The Book Of Maiz

Format stolen from Logan Knight:

http://www.lastgaspgrimoire.com/religion-is-a-nest-of-serpents/

The Book

Of

Maiz

You are a Mystic of Maiz, your actions need no explanation.

When you wish something to happen, roll below.

4d6	Invocation
18-24	Success
15-17	Success requires Minor/Situational Devotion
13-14	Major Pact
7-12	Inopportune Favour
4-6	Brilliant Manifestation of Divinity

The Liturgies of your faith are a contextual guide to the levels of power you can call upon.

Favour may be used in one of two ways for Invocation:

• Before Rolling, you can offer any number of Favour points to allow you to re-roll that many dice. You can stop at any time but you have to keep the final result.
• After rolling, if the result is more than 12 you can use Favour points, but can’t re-roll each dice more than once.

Every re-roll adds a Round to the time needed for Invocation. If your Invocation has an ongoing effect or you gain Inopportune Favour, roll below to determine how long it lasts. When the time ends you can offer another Favour point to roll again and prolong the effect.

d12	Duration x d6
1-9	Rounds
11-11	Turns
12	Days

Inherent Abilities

Smell the Heart Fire
With a few moments assesment you can determine the relative strength of another in relation to yourself

War Boar
Mystics of Maiz are resistant to mundane pain and cannot be coerced with it

Healing
You may also attempt to heal wounds, sickness, and curses.
(One attempt only.)

4d6	Restore/Purge
18-24	Success
15-17	Success/Bestowed Mark
13-14	Bestowed Mark
7-12	Malpractice
4-6	Brilliant Manifestation of Divinity

Favour can be used in the same manner as Invocation, and if the subject of your healing is part of the cult of Maiz you can re-roll one dice without using Favour.

Calling Upon a Liturgy Beyond Your Reach

If your level is lower than the requirement for a higher liturgy, you must offer a number of Favour points equal to double the levels you are missing in order to attempt to Invoke it. These Favour points don’t grant any re-rolls.

The First Liturgy
Mystic Level 1
In the order of minor aspects of fire, shouting, feats of strength and belligerence

The Second Liturgy
Mystic Level 3
In the order of the sparking of blood fury, rousing monotonous singing, minor porcine transformations

The Third Liturgy
Mystic Level 5
In the order of war-sound, bestowal of significant aspect of the boar, the infliction of pain

The Fourth Liturgy
Mystic Level 7
In the order of feats of head crushing, eye gouging, teeth ripping strength, major aspect of fire

The Fifth Liturgy
Mystic Level 9
In the order of rampant conflagrations, transforming into the avatar of Maiz, the War Boar

Explanation of Terms

Favour
Gain Favour with Maiz by performing actions that please him.

1 POINT

• Smash the skull of a living enemy

• Destroy something beautiful
• Eat a ritual meal of splintered bone

5 POINTS

• Perform a significant act of vengeance, for yourself or another

• Refuse sleep

15 POINTS

• Provoke an act of mass violence
• Kill a Mystic (of any god), shatter his skull and stamp his brains into the dirt

Minor/Situational Devotion
Invocation requires either something immediately obvious that would please Maiz, or the result of this table:

d6	Minor Devotion
1	Promise of a pleasing offering.
2	Short-term abstinence or indulgence.
3	Manifest something holy from your flesh.
4	Perform a sacred ritual.
5	Recount your deeds (offer d4 Favour points)
6	Religious fever (roll on Duration table).

Major Pact
You must agree to undertake a quest or something equally weighty for Maiz in order for the Invocation to be successful. If you already have one unfinished and you roll another, the Invocation simply fails.

Inopportune Favour
You are honoured with a manifestation of Maiz’s blessing, though the timing could be better. Roll on Duration table unless you used Favour for the roll, in which case the effect is permanent.
Gain d4 points of Favour.

Brilliant Manifestation of Divinity
Your body shreds in the birthing of a terrible avatar of your god, roll on Duration table then roll up a new character. In the case of a Restore/Purge roll it is the target that erupts.

Bestowed Mark
Maiz’s influence manifests as a mutation of His animal aspect. Roll on Duration table unless you used favour for the roll, in which case the effect is permanent.

Malpractice
Oh, gosh, this isn’t quite what you meant to happen. Take a look at the GM, he’s rolling on a table. This isn’t good.

Religious Fever
Mindless, uncontrollable worship until the duration ends.

An Armoury

Picture stolen from Matthew Adams

1 - Paddycrook

A traditional tentacled head attached to the dried and hardened penis of the jabobo. Originally a tool of the Kairnic herdsman who could use the flexible shaft to thwack wayward or aggressive animals or, if herding larger and more leathery stock — such as the muscular and often dangerously amatory jabobos themselves — can use the barbed metal head to grab, pull and lock limbs.

Cattle raiders soon discover that this tool is equally suited to taking them to task as it is the herds. The dried shaft can cut through unprotected skin and the barbed head will shred the soft flesh from anything it grabs.


2 - Absinthe Knuckle

You might be surprised that among the Absinthian plainsmen there is a huge societal stigma against killing. One might wonder, considering their notoriously warlike ways of carrying on against the city-states and each other, how this is possible. The answer is via a very generous interpretation of killing. They execute their criminals by placing them atop their high totems and waiting for them to fall off to their deaths, as they see it, by their own hand. They kill at range, by the wind's whim. They grasp their swords in the ice-pick grip of these Knuckles, creating a degree of separation from the deceased.

They are a pragmatic people, not to be stopped by generations of folk tradition.

3 - Iron Keys

An iron key for the iron gates of the Halls of the Castigator, ceremoniously held by every guard of the prison-city. They don't fit any extant lock and are instead used as symbols of office and massive flails.

The city is unchanged since before the fall of the Great City and its separation into scattered city-states divided by rubble and killing fields. The guards still guard and take prisoners, as they ever did, from the cities, secure in their ancient duty under the The Veracious Lawgiver and of their their indispensable position as neutral castigators among the roiling Empires.

Though they do have to stop the occasional prison break via siege.

4 - Fetch

Associated with the criminal class of Yongardy, who carry these openly as a sign of intent when the mood takes them.

They are a simple weapon best suited for alley ways or the narrow corridors of the manses of the rich. Simply put, they are a pair of knuckle dusters with a thin, strong, wire between them (used for garotting or general entanglement) and a spike set on one end. Typically used to ambush or grapple, they can also be utilised one handed as a wild and unpredictable flail, possibly keeping your perusers at bay.

5 - The Butterfly

Named not for its attractive shape and suprisingly pliable build, but its famed ability to "butterfly" opponents, splitting them from collarbone to pelvis, popping them open in spectacular fashion.

They were originally made by the warrior society/priesthood of Mayse, based on the apocryphal tale of early followers failing to penetrate the thick shells of the soldiers of the Snail God, buckling and bending their swords as they thrust at their twisted armour. Mayse, on seeing this failure and desperately desiring the high snail priests skull be bashed upon his temple steps, taught his followers to fully split their pliable swords and hack at them, thus shattering the shells and plunging into the rich goo beneath. Ever since then they have shunned piercing weapons as being inferior and suspiciously dastardly.

6 - Bucolicannon

All servants who attended The Raging Vizier in his troubled twilight years were required to wear one of these for their own safety. The Vizier, a world renowned and ancient sorcerer, was caught in the throes of a degenerative senility, one which would forget and then remember the spells of his youth and vomit them forth at the most unfortunate times.

So, rather than risk another 40 years of sleep, or the opening of a hellmouth, his chief page came up with the genius plan to equip every member of his staff, from the kitchens to the gentlemen of the privy chamber, with a helmet mounted blowgun full of powerful sedatives. Even with their arms turned to eels and their legs detached and arguing, they can roll on their side and safely subdue the doddering old coot.

Since his tragic demise others have seen the possible applications of them. If only the chief page, or in fact any of his household, had survived the lifehook he placed on them. Some say they're chasing him still, naked down the halls of the underworld.

The Empires

The Empires derivative common name for a fluid cultural area formally known as the Commonwealth
Characterised by ruins. People living out of the glory of the past, shattered by a tepid war to claim the seat of the Autarch. The succession war has carried on in its current state for generations, an amount of time so great that the common people don't think of it as a war, rather just the state of things.

The outside world knows them as mercenaries and adventurers. This blasted land produces them seemingly without end, the weary and the war-hungry, stumbling out of the dust looking for what they cannot find here.

There are more cities than this. The Great City was vast, stretching from horizon to horizon, so old that it's docks now sit far inland as the sea retreats from her. But this is some examples of her remnants.

The Empire and its neighbours

Link to the big version

Language
They speak a non-gendered language. This is cause for embarrassment when among foreign people, as they default to referring to everyone as women, and have great trouble differentiating gender linguistically. Possibly the source of the belief that Empiric mercenaries refer to everyone as women because of barbarian arrogance and a desire to demean other warriors as weak, but it's merely a matter of linguistic confusion.

Roads
There are extensive roads between the cities, but they are closed by order of the last Autarch. In disrepair and patrolled by ulans, who have royal writ to claim any belongings of trespassers). They are dangerous and avoided by all.

Ulans stalk the highways

Example City-States

Great Lady's house

White Ape City
Ruler: The Mighty Opener, Soul of Darkness,

If it were not redundant to call any city among the empires "ancient" White Ape City would earn that moniker. Temple city to the Great Lady Under Earth and at its highest peak her own residence and, by relation, entrance to the underworld.

Though not the most populous, it is opulent. Even modest citizens can live among the carven arches and endlessly repeating grotesques depicting scenes from the House of the Great Lady.

The city gains its name from the intelligent white gorillas that are allowed to lope around the city. They are considered to be guides to the underworld and contribute to the city's safety. Most people are hesitant to risk harming or angering them.

Carnifex
Ruler: The Carnifex
A cold and blasted hill, honeycombed with tunnels and cells. When the wind blows at the right angle and with enough spite it makes the city-hill moan with a thousand hopeless voices.

The wealthiest citizens live at the bottom of the hill in dark wooden houses, huddled together against the wind and noise. As you travel further and further up the mound they become poorer and poorer. The worst wretches live alongside the prisoners kept in the few functional cells left in the vast tunnels.

At the very top is the house of the carnifex and her apprentices. Masked and silent, she rules from on high. Her sword is the sum of the law, pray her masked agents do not take you in the night for breaking the unspoken law.

Gateway of Gods
Ruler: The Masterful Keeper of Gods

The twin rivers that flow through the Empires are the remit of The Flood-Storm, a god both OF and which IS the river system. The Flood-Storm ensures that the seasonal floods and other equally important river activities remain in place.

You will find the House of the Flood-Storm here, at Gateway of Gods, sitting atop the antiquated system of gates and channels that has the power to withhold and unleash the rivers. It's priesthood has evolved around its arcane operation, with the Keeper of Gods as its high priest, and bodily representative of the Flood-Storm when she is needed. At her command the waters were withheld and mountains flooded, thus both the White Tree Mire and Concourse of Copper was formed.

Gateway of Gods

The Gate of the Sun-Child
Ruler:  The Yellow Empress, the Power Perverse

The Gate of the Sun-Child is believed to be the closest point to the sun as it crosses the sky on its way to the underworld to determine the fate of the dead. At no other place is the Sun-Child's numinous power more apparent.

A caste of column builders call this city-state home. They mine the fine white stones from their quarries and fashion them into taller and taller pillars, upon which the wealthy clamber in order to be closer to the Sun-Child. Taller and taller columns require more and more advanced and elaborate constructions, all in order to prove the godliness of its owner and to allow them to look down upon others.

The construction of these pillars drives the city to expand and plunder.

City of the Emerald Throne
Ruler: The Amaranthine Vizier

Before the Gate of Gods redirected the Slow River, the Emerald Throne was home to only it's ruler and her staff. The great basalt ziggurat of the Emerald Throne is the seclusium of  The Amaranthine Vizier, who some suspect is THE Amaranthine Vizier, who advised the last Autarch and was suspected of being the true power behind the throne.

Since the arrival of the Slow River and its flood waters, others have come, flocking to live in the shadow of the ziggurat. Food is abundant and rival cities are fearful of the Vizier, who for now has seen fit to stay in her seclusium pursuing whatever it is brought him here to begin with.

Like this, but imagine cranes as well

Fort of the People at the Edge
Ruler:  The Manifold Gatherer

Sat on the edge of the Concourse of Copper, the starved river.

Once a vast port stretching for miles along its bank, now its inhabited area is largely confined to still operable loading cranes and the buttresses that once formed the solid walls of the river bank.

They maintain fields in the rich, damp soil of the riverbed, producing a vast surplus of food. In addition, they are the largest producer of Yellow Sun-Child, a thick, sometimes viscous, tea enjoyed by all levels of society. It numbs the senses and mouth, to which can be attributed the characteristic drawl and slow speech that foreigners associate so closely with the Empires.

The Impregnable City

Ruler: The Voluminous Shepherd, Eater of Hearts

Its name refers to the metaphorical nature of the city, rather than a measure of its assailability. Indeed, it has been taken and sacked many times since the beginning of the succession. Rather it is a statement regarding its origin as the necropolis of the Great City, which of course lies splintered every which way can be imagined.

Death can not be overcome, of which the residents are grimly aware. Their livelihoods are found in the acceptance and proper treatment of corpses. From all corners of the world people send their dead here. Great caravans arrive carrying dead kings from lands most people have never even heard of, all to be interred, burned, dismembered, preserved or otherwise attended by the citizens of the necropolis. Their knowledge of burial rites is immense and eerily up to date.

You can often spot the tell-tale rheumy eyes* of a member of the polis under foreign garb, just as they slip off the caravans and melt into the crypts and laboratories to report what they have learned. Ostensibly adding to their professional knowledge, but those ears can't help what else they may learn.

*Dark Water Corpse Dust, another source of wealth, is not good for the sinuses

Seven Orchard City
Ruler:  The Green Lion

Seven orchards for seven families. Not long ago it was simply Orchard City, and for miles at its approach you would be met with the sweet smell of pear blossoms, date palms row by row, tended by the armies of fieldhands.

Now there is little land left, the rows of trees are drowned in the White Tree Mire, a gift from the Gateway of Gods. As they give, they take away, or give so much you can take no more.


The Bear Tower
Ruler: The Unconquerable Monster, the Hidden Guest of the Bear Tower

The bear tower is a crumbling spire at the terminus of a meandering and shattered wall, at places scores of metres thick, clad in metal.

The Bear Tower itself takes in young children and raises them to become animal tamers. More than mere tricks, they can break any animal and produce extraordinary feats. At some point in life each tamer takes a lion or bear in marriage, after which they shun human lovers.

Under a member of the Bear Tower an animal will be tested and either broken or moulded into a focused machine, bent to whatever end it was intended for. Many die or are too wounded to continue and are thrown from the tower to be collected by the people living in the shacks and shanties below.

The Ven visit the House Absolute with diplomatic gifts of laser guns

The House Absolute
The seat of governance. Its palatial gardens are of such arcane and perfect design that those searching for it uninvited are unlikely to stumble across it.

Since the succession crisis the halls of the House Absolute have been a petty game of intrigue and jockeying for position. The rulers of the cities come in and out of favour among the courtiers, find themselves invited to the garden parties and dances less and less often.

Somewhere in it's halls is kept the Iron Sceptre of governance, left carelessly on the throne. No one would think to take it by force, only a man who believes he is Autarch, and with the will to make others believe it, can even find it. None so far have done so, regardless of their bombastic claims otherwise.



















Neighbours

Yongardy

A vibrant port city, teeming with humanity. Famous for its judicial system (fairest in all the lands) and being the place to stop for any respectable trade ship darting along the Friendly coast between it's grim storms and spasmodic squalls. Its enormous fortified harbour is a joyous sight, and the last one they will see in a good while for those headed north. No major ports exist in the Empires, where the coast has retreated from the ancient cities and been left to rough border towns to handle. And further, Calipyg's ports are strictly regulated by their mushroom overlords, each barrel and hold inspected and logged on entry and exit. Such a burden of time has meant that most skip it's once bustling waters and continue onto the frozen spires of Vornheim beyond the mountains.

Trade has made it rich, but it's cavalry has made it safe. The city sits in the corridor between the Yellow Kingdoms and the Empires, a plain occupied by nomadic Grass tribes (a rough and violent people), kept in check by decree of the governor and the court of directors. Dragoons are sent out regularly to pillage and burn the roving villages to keep them fearful and to ensure they never grow numerous enough to threaten the Fairest City.

Calipyg Map

The map of Calipyg and its surroundings. The western tip of the Fern Court, famous for its Cunning Men, dominates the peninsula, where it cascades down into the sick and salty Bitterfen.

Click for the big version.

It's currently the bare bones, simple places and how they connect. The details are vague until players actually see them and confirm that they're there. I look forward to filling this in.

The Downfall of Calipyg

Calipyg is a warning to those whose hubris lead them to remove themselves from the Great Games of the Empire. The roiling, endless, succession war keeps others vital and strong. They left us fighting for the Sceptre to fashion themselves a crown. But they made it too big, too grand, and now the Blight throttles them with it.

Behold, your new masters

The City

A city state on the coast of the Friendly Sea, built upon a string of islands in the salt marshes found there. No matter the season it is haunted by a pervasive wetness that, rather than simply fall from the sky in the right and proper manner, comes from the very air itself. It sticks to the bones and lends a counterpoint of decay to the wealthy polis. Everything is soft to the touch, a veneer of rot. The most affluent household will have moss climbing their velvet curtains.

The city is ruled by a line of Queens. The last succession caused something of a stir, where no female heir stepped fourth to don the Seven Faced Mask and wield the Concordant Staves Which Make Clear the Way. Not unheard of, certainly, but a scandal worthy of the finer tea-houses for sure. As is tradition, the male heir stepped into the position of Queen of Calipyg and accepted the Greater Seal.

The Seal

The Seal is practised among royal lines and some among the upstart middle orders putting on airs. The Lesser Seal, considered to be very fashionable, is a simple castration whereby the testes and scrotum are removed. Further, some accept The Greater Seal. Rarely seen outside of the aristocracy due in equal parts to its gruesome nature and difficulty in finding someone with the skill to cause such a heinous wound without killing the patient. Quite a feat in this foetid environment. Since the surgeon must perform a full emasculation it is entirely likely that anyone without the means to recuperate at leisure is likely to die in bed surrounded by their family and the sweet stench of necrotic flesh.

Many social practises have evolved around the Seals. Nobles who were both brave and wealthy enough to survive The Greater Seal take every opportunity to publicly urinate through richly adorned pissing horns, kept conspicuously slung under one arm when not in use. In turn, it is equally common for any noble or ambitious bourgeoisie to own one and wear it when in high society, Seal or no Seal.

The nobles, due to these practises, have understandable trouble with procreation. The most common way a new noble is born is through scandalous liaisons between female members of the aristocracy and low-born proles. This process is an entirely traditional and secretly accepted, but openly shunned, practise. One doesn't wish to give the under-classes ideas.

A typical Calipygeon night dockside

Necromancy

Calipyg used to be synonymous with necromancy and self mutilation, with one imagining the dead standing at every corner serving their butchered masters, but the truth falls short. Necromancy is reserved for the royal families, of which there are many, and is primarily used to maintain their own tenuous existence rather than frivoled away on the lesser social orders.

As can be imagined in such a society, magical knowledge is common amongst those who can afford to be tutored in it. It would be terribly shameful, and mark them as someone who works with their hands, to ever admit to not having one jot of necromantic prowess. This has, again, led to much duplicity at parties, with every noble attempting to outboast another with their stupendous age bought at the expense of others.
"Why I'm 200 years old if I'm a day!" 
"Well I consider it to be terribly gauche to count past 100", and so on,

They like to remind those too poor to afford immortality of what is to come

The Blight

But now Jewel of the West it is faced with change. The marsh is deep, nearly impassable, but what good is that against an invader that emerges from the cracks in your streets? In your basements and your palatial garden? The answer is of course none whatsoever. The Blight emerged from their deep mycelium some score of years past and broke the city overnight. 

From beneath, they devour

The city is sealed. Its people are tasked with building a vast tower with no reason given, no sense apparent. The nobility are placated by their conquerors and in turn keep the people in line. A secret police stalk the streets, distinguished only by their loamy smell and the faint hint of tendrils beneath the skin. None come in, none leave, the masses are fed by huge spore-bearing mushrooms. They gather around them each morning and fight for scraps. The nobles maintain a brisk smuggling ring so they may keep up appearances, but that can only last so long. The Blight knows, but they tolerate. They see everything and are content to control and build.

Queen Iacobetta d'Valaseno Taiapetra IV

The Blue Lady

The ruling family of Calipyg were purged, ensuring the nobles had no one to rally behind. In the confusion of the initial invasion there was little time to get the royals to safety, as such most were killed. All except the only son of Queen Iacobetta, the recently ascended Queen Benvenuto.

He now ostensibly leads a resistance, out in the marshes, though no one has seen the young Queen since the purge. Maybe an enterprising courtier took off with the mask and staves, plucking it from the young prince's corpse and becoming the beacon the Blight had hoped to quash in it's founding. What is certain is that the police search for the Blue Lady, uplifting slogans of revolt are scrawled in the public square under the noses of the surveillance bulbs, people whisper Her name in the queues at the spore towers.

The Blight want her dead, Queen or no.

Tutelage of the Spider God

All hail the wise Arak-Naka! The Weaver, The Spider Father, The Storyteller! Who lairs in the Caves of Small Favours at the heart of the Tertiary Sub-Realm! Ia!

Yes, I am yet again making more magic schools based on the super-fine Wonder & Wickedness (and here). I will eventually cover every peculiar magic source from my campaign, but today we're here, talking about spiders.

Originally this was a small encounter in Dwimmermount that spiralled off into strange and awful places. "The demon will offer anything for the party to spare its life". How about taking our wizard and making her your spidery disciple? Of course. Praise Arak-Naka and his fabulous new follower!








SPELLS

1
Summon Spider

1. Spawn of Arak-Naka AKA "Booby Spider"
   About the size of a man's hand. In place of a head and thorax it has a woman's head set back at an angle, as though laughing at the sky. It would be a pretty face if not for the madly rolling eyes and constant whispering of secrets. At its belly you find an array of withered teats from which its young may feed. Do not drink their milk.
2. Tall spider
   Little more than a black blot and hugely long and spindly legs. Though as tall as a cat it is ineffective in a fight since it is fragile. Merely touching it could snap one of its wispy legs.
   
   The tall spider can, if not squashed, clamber onto a victim and deposit its eggs beneath the skin. It will at this point die, turning brittle and twig-like, easily brushed away. In d6 turns they will start to hatch. A demonic birth, it doesn't abide by your pety logic, and the spiders (mundane, house varieties) will emerge from every possible opening. Mouth, ears, eyes.
3. Hoard of spiders
   Small poisonous spiders form roiling mass. They will bite and poison and generally be entirely unpleasant.
4. Noticeable huge spider
   A spider the size of a Labrador. Stubby legs and enormous fangs. Luckily, it isn't venomous. Unluckily, its fangs are 8 inches long.
5. Sourbroth Spider
   A single, tiny, yellow spider. Smaller than a pin head, but with a bite that should be feared. It sinks its tiny fangs into flesh, at which point it opens a minuscule gate to the sub-realms and channels its spurious powers. This effort kills the spider, but its effects are most impressive.
   
   Anyone bitten by the creature must save vs. death or have their insides dissolve and erupt from their orifices like a rudely squeezed raw sausage. A moral save would also probably be in order. Successful save causes 1d6 damage and a nasty rash.
6. You open a funnel to the sub-realms. Keep rolling until you get another 6. Only the first summons obeys you, though they will not harm you. Your friends however? Eh.

1-5 - They quietly leave when the time is up

6 - They stay as a permanent pet, until killed

2
Demonic Excretion
Exude a thick mucous, can be excreted to form a web effect, or to climb walls, or just be really gross. The quantity is controllable, where it comes from is not. So, it oozes from your hands, your face, your feet, your bum. Everywhere.

You can chuck it, you can smear it, you can eat it. But you shouldn't.

3
Speak with Spider
Always works. If there isn't a spider in the vicinity, there is now. It will speak with you as though you were its dark master, Arak-Naka, which is to say it will exchange secrets in a tense transaction. If you ever drop this ruse it will be hostile, or at least rude. Spiders know many secrets and love to tell them.

4
Spider Babies
Small spiders come to you and cover you in a sack of silk. They drain you of all your juicy juices and scamper off, leaving behind a soggy sack of skin and bones.

You emerge from a huge spider nest D6 days later, naked, stuck to a roof beam in a barn, in the boughs of a tree, in a quiet corner of an alley and so on.

5
Steal Stories
Distil raw memories from the targets mind. They form like glass globes at the targets forehead and float erratically to the sorcerers outstretched hand.

Save to resist. Failed save results in the subject losing a random memory which can be viewed in the orb. Spiders love these orbs, as does Arak-Naka.

1. They forget a person, utterly
2. They forget a detail about themselves, such as their name or job
3. They forget a period of time (1-5 it's negligible, 6 they lose d10 years)
4. They forget one specific fact
5. They forget what's going on right now, leaving them bewildered.
6. They forget a really useful fact or memory. GM chooses, based on what the players want/need

6
Chaos for the Fly
Induce hallucinations in others. Bring their memories to the surface so that they take form and confound them.

Save or suffer the affects.

1. Grief-struck. Paralysed, staring into the distance
2. Terrified and flees
3. Angered. Flies into homicidal rage
4. Happy. Babbles in a dreamlike state at long lost friends
5. Totally banal. A weak memory, doesn't fo anything other than distract them slightly (-1 to things)
6. The shock is too much. Save or take 1d8 damage from a heart attack or similar nervous outburt. Roll again.

7
Venom
You produce venom from your mouth parts. This can be spat or injected via bite, and so on.

If you spit it in their face, they must save of be blinded as it melts their eyeballs. Successful saves mean they are blinded for 1 round.

If you bite them they must save or suffer d6 damage per round, (in addition to you having just bit them, you madman). Lasts 1 round per level. If they die to it, please see Sourbroth Spider for the general effects. Morale saves all round.

If you get creative with it the venom lasts for 1 turn per level outside of your body, if stored in an air tight container. Otherwise, 1 round per level.

8
Whisper story
Spiders know every story. They don't just collect the best ones, but every story, they value them greatly and whisper them to Arak-Naka before they sleep.

You can communicate directly with Arak-Naka with this spell. In exchange for stories he will tell you a Truth. A small truth. A yes or a no, perhaps. The sorcerer must whisper his question and lose a small memory to the Weaver. This takes the form of either D4x100xp or something more appropriate and campaign specific. Possibly they exchange the memory of their husband? Maybe a great loss? Maybe someone else's memory in convenient orbicular form.




CATASTROPHES


1
Spiders live on you. They nest in your pockets, scamper from your sleeves and live in your hat. Others will occasionally get bitten or otherwise bothered by them.

2
Thick wiry hairs grow out of you in very obvious and unpleasant ways. Face, armpits, etc.

3
You grow a fetching set of mandible. You can no longer eat solids and must instead mush food into your face in a very undignified manner.

4
Contract a gradual transformation like The Fly (but, you know, The Spider). Bits fall off and are replaced with spider bits. Watch The Fly, do that to your players.

5
You constantly drool thick goo that dries into crusty webbing.

6
Open a permanent funnel to the realm of Arak-Naka as its legions (of spiders) pour forth.

7
Local spiders become sapient and conspire against the populace. Constant whispering in the crawl spaces drive people to panic.

8
Your memories pour over the edge. If you move too suddenly they pour out of you in a thick grey sludge. From your eyes and nose mostly. Save vs. device when suddenly jostled or else they start pouring out and you take d3 turns to gather yourself and stop the flow. If you don't eat up the sludge off the floor you loose d4x100xp

9
Spider migration. All arachnids within several miles come to this spot. Coat everything in webs, economy shuts down, famine, etc.

10
A senior spider demon appears. It might be helpful, it probably isn't. It will most likely be nosy, inconsistent and rude. Its objective is to spread the dominion of Arak-Naka which entails lots and lots of spiders, possibly changing the economy into a story-based rather than silver-based one.

11
The sorcerer is pulled through a 5th dimensional hole by giant spider to feed Arak-Naka. Tough titties.

12
Spiders wrap you in a silk bed at night. They revere you, you are a Disney Princess of spiders. Other people do not find this endearing.

Lost Pages and Cunning Men

I recently received the latest offerings hot off the press over at Lost Pages, and they are as marvellous as ever. I've been carrying Wonder & Wickedness (by one Mr. Strejcek) around like a toddler with a blanket ever since it arrived. Now, I could review it, OR I could rip it off in an act of the most sincere  flattery. Yea, I think I'll do that.

(as seen in longer form in The Undercroft #3)
THE CUNNING MEN OF THE FERN COURT

Folk tales are the leavings of an irrational mind, a black pearl formed around an ill-sitting grain of truth. It is passed around the fire, each hand polishing it more so they can better see the fear on their own faces. But the grain remains and some are not so distracted by the black mirror, intent on staring deeper.

Their arrival wasn't planned. First one, then another, drawn by dreams of a dark sun rising above the primordial canopy of the Fern Court. They didn't know what it was or what would happen when it rose, but they were compelled to find answers. The forest speaks to those with an ear for it, but it talks in omen and subtle metaphor, a growing knot that the cunning can unravel. And they were cunning. They, the kindly ones, the painted folk, the cunning men.

The Fern Court is old, the woods are deep, thick and storied. The villages found there hide behind palisades choked with rose vines, closing their ears to the scratching at the door. The homesteads and charcoal burners are far and wary, the pathways to their homes littered with charms and fetishes against the night. The people on its borders share stories of children being taken from their beds to dance under its boughs.

Indeed, those who call the forest home are isolated, paranoid and prone to eccentricity, but it is not the realm of death one is lead to believe. Merchants cross it, lords claim it, and the very story tellers decrying it lived to learn and continue their tellings.

The forest men  have long memories, and the cunning men loom large in them. A monolith of stability, as permanent and old as the forest, a coming and going as regular and inevitable as the seasons, roaming where their calloused feet take them. The woodsmen might not question the attention of so many magical practitioners but the cunning men do. Each of them was drawn to this place, haunted by dreams and omens until they found themselves beneath its rancorous branches. Now they spend their energies trying to understand why, what brought them here and what the black sun means.

Within the small and quiet world of the woodsmen the tattooed face of the cunning man is a good omen. They rove from settlement to settlement swapping news in exchange for food and shelter, sitting by hearths and hearing what news they have in turn, seeing their sick and blessing their children, and as the nights go on his questions will come. He will ask about the owls and the milk, about the patterns in the frost. Have they seen Baldanders? Did the sparrowhawk fly east at dawn? Did it return by night?

They will answer and he will leave, satisfied but burdened.

Their covenant is both newer and more organised than it would at first seem. Though they travel widely they always return to the seasonal moot to unload their weighted minds. Unusual amongst practitioners of the cunning arts, they share knowledge freely. Every scrap and clue is kept in the hopes of leading to answers, every detail tattooed on their flesh. Volumes are inscribed in their private script, in streaks and swirls the letters abound. In there is everything that they must know, both magical and mundane, it will be preserved and never stolen like other tradition's books of spells so easily lost or destroyed. They stand before their peers, sky clad, and allow an inspection of the season's happenings.

When one of their number dies they take great pains to retrieve and prepare them for one final moot. Their skin is dried and stretched, displayed on a rack for all to come and learn from before it is destroyed utterly.

Cunning Man illustration in issue #3 by Matthew Adams

Spells

1.
Babble

The caster whispers unintelligibly while staring intently at his target. While the muttering continues the fellow will be unable to get their words out, spluttering and becoming confused. Additionally the caster may force the target to say one thing, one single sentence.

This trick can be performed with subtlety, where onlookers would only see the caster muttering like one whose mind had withered roots.

2.
Spleenful led

The caster must have in their possession a fragment of the target: a strand of hair, seminal fluid, toenail, blood and such. With this, they must bind it in mud or clay and throw it as far as they can, out of sight. The target must save vs. magic or from then until the next morning be unable to find their way.

For that period they cannot reliably find their way anywhere without someone leading them forcefully. They will take wrong turns, leave the trail and generally wander aimlessly.

3.
Protection from rain

The caster is immune to the effects of turbulent weather. No rain nor hail will touch him, lightning will dance around him, the wind will die at his tread. But only him, mind. The elements have no strong feelings for his companions.

4.
Read entrails

The creature being used for this spell must be slaughtered especially for this purpose. Creatures stumbled upon or killed for utilitarian purposes are not suitable. For each HD of sacrifice the cunning man may find a vague detail of the answer to one question in the entrails. Hair colour, mannerisms, times, smells, directions, all delivered in as obscure a manner as possible.

5.
Pick up sticks

Some signs are not so subtle as to require a mind awash with magic; the woodsmen mistrust the owls and know to shutter their windows on the new moon. With the knowledge of how the forest connects meanings the caster throws a pocket full of twigs, bones, furs and feathers in the air. Those viewing must save vs. magic or fall to the ground obsessively picking up the assorted debris. Can effect 2HD of sentient targets per caster level.

6.
Zoanthropy

The cunning man must take off his clothes and arrange them neatly and deliberately in a hidden place. Naked, they must walk into the wilderness and with each step lose their mind and body until eventually taking the form of an animal. They may choose what animal to be, but it must be appropriate for the environment and they must try their hardest to imitate the creature or else the trees will notice and the spell will end.

While in animal form they cannot be found through magical means. They may maintain this form for as long as they like, but must save vs. magic every new moon or else lose their minds to the beast and stay that way forever. To return to their old ways they must find their clothes, whereupon they will be reformed.

Many cunning folk have lost their mind through the divine sublimation of the zoanthrope. They still search the forests for Old Father Aldous, whose skin was almost black with writing, who they say glimpsed the horizon of the black sun before he retreated into quietude. At every hamlet and homestead they always ask after sightings of the black hare.

7.
Brittle Twigs & Bird Song

The caster takes a dry twig and snaps it across his knee in full view of his foe. They must save vs. magic or take 1d8 damage and suffer the effects of a broken appendage (caster’s choice).

8.
Path of Guilt

The caster makes a poultice of thorns, rags and soil, with this they scrub the soles of the feet until they bleed freely (1d4 damage). While the blood flows they count as having 6 in 6 stealth and the evidence of their passing is invisible to the mundane eye. Once the bleeding stops the spell wears off and the bloody footprints appear for all to see.







Catastrophes

1. The sorcerer is always covered in moss and small insects. They scutter in and out of his clothes and beard. If he was to sit still for long enough he would eventually look like a rotten tree trunk.
   
   1 in 6 chance a rare and highly toxic hallucinatory mushroom grows in his armpit. He eats them constantly.
   
2. A flash of insight into the meaning of things! The sorcerer must immediately go to a certain place and do a certain thing. This thing will be seemingly mundane and meaningless, such as placing a sandal half way up a certain mountain, or standing under a certain waterfall while reciting the Strictures of Merrywell. If the party do not join him at the next free moment he will disappear on his own for 2d6 weeks and do it himself. 1 in 6 chance he never comes back.
   
3. The sorcerer is overwhelmed by implied meaning and endless connections. Before him is a vast conspiracy between the squirrels and the daffodils, they hide their nuts in the pattern of the constellation of the Bull and only remove his eye on Wednesdays, the oak leaves fall but spin only counter clockwise... They are paralysed with the truth and can only be forcibly lead around for 1d4 days. They may memorise twice the normal spells during this period, since the sideways logic comes more naturally.
    
4. For one random fellow close to this catastrophe the veil of lies is ripped and the black sun replaces our own. It will bleed, thick puss dripping down the sky. The trees will buckle, the walls will fester and boil and they will fall to their knees as their sanity leaves them in a boiling puddle of filth.
   
   Save vs. magic or die. If it dies, then the caster must save vs. magic or die as he sees the light in the burst flesh bag that got caught up in this mess. If he dies then everyone within sight of him must save or die. Closing your eyes won’t help, you won’t need eyes when the dark sun rises.
   
5. The cunning man learns that his life is linked to another in the vast web. This can be an object or place. His health and theirs is linked from this day on. Think like a Dryad and their tree, but potentially with a weasel, blueberry bush or toothbrush.
   
6. Caster loses their mind. Believe themselves to be an animal or tree. This lasts for 1d6 days, reroll 6's and add it to the total. Players may control the PC as long as they play along convincingly. Spellcasting ability is lost.
   
7. Rose vines burst out of the cunning man in a huge plasmic sneeze. Everyone within 20 metres of him must save vs. device or be impaled by the foliage for 1d6 damage. The plants are ferocious weeds and will continue to grow. Very pretty, but in a few weeks everything will be covered in spikey rose vines. The cunning man is unharmed, but must disentangle himself from the vines now growing out of him.
   
8. The cunning eye sees the purest empyreal fire, suffusing the darkness with a light so far from the prosaic rays that struggle through the canopy as to be an insult to name it as such. That beauty is seen by few but holds an indescribable fascination for those that have. A feeling beyond words or any other tawdry attempts at communication. It can only be shown.
   
   The caster will emanate light with no fixed point of origin while babbling incoherently. Anyone viewing the light must save vs. magic or grow uncontrollably as the light fills them. They will spontaneously sprout new limbs, their flesh will flow like a flood and they will grow exponentially until the light fades. Their flesh will remain forever malleable and readily absorb more. From here on they are considered horrifying monsters by all, and are very likely blind, deaf, and insane (2 in 3 chance of each).
   
   If you know to do so and are prepared, looking away will avoid this unpleasant fate. However, anyone caught in the area of an individual glutting on emyreal light will be absorbed into the target, dealing 1d10 damage per turn as they are melted into their loving embrace. If they are cut free they will suffer d6 permanent damage from missing flesh and skin.
   
9. The caster mutters constantly, with occasional outbursts. It resembles Tourettes, but instead of obscenities he blurts out cutting truths.
   
10. The recipient of this curse is dragged under the earth by thick roots, whereupon he is stored in a small encystment. He will not starve and cannot escape through normal means, though he can be dug up. Those recovering his encystment will find a sack of flesh, inside of which the poor fellow will be held.
    
    After a time a tree grows on the spot, the fruit of which will fall and split into animals of some local variety. They will speak of the trapped individual, but only to the young and the lonely. After 2d6 years the tree will split like a lily to reveal the sorcerous sufferer, naked and new.
    
11. The sorcerer casts off his clothes and equipment. His takes a sharp stick and ash and inscribes his magical knowledge into his flesh. This takes 1 day per level, during which he will refuse to be disturbed. He will never again wear clothes or bags of anything else that separates him from an intimate connection with the world. Can memorise 2 extra spells.
    
12. The cunning man can talk with animals and plants. However, they all talk like the Cheshire cat and bad lsd dreams. Constantly.

Successor Kings, again

A follow up from the previous post. All I've done is turn that unwieldy table into an automatic generator and extended it a bit. Mainly for my own use, but I'm a kind hearted sharer. Click the link below.

GENERATE A PETTY EMPEROR

You can obviously cut off bits of the name, not all the rulers have such long and messy tittles. They are characterised by a ludicrous level of pomposity and one-upmanship, brought on by generations of succession wars over an Empire that none of them really even remember that well. They are not the entirety of the left overs from the empire, but they are the ones who can't let go. War, deserts, plains, cities, successor states, squabbling over scraps.

And to pad this post, more of my reference pictures from The Empires.