In the south of the Foolshand Peninsula, one will find the wealthy Nations of Dagon Bay, politically and economically dominated by Adamantia I, half-dragon Autarch of Capra. In the north, one will find the ancient and mysterious Arctic Empire. This story takes place between the two, in the vast uncivilized expanse known as the Wastelands.
For millennia, the Wastelands have been more or less unchanged, characterized by roving packs of vicious gnolls, goblin communities eking out a subsistence living in the virtually-useless soil, dangerous wildlife, and whispers of demonic activity. In the past century or two, however, the status quo has begun to shift. Pelorian missionaries have set up churches where the goblins would allow it, and the Autarchy of Capra has been extending its influence gradually northwards.
At this point in time, the region is in a state of flux. New gods have arisen, and gain power to the dismay of the older religions. In addition to the old rivalries between tribes and species, the people of the Wastelands are now split between those who accept the "civilizing" influence of the southerners, and those who cling to the traditional ways. The influence of the Far Realms has taken hold in a blighted area to the south, resulting in some individuals being born strange, twisted, and alien. News travels slowly, since the only real contact between towns comes in the form of halfling trade caravans, but nearly all rumors thus received are disturbing.
This story is set in the town of Noroiras, founded by the goblin tribe Muck-Laugh, and in recent generations named a protectorate of the Autarchy of Capra. The Caprans have made a number of changes in their time there. On the northern edge of town is a fairly impressive villa inhabited by the human governor, who holds the Capran title Lord Noroiras; the Capran Royal Intelligence Corps has an office in town, just next to the headquarters of the City Guard, an organization whose existence is also due to Capran influence, the southerners being unwilling to trust in the loose standards of goblin “community justice” to police their land; and a small library has stood in town for a few decades now, despite most of the region preferring to rely on the oral tradition. Other than that, however, Noroiras is much as it has been: the majority of the citizens are dirt-poor but nonetheless manage to scrape by, thanks to a few farms and a herd of cattle maintained outside of town -- and the occasional raid in the ancient goblin tradition. The population as a whole is relatively amoral, and manages to get an impressive amount of bribery, corruption, theft, and black-market dealings done without the Capran authorities catching on.
Lately, there have been some unsettling developments in Noroiras. Strange men with hairy faces, bright blue eyes, and a feral mien have arrived, and conduct mysterious business. They wear heavy robes and leave no footprints where they walk. Four have taken up residence in the Broken Stone, the local tavern/inn and the oldest building in town. They have been seen huddling over mugs of ale in the common room, speaking to each other in an incomprehensible language of hoots and growls. The town is abuzz with rumors.
At this point, we should introduce our -- ahem -- “heroes”.
- Quimarel Smith is a halfling bard/rogue, erudite, well-educated, and respected in the community. She runs the local brothel, the Squirting Squid, and does a brisk business with both travellers and locals due to her excellent business sense & charisma as well as the -- ahem -- diversity of her -- ahem -- merchandise… let’s talk about someone else now.
- Makpov is a gnoll barbarian, and an… employee of Quimarel (and also a tenant -- unlike the rest of Quimarel’s -- ahem -- staff, he lives in the brothel full-time). Like everyone in the group other than Quimarel, he has been Tainted by the Far Realms, his mind and body twisted in subtle ways. This has a lot to do with Makpov’s choice of career: one of his more beneficial mutations is that sapient beings of all species and genders find him inexplicably attractive. The rest of his Far Realms birthright is somewhat less convenient: he carries with him at all times the smell of carrion, has a magpie-like fascination with shiny things, and has hallucinogenic saliva. Luckily, he has built an immunity to that last one, so the party doesn’t have to deal with the barbarian constantly tripping.
- Hiddlebatch, whose player probably picked that name just to annoy me, is a hobgoblin inquisitor who, as a result of a vision, is convinced that the hobgoblin deity Khurgorbaeyag sees the Tainted as a sort of “master race” and wants the influence of the Far Realms spread as far as possible. (Writing about Hiddlebatch is difficult, because in addition to half a dozen Far Realms mutations, Hiddlebatch’s player decided that Hiddlebatch had some kind of hermaphrodite thing going on, and it’s never really been made clear what pronouns we’re supposed to use for Hiddlebatch.) In service to this cause, Hiddlebatch spent some time wandering the Wastelands before building a small chapel outside Noroiras and proceeding to terrorize its citizens with rampant street-corner preaching and the brandishing of little carven idols H refers to as “terrors”. Hiddlebatch’s Far Realms mutations include butterfly wings (the entry on the “Tainted by the Far Realms” table just says “insect wings”, but H’s player decided they were butterfly wings) that give H a fly speed of 10 ft./round, the ability to lay eggs that may or may not hatch into horrible mockeries of nature, cysts that grow inside H with results very similar to the eggs, an inability to sleep within 500 feet of artificially cultivated plants, the ability to always know when someone else is saying H’s name (which is less than useful, since the crazy priest ranting on the street corner comes up in conversation a lot, and H doesn’t know who says H’s name or what they are saying about H), and something else I can’t recall without referring to the character sheet that isn’t in front of me right now. I think H spits acid once a day or something similar.
- Tamarie of the Gibbering Rock People is a half-elf alchemist. Or, more accurately, she’s a professional tailor with an alchemy habit. She was born to a human tribe of barbarians located not far to the south of Noroiras (the aforementioned Gibbering Rock People), but never really fit in and eventually left to seek her fortune elsewhere. Running a tailory in this part of the world isn’t especially profitable, since most of the locals can’t afford to have more than one or two sets of rough peasant clothing, and the nobility tend to import their finer garb from the south. As a result, Tamarie’s biggest customer is Quimarel, who often needs to order unusual costumes for… business reasons. Tamarie doesn’t talk much, but she has a number of nifty alchemical tricks up her many sleeves. She has probably the most visible Far Realms mutations of anyone in the group: in addition to her single humanoid arm, she has one enormous insect claw (which she uses as a set of pinking shears), and four small raccoon-like arms protruding from her torso. She also perceives a completely different set of colors relative to the humanoid norm, which amounts to an occupational difficulty. Also, she can cast Compel Hostility at will, which she tends not to do for some unknown reason probably relating to self-preservation.
The plot, which I’ll get around to writing up someday, I swear, begins with a mysterious disappearance. Krich the Xenophilic, a kobold employee of Quimarel, was at the Broken Stone on business last night. Both she and the halfling trader she was keeping company, Alton Brambleforth, vanished at some point before sunrise and have not been seen since...
No comments:
Post a Comment