: "Stray Cat Blues"
     Management: "Spirits of the Age"
     Maker: "Spirits of the Age"
     Phile: "Spirits of the Age"
Ethnic Groups
     Dwerg-Folk: "Short People, Big Worm"
     Ibernian Little People: "Luck of the Little People"
     Immigrants: "Random Immigrant Urban Encounter Table"
     Mer-folk: "The Life Aquatic"

Dead Wizard's Weird Possessions

The executor of Malregard’s estate has put more of the wicked old sorcerer’s belonging up form auction:

A murder’s last breath in ether: A brown glass bottle containing the dying breath of notorious mass murderer Eldred Toombs (executed in 5879). Inhaling the mixture infuses the user with a murderous impulse and the abilities of the maniac template for 1d4x15 minutes. The bottle contains approximately 10 inhalations.

Demonologia Sexualis: A leather-bound copy of the infamous tome detailing the perversions and sex magic rituals of the beings of the lower planes. Possession of a single illustration is probably enough to get one arrest in most jurisdictions. Many demons and devils are willing to barter a service for a copy. There are no doubt dubious advantages to actually reading the tome, as well.

Tape recording of an unknown language: A reel to reel tape labelled “Sample 13, 5882.” The language is unintelligible (even with magic), but the malevolent memetic entity inhabiting the strange, sing-song tongue can infect the brains of listeners. It will attempt to possess the most intelligent individual within hearing range. On a failed saving throw, it takes command of the person's body for a period 1d20 hours. Then, a series of seizures will signal the brain’s rejection of the alien presence. Any time period greater than 5 hours is likely long enough for the entity to launch itself into the astral plane. The entity can be trapped in the host by magical means and induced to reveal what secrets it possesses before the host dies (1d4 days).