1d30 Three-Word Swords (Swordtember '24)

Lately, I've been suffering from a lot of burnout. Making headway on any of my personal projects has been hard, while writing has proven even worse. I could write a blog post about this—it wouldn't be the first time—but I think that it would be better if I compromised and did something fun instead.

I've done far too much reading. Too much consumption. Now is the time for creation, and hopefully a good six months of blog posts to show for it—quality be damned.

This is where we'll begin. 

I will update this list at a later date.
Challenge by @faithschaffer on Tumblr

1. SWINE COME QUICK: a bronze grip-tongue sword with a carved gourd for a handle. The inlaid is vaguely reminiscent of autumn, but it'll gladly expound upon some the details if asked. Can be attuned by burying it in a pile of fresh produce overnight, then summoned by expending a ration, whereupon it sprouts wings and rushes to your hand.

2. WHERE BLOSSOMS GROW: he is a light falchion (+1) of glassy steel. Its guard is rounded and made of cobblestones, which shiver and pop as it is swung, and occasionally sprouts weeds. Knowledgeable of burial rites in several cultures. If an inch-wide cut is made into the ground and a command word is spoken, a trail of flowers will guide you to the nearest cemetery.

3.  OUR LAST HOPE: she is a heavy zweihander (+3) of pure adamantium, beautifully inlaid with lines of gold, silver, and platinum. An elvish parable has been inscribed along the weapon's length, detailing the ancient hero who once wielded it against evil. Shines with immeasurable daylight when drawn, turning undead and dispelling even magical darkness. Currently embedded within a stone, waiting for an ancestor of the hero to retrieve it, and under the protection of a small clergy.

4. A CRUEL FATE: same as #3, but ebon splotches have warped the sword's appearance, like oil slicks on asphalt. Spasms violently on occasion. Unsheathing the sword plunges whatever room it was drawn into total darkness. Currently half-buried in rubble underneath a sepulcher, where the clergy have barricaded the entryways.
   

5.  FARM DOG'S ODYSSEY: It is a medium xithos (+1) with a mycellium skin. Seemingly made entirely out of mushrooms, which grow shorter & more thin as they approach the "blade". Can be carefully folded into a cube (1 slot), and consuming any part of the weapon forces a Save Vs. Violently Orgasmic Hallucinations.

6. WHO GOES THERE?: she is a light rapier with a silver blade & brass accessories. Speaks in a thick cockney accent, which she uses to point suspicion at everyone or everything she doesn't intimately know. Lighting the blade's tip causes it to glow with the strength of an oil lantern, which lasts for 10 minutes, and smells faintly of lemongrass. Can be replenished by soaking in olive oil or whiskey.
   

7. LOVELY NIGHT MARE: they are a light khopesh (+1) of bronze alloy. Inlays of electrum run along the weapon, resembling a series of rivers. Someone has (rather poorly) embedded diamonds into the hilt, which now pulsate in the dark. Soft-spoken; rather friendly, if not a bit monotone. Can "scoop out" someone's dreams by cutting through their reflection. You're not stealing them—it's divination.
   

8.  ___ WARNING ___: It is a heavy shortsword (+2) of carbon steel, ejected by a star suffering from acute iron poisoning. Originally a spear, but later reforged after it snapped in half upon striking a mountain. Attempts to communicate with the wielder through a series of complex runes, heptapod style, which project from the blade's surface and onto the walls & floor. Wishes to be reunited?
   

9.  FISH HATE MORTALS: he is a medium cutlass of seaglass and leather, caked in barnacles. A relic of an ancient (aquatic) civilization. Doesn't speak your language, and even if it did, it wouldn't like you. Sinks in water when held (but otherwise floats). Counts as a +1 sword when used underwater, and +2 if the target is a landlubber.
   

10.  ORDER REQUIRES PREREQUISITES: she is a heavy backsword adorned in gold, platinum, and silver. The blade itself is cold iron, with irregular lightning bolts running down its length. Secretly desires to be a mace instead. Commissioned by the court and never intended to be used, but was later enchanted by a wizard after realizing that they overpaid. Contains a pocket dimension which holds every proposed law of the court in the last 50 years.
    

11.  GENTLEMAN'S DUE DILIGENCE: they are a heavy spatha of velvet accents with coal-black fullers. The family heirloom of a war-loving culture. Can be split vertically into two light blades (+1), which deal half-damage to—and automatically parry attacks from—anyone expect the person wielding the second sword. Bitch and moan at each other while combined, but flirt aggressively in use, like Morticia & Gomez Addams.

12.  ALMIGHTY UNCONQUERABLE THERMOGENESIS: she is a light scimitar (+3) of brass and elemental-treated gold. One of the many blades forged for—and disposed of by—the great Sultan of the City of Brass. A skilled poet & vizier, she is not unhurt by his rejection. Always on fire. Yes, even the hilt. Can cut through flames bigger than its wielder in order to create a portal to the Elemental Plane of Fire—not always safe portals.
    

13.  WHO SAW THAT?: he is a light jian (+1) of jagged, never-melting ice. Fragile. Cracks along the flat parts of the ice are razor-sharp to the touch, giving the sword a working edge. Speaks like a disillusioned wizard; an old man, sick of the world's shit. Look through the blade to see through illusions and spot ghosts and, if placed in a pool of water, it will melt and turn into a scrying pool. Can be restored by chucking the hilt into a snowstorm (or something equivalently cold) for three days.
    

14.  SECOND CASE SCENARIO: they are a medium koncerz, overwhelmed with tubes and machinery. A trigger-guard is embedded in the hilt, various gauges and transparent gizmos adorn the guard and piping. Can be held in half-sword when wielded in two hands, providing armor-piercing and triggering the device. On hit, inject a dose of poison (2x total, hand-loaded). Contains a dose of Basilisk Oil when found.
    

15.  LOUSY JUDGEMENT CALL: it is a light broadsword made entirely of glass. Fragile. The handle is an complex basket-hilt, like a chain of tubes, with visible markings where the glass was sealed off. Inside the "blade" sloshes a reddish-brown fluid which, when shattered, explodes violently, unleashing the air elemental contained within. The original blade—a "master mold"—remains in an unfinished state: variants of the weapon are currently being mass-produced.
    

16. SOME KILLER TECHNIQUE: he is a medium hook sword (+1) of soot-choked steel, with a blade of humanoid fingers. Originally forged to be a whip, but rot and improper maintenance has ruined its joints. Flexible enough to swing around corners. Knows 1d4-1 combat techniques, which the wielder can use once-per-day.

17.  LONG DAY RETREAT: he is a light rapier of heat-resistant glass. Really a bong in the shape of a sword, commissioned by a wealthy mercenary with a really bad habit. Knows exactly what you like and where you can get more of it. When you draw this sword, you may take a hit of one (inhalant) drug you possess as a free action.

18. VERY FUNNY MOM: they are a light sickle (+2) of tin and iron, its handle wrapped in decorative ribbons of various colors and styles. Sits on your tongue like a fishhook when sheathed. Occasionally tells a poorly-timed joke in your voice. Seeps itself into the flesh like a poison, inducing hysteria and terrible humor in its victims—especially unpleasant when you're a wizard. Kills add new ribbons to the hilt.

19. FLESH NOT FERN: she is a medium talwar of obsidian and amber. Its hilt is carved from the bark of an irontree, which the blade claims belongs to its dryad owner. Incapable of cutting through plant matter—it simply bends out of the way. Despite being immune to its violence, plant creatures will often defer themselves to it (make a morale check).
    

20. ONE LOOSE END: they are a heavy falchion (+3) of unknown make, covered in runes and glittering sparks of magic. Currently shattered into three pieces—each is considered a light +1 sword in its right—which will combine when reunited. If you are a magic-user and possess ≤2 shards, they attack a random enemy whenever you cast a spell using MD, dealing 1d4 damage each. The hilt wants nothing more than to remain separate from its kindred.

21. COLD HARD STARE: she is a light jian (+1) constructed entirely out of glass eyes. Handles as you'd expect, which isn't helped by the blade's penchant for vision-related wordplay. If used as a foci for one of your Gaze spells, add +1 MD. Gets weirdly persuasive about climbing into your head if you happen to lose an eye.

22. SLAY WILL ALONE: it is a heavy broadsword made of brass, oil and tears. Cobbled together by a lunatic with an engineering degree. An internal combustion engine sputters when drawn from the scabbard, grinding the blade's two halves together like saw-teeth. Can be used to sunder shields (or shoddy doors) while ignoring damage reduction.

23. FIRST ONE FREE: he is a medium xithos (+1) of cold iron. While the blade is rather plain in style, its scabbard is grossly overdecorated, adorned in mosaic spirals of gold leaf and silver. When drawn from its scabbard, a ghostly apparition (with the stats of a 3rd-level fighter) immediately takes possession of the blade. He is patient and cooperative, but refuses to part with the weapon until he is defeated, whereupon he vanishes and it returns to its scabbard.

24. FAULT THY SELF: he is a medium kopsis (+2), carved from an enormous emerald. Treated as a holy relic by the monastery that discovered the emerald, which has definitely gone to his head a little. Claims to heal whoever touches him, which isn't a complete lie—all that sickness and pain is given back to the gemstone.
    

25. REAL LIVING ART: it is a light dao of platinum and silk-spun adornments. An giant, intelligent silk moth named Jimbel lives within the blade's hollow guard, tasked with maintaining the accessories. Jimbel is quite kind, not to mention knowledgeable in the art of fashion, and he will regularly offer his services as a seamstress to the wielder—so long as the blade is regularly polished.
    

26. HOLY SHIT BALLS: she is a heavy claymore, scrounged together from the remnants of a weather monitoring station's lightning rod. Gained sentience after a demon—traveling at the speed of light—passed through the rod and entered our world. She's as confused about it as you are, to be honest. Deals +1d6 lightning damage on hit. If she's ever struck by lightning again, upgrade into a +1 sword, but roll for a random demonic incursion.
    

27. SYMBIOSIS REQUIRES KINDNESS: she is a light small-sword of copper and silver. Its scabbard—an ornate, oversized grasshopper—animates when the blade is drawn, becoming a loyal familiar. While not exactly helpful in combat, it is capable of performing other tasks appropriate to a familiar, such as spying on targets and retrieving objects. The blade & scabbard are inseparably linked—the former speaks of the latter like a good friend, and destroying the scabbard will also shatter the sword.
    

28. PEACE AMONG WORLDS: they are a medium "shortsword"—really the disembodied tail of a Psychic Bismuth Scorpion. Its length, albeit jagged, is consistent enough to use as a blade, while the stinger at the tip remains an excellent stabbing weapon. While able to communicate from within its tail, the scorpion doesn't have much to say, besides a vague sadness over its circumstances. Launch a psychic blast when wielded in two hands (3/day, 1d6 + WIS).
    

29. REDUCE REUSE RECYCLE: this isn't a sword at all—those require a blade, or at least a hilt. An emerald rune, burnt into its owners palm. As living things die around you, a blade is constructed according to their traits and preferences: rapiers for the suave, serrated teeth for dogs, a basket-hilt for the wary, etc.
    

30. FIND HER MARK: she is a medium estoc of cold-iron and dripstone, built from what could be found within the frozen caves of Betrayal. Small droplets of luminescent fluid leak from the blade's tip. Anything covered by these droplets begins to glow for a short period of time, to the point of translucency through thin walls—according to the helldivers, great for finding pierceable organs.

The Eight Heresies Of Pashem

Lakshman Anil Paschim had a problem... he was too popular. Born into a family which had gained its wealth during the Green Conquest—wherein precursors to the new faith sought recourse for THEE's intrusion, and were promptly crushed—Paschim inherited a taste for affluence. Enrolled in the greatest schools, spoilt by the finest of delicacies, the young boy grew quickly into the shape of a well-spoken & influential aristocrat. 

He was also a brat. How could he not be, as an entitled profiteer? 

But there was one line that Paschim could never cross. For all his outbursts and shows of force, for all of the wealth he possessed and attention he craved, Paschim always refused to outright cheek the church. Heresy was a grave sin, after all, punishable in all ways socially and by rule of law. That which was shared, preached, and made were all protected under divine reasoning: that works of THEE's church were in celebration of the Authority's laws. For all his insolence, Lakshman would never dare commit apostasy against his nation's living God... until he did.

Now they are accursed things. Profane artifacts; mockeries born of a sinful mind.

Here are three. Learn their names, understand their histories, so that you may begin to understand why it is that Paschim was never buried within his own catacombs.

Aspis — The Ship

Names: Kolona, The (Stealing) Ship, She Who Glistens

Who Made You?: A crew of 600 laborers.

Wicked Sins: Blasphemy, Piracy, Unsanctioned Geometry

-----

The Kolona was a Mesquitan prize vessel, commissioned by the Church of the Authority amidst the changing of the royal retinue. Built for show, the Kolona was worked upon by some of the finest craftspeople in the archipelagos, resulting in a trireme of incredible size: fine gems and metals inlaid across its hull, its nose adorned with the face of their ruler Lord Aphotritchides. It was a point of pride for the workers, not to mention a boast of the church's influence.

 

Unpredictable at the time, however, was Anil Paschim's growing attraction towards it.

Shortly before the Kolona took sail, Paschim organized a workforce for the construction of a new vessel, having received "divine inspiration" from the Church's masterpiece. What followed took Paschim's crew months to the Church's year-and-a-half, maintaining a crew of over 600 engineers, manual laborers, and artisans. Their end result was noticeably smaller than the Kolona—about 1/3rd—but nonetheless impressive. Less impressive was the Church's reaction to the vessel, accusing Paschim of blasphemy through imitation. He denied any such intention, deflected the blame, and largely avoided any consequences.

The Aspis was ultimately left unfinished—fearful of pursuing inquisitors, what workers remained (not having fled) pushed the ship into the ocean and sailed themselves to safety. Those same sailors are now believed to have taken up a life of piracy: reports tell of a familiar ship haunting the Mesquitan coast, with eyes like stars within its bow. These attacks have grown so troublesome (and common) that the Kolona's reputation has been irreparably damaged. It is currently being decommissioned.

There Are Things Besides Will O' Wisps In The Dark.
"Night Fog" by Johnson Cameraface

Inhabitants of the Aspis:

1. 1d6 Workers (Maintenance; slacking off; licking their wounds.)
   
2. 1d4+1 Raiders (Preparing for a raid; hunting intruders; sleeping.)
   
3. 1d4-1 Mesquitan Janissaries (In pursuit of the ship, now trapped within it. Camping; carousing; hunting crew.)
   
4. 3d4 Giant Rats (They have little trouble maneuvering throughout the walls of the Aspis. Breeding; feeding; praying.)
   

Members of the original crew still endure within the Aspis, along with an assortment of welcome or unwanted guests.

Decks of the Aspis:

1. The Hold — near-darkness in torchlight; the sound of creaking wood and snapping oars; a persistent sense of seasickness, pierced by whispers in the dark.
   
2. The Hoard — chests upon chests of treasure, stolen goods from coastal lands; poor to maintain & hardly traversable; a logistical nightmare. How do we get out of here?
   
3. The Bar — a cozy lounge, stocked with food and wine; a moment of respite; music plays softly from a slit in the walls; the bar is manned by a greying beard who takes no requests, offering drink and a kindly smile.
   
4. The Barracks — chisels and hammers, quivers and bows; a collection of arms made, inherited, and pillaged; an unlikely menagerie.
   
5. The Museum — a gallery exhibit; artwork lines the walls, glass cases atop pillars on display; there is a black stain where a portrait should be, its plaque reads "A Girl Found".
   
6. The Muse — a false deck; forever dusk upon the world, a sky bereft of stars.
   

Triremes are not built with cargo in mind, yet this ship contains worlds beneath its hull. Roll a d6 when first entering the Aspis, then record whatever deck you arrive at. Roll again whenever the party exits a floor, either through another hatch or traveling backwards. In order to escape the loop, reach a variant of the first floor you entered, then exit out the way you came.

Paschim's Cup — The Chalice

Names: Chalice of the Covetous, Sorrow, The Great Dissapointment

Who Made You?: a goldsmith's apprentice, imprisoned in a workshop

Wicked Sins: Kidnapping, Obliteration

-----

Lakshman Anil Paschim was not an artist, but he was incredibly envious. More than flaunting his family's wealth, Anil Paschim surrounded himself with artists and their work because they possessed something he lacked—whether mechanical skill or a sense of imagination. Unwilling to pursue an artist's education, Paschim still craved an object for himself...

...And so he studied. Again and again, until the works in his collection had been observed a thousand times. He glared at their construction—sculpture and vessel alike—and tried to ascertain how they came to be. He looked to their sources, sought out their parts, working day and night to reverse-engineer what made them such fine art. When the time came for Paschim to create his first work, the final product was predictably shoddy. Frustration welled inside of him. Following another attempt, then two more, Paschim abandoned his efforts for a far simpler plan.

The Chalice is a receptacle of infinite volume. It cannot be filled nor stuffed with solids, rebelling against its master at every opportunity. Whatever is forced into the chalice bleeds through the bottom, in some cases literally, as compressed material will be transmuted into blood. Submerging the Chalice results in the slow drainage of that fluid, should something prevent it from resurfacing. 

Lakshman Anil Paschim would abandon the Chalice in his lifetime.

Location of the Cup:

1. At the bottom of an evidence locker in the same town that it was found. Who would want this hunk of junk?
   
2. Currently in the possession of gentle-brigand Sabir Al-Fahd, a hallwani extortionist.
   
3. Being worshiped by a cult of blaspheming Druids. They are using its transformative properties to aid in ritual sacrifice.
   
4. Trapped beneath the decks of the Aspis—buried in treasure or on display.
   
5. Stuck in a chest at the bottom of a lake, inside of a now-waterlogged ship. The chest has begun to leak.
   
6. Jammed inside the throat of a Were-Tiger, fighting to survive in its animal form. The Chalice's trickle keeps them alive—so long as they remain shapeshifted, it won't expand their throat and kill them.
    

   

   Cups Don't Hold Much Religious Symbolism In Séraphine. Typical, Silly Paschim.
   "Chalice of the Void" by Seb McKinnon
   

   
   

Hel's Spear — The Spire

Names: The Dominant, Death's Head, Cock of Hades

Who Made You?: Nobody; you sprung from the earth.

Wicked Sins: Blasphemy, Intrusion

-----

 Among certain sects, there is a belief that when the end-times come, every facet of the empire will be utilized in Authority's battle against the forces of evil, including the very cities themselves. Consequently, spires have become a prominent architectural feature, with fleches of silver or gold becoming a common sight across the empire. Spires can be found atop institutions and places of worship, or adorning the walls of fortresses in evenly-spaced clusters. They are, in essence, weapons: tools built to-scale with THEE's might, carved out and occupied for our own convenience.

 Lakshman Anil Paschim saw spires everywhere, for his birth had granted him the luxury of witnessing their many forms. He knew well what their presence represented, and as such, his halls were appropriately decorated—donations strategically applied. Yet Paschim cared little for this particular dogma. These payments were expected of him, a formality rather than a commitment, for what other purpose could they serve? 

    "Say war did come to the Seraphi: would sulṭah truly trash its own kingdom in order to defend us? If so, then would we fill the spires with our institutions? Are we ignorant, or merely stupid?"

This opinion was not unique to Paschim, nor did it matter. When 200 meters of silt and blackstone burst from the bottom of a once-innocuous lake, threatening to pierce the heavens, all eyes fell on the only man who could be deemed responsible. While other heresies merely threatened his reputation, The Spire revealed to old Paschim threats to his life—threats which were very, very real. 

Who cares if he had anything to do with it?

It Is Surprisingly Hard To Find Artwork Of Black Spires Sprouting From Water.
"Archaic Sanctum" by Ageus

Features of the Spire:

1. Creatures of all sorts have ventured into the region surrounding the Spire, making it their home—this includes Devils, heretics, and a multitude of monsters.
   
2. There are entrances into the Spire, although reaching them has proven somewhat difficult, due to being so far above the surface. Hope you brought your climbing gear.
   
3. The landscape becomes prickly as one travels closer to the base of the Spire, a mixture of upturned crust and blackstone spikes. Likewise, its surface softens during the ascent, smoothing to a point at its apex.
   
4. Being a relatively new landmark, the empire has poured considerable resources into its investigation of the Spire and its birthplace. Pathfinders work alongside clerics in their search for an origin.
   
5. There is a second building rising from the lake, a lopsided tower of halls and columns which has already partially engulfed the Spire.
   
6. Smewhere within the Spire is a second entrance connecting to a smaller, inner core. 

Imagine This, But Stretched Out & Surrounding The Spire.
Quinta da Regaleira from Wikimedia Commons

A Bloody Silver Lining (GLoG Class - The Assassin Bug V1)

When the first hives approached La Republique amidst the waning storms, they did so with open arms. Offering humanity the same gift that elevated the imps was—in their minds—a sound decision; mankind had suffered horrifically under the ire of The Storm Eternal. Trapped in their citadels and abound with civil turmoil, what better time to uplift a sapient species than when they are most malleable? Of course, the hives greatly miscalculated this approach, and in several ways at that, for their promises of unity arrived far too late to cease the coming tide. 

Militarism arose. Mankind eschewed knowledge for authority. From this confluence of social mores were the standing armies born and The Artisinal School corrupted, retched from the mind of a frightened, bewildered council: The First Committee. One-hundred and thirty years of tyranny.

Yet symbiosis is more than a kindness. It is equal part bargain and sign, promises made under threat of retribution. When the hives bestowed upon The Republic their knowledge of The Occult, they did not abandon any pursuits of their own: in fact, they were emboldened by it. The hives knew well that in order to co-exist with humankind, true balance must be struck. Thus, deep within the earth's surface, larvae were grown. Children of a greater purpose. But unlike other imps, your kind were developed to prove a point.

Your existence is a warning; a murky weapon against the humanoid threat.

THE ASSASSIN BUG

+1 Stealth per Template.
Starting Skills: 1) Rock-climbing 2) Mimicry 3) Immobility
Starting Equipment: A burlap sack, your first shell (Table Below).
-----

A – Imp (Assassin Bug), Corpse Shroud

B – Liquefaction, Mimicking The Sound Of Bees

C – The Perks of Evolution

D – Kiss of Death

Imp (Assassin Bug)
You have a natural weapon (1d8), four arms, and can telepathically communicate with creatures that you are aware of within 15 feet of you. Equipment not specifically designed for you will not fit, and only two of your arms can properly wield equipment such as a sword and shield. The rest—your ancillary limbs—can handle or interact with cup-sized objects just fine.

 

You are one of the few whose role necessitates an existence beyond the hive. You only suffer a -2 penalty (instead of -5) to Will checks made to resist being connected to a brood mother, and only begin making these checks every hour that you remain within a hive's territory. Whenever two imps are within 30 feet, they are immediately alerted to the other's presence, without learning their identity or exact location.

Corpse Shroud

You collect pieces of the dead to wear on your person, which act as piecemeal (+1 Def / +5 Max). You can also prepare whole corpses with a few minutes of prep time, hollowing out their insides and wearing them on your back as shrouds. Shrouds count for three pieces. Whenever you take damage, some of your piecemeal is destroyed (one slot worth), prioritizing individual pieces over your corpse shroud.

 

You can wield a shroud in your larger arms, treating it as a rudimentary shield. You can use your natural weapon while in this state. Wielding your corpse shroud reduces incoming physical damage by 1d6 points, and helps obfuscate your silhouette while sneaking around—humans react differently to a human-shaped silhouette than a giant insect.

 

Given 5x the time and effort, you can scrounge together a shroud made from inanimate material. This can act as camouflage whilst traveling in similar terrain, but can only be struck once before disintegrating.

Imps can stand upright, but that doesn't mean they have to.
Artist Unknown (Pathfinder Bestiary?)

Liquefaction

Your natural weapon attack deals an additional +1d6 acid damage, and preparing a new corpse shroud also fulfills your daily sustenance requirements.

Mimicking The Sound of Bees

The first time a creature spots you as part of a failed stealth check, if you are wielding your corpse shroud, they hesitate—so long as you remain perfectly still, they will not see you. Creatures will either: investigate their suspicions, get spooked, or ignore you completely (roll 1d3).

Additionally, surprise attacks deals +1d6 damage.

The Perks of Evolution

You finally molt, earning new tools out of circumstance or planned upgrades long overdue. pick one:

1. Warrior's Brood: Your natural weapon attack has a range of 10', and preparing a new corpse shroud now takes a standard action. When you gain Template D in this class, this becomes a quick action.
   
2. Magician's Brood: You learn the Mage Hand cantrip. You also gain 1 MD, and can use that die to cast the Minor Illusion spell. When you gain Template D in this class, you can also cast the Invisibility spell.
   
3. Scout's Brood: Your ancillary limbs can be used as lock-picking tools, and you are always aware of the location of a flesh-and-blood creature within 15' of you (through doors, but not solid stone). When you gain Template D in this class, your ancillary limbs can also wield light weapons.
   
   

Kiss of Death
Your attacks infect living creatures with an assortment of dangerous parasites. Those that're wounded and survive soon fall ill, as if poisoned. After one month, they must make a Con check—on a failure, they succumb to organ failure and immediately die.

Helps when dealing with apolitical threats, too.
"Assassin Bug With Prey" by Alexander Mett

Your First Shell - 1d12 Table

1. A literal expression — fragments of molted skin, chunked and scattered to resemble foliage.
2. A massive pair of wings belonging to a moth or butterfly. Clipped at the base, its pattern remains intact and suitable for illusion.
3. The mangled body of a young man, expired from the elements and repurposed by you. 
4. A mammal's head, branching antlers still attached. Its breadth is wider than your torso.
5. An assortment of human limbs. 
6. A soldier's corpse. Its back has been hollowed out, yet armor and equipment remain on its person.
7. Foliage tied into knots and patterns, packed with twigs or rotten mulch; an impromptu ghillie suit.
8. Your pod-mate didn't survive the trek—but their usefulness has not been exhausted.
9. The corpse of a knife-eared Elkem. Its head remains warm to the touch; some say that they hold great power. 
10. A block of ice weighs on your back, crushing your exoskeleton. The benefits are well-worth the risk.
11. Another imp crossed your path: perhaps a rival from another hive, or one unbound from your own. Whatever the reason, they failed to overpower you, and now their remains serve your purpose.
12. An aristocratic woman, still dressed in her fluffy gown.
    

Primer Burn And Hot Lead Bubble (GLoG Class: Lead Witch)

Firearms are an oddity in Bromeilles. While handguns and long guns do exist in some real capacity, their construction is both tedious and unique to its builder, with only a few standardized designs known to exist, such as the designs of Quentin Blanchard—an acolyte to the late Gisèle de Roy. These remain closely guarded secrets. Thus, the vast majority of guns discoverable on the continent (how few they are) are hack-jobs: volatile stone-throwers pushed from the Twin State's scrap-works.

In the century since Blanchard's death—a wound self-inflicted—The Republic has only visited his compound on the island of Courrisaunt a singular time. Blanchard's ideas were long thought buried with him.

But there are whispers that the old workshop has been robbed. Unusual new firearms have been spotted across the continent, not en masse but in worrying numbers, and all lie in the possession of Witches. Whether these are truly Blanchard's designs or original inventions has yet to be confirmed, but the damage they have inflicted remains very real.

The sole inspiration. One day, I'll make a version that does her justice.
The Gunwitch Class on Steam

Lead Witches are solitary hunters. If there exists a coven on the continent, it is well-hidden and unacknowledged by The Republic. Their stock consists of natural killers, born or built, who will not squirm at the sight of a dying man. They are the unwanted, the misanthropes, and the hungry. The Lead Witch does not seek a kinder life, nor does she wish vengeance upon an entity. Her wishes are swift, her sacrifice is pain, and the heat which emanates from one's heart is about the only thing standing between her and a good night's sleep.

THE LEAD WITCH
+1 Magic Dice per Template
Starting Skill: 1) Bounty-Hunting 2) Distillation 3) Highway Robbery

Starting Equipment: One light pistol (1d8, two shots), One light pistol OR medium breaker (1d6, one shot, 15' cone) OR heavy rifle (2d6, one shot) Traveler's Greatcoat (as leather), A Tool of the Trade.

-----

A – Hex: Prime

B – Caustics Make The Flesh-Men Cry

C – Sixty-Palmed Trigger, +1 Tool of the Trade

D – Invocation: Cold, Bitter & Sweet

Hex: Prime
R: touch T: a piece of ammunition D: until dispelled I: 1x MD

You imbue a bullet or load of shot with foul purpose. This ammunition is considered magical and deals [sum] additional damage.

 

Hollow-points implode. Pellets spread into deliberate patterns. Wounds reach through flesh like cracks in glass, and the holes left behind leak brambles.

Caustics Make The Flesh-Men Cry
The wounds your armaments inflict exact pain unlike anything this world has ever seen, excluding what you've already put in them. You can make ten rounds of pistol ammunition (or half-as-many for a larger caliber, like a rifle or shotgun) in approximately eight hours of work, so long as you're given enough space and security to be uninterrupted. This can be done either over the course of several sessions or all in one sitting—pull an all-nighter, why don't you?

 

Additionally, you can imbue unfinished ammunition with unique properties using Hex: Prime. Cursed ammunition remains magical in nature, but instead inflicts one of the following effects, determined by you when you construct the round. These rounds can be loaded normally into your firearms, activating on an attack of your choosing.

 

Ammunition modified with this feature, like Hex: Prime, require your MD to function. Don't worry, though: these are returned to you once they're fired!

 

Cursed Ammunition:

1.  BLAZECAP
• A faint light emanates from the inside of your gun. It whispers to be heard, then sneezes all over your target as they're set alight. On hit (or miss within 10'), target must Save Vs. Burning. Burning creatures take 1d6 damage each turn and cannot heal until they're put out, either as an action or through traditional means. Obviously, you cannot burn incombustible things... can you?
  
2.  FAMILIAR'S PAW
   
• There exists a cleverness to this one: alien satisfaction for a job well done. An attack with this round completely reloads the weapon it's fired from, so long as you have the ammunition to fill it.
  
3.  BISMUTH
• Your round splits, bends or stretches beyond reason. In addition to your chosen target, you may attack up to two additional creatures within 10 feet of them with the same bullet. Only a single attack roll is made, compared to each target's defense.
  
4. DOG TEARS
• These rounds, rightfully, scare the living shit out of whoever is near them. Creatures that can hear you fire must Save vs. Fear, but become immune to its effects for a week on a success.
  
5.  REVENANT SWORD SHAVINGS
   
• Your round vanishes into thin air, then re-emerges from another location of your choosing in a straight line. Make an attack roll against the first creature this line meets, which ignores directional defenses such as cover and shields. The maximum possible range of this location (and the subsequent attack) is equal to the firearm's range.
  
6.  TOO MUCH TO DRINK
   
• Surprise me. Roll 1d6 when you fire this round to determine its effect. If the result is a 6, roll twice and take both effects. Additional 6's are re-rolled. 
  

If I do this again, I'm definitely giving them some sort of modular weapon system
"Voodoo Witch" by Daria Rashev

Sixty-Palmed Hammer
Whenever you use your action to Cast a Spell, Interact with the environment or make a Skill check, you may fire a one-handed firearm you are brandishing immediately afterwards. If your action is used to make an Attack with a firearm instead, you may make an additional attack with that weapon.

 

A brandished firearm is either currently in your hands or readily accessible. Thus, a revolver in a hip holster or atop the countertop before you is considered valid, but the one stashed away in your backpack or at the bottom of your boot is not (assuming your boots are still on).

Invocation: Cold, Bitter & Sweet
Requirements: the corpse of your victim's hero, a shield made from human hair, seven days
Duration: until dispelled (set the body ablaze)
Description: Obtain the corpse and slather it in honey. Place those remains in a barrel filled with syrup, molasses, or another viscous fluid, then seal the barrel shut with your shield. After seven days of fermentation, impale one or more iron rods into the barrel—one Magic Die per rod.

 

For each Magic Die invested into the ritual, your victim's next wound will refuse to heal, preventing them from regaining hit points equal to the damage taken. Healing aids will be applied, scar tissue will begin to form, but these wounds will remain open and bloody and agitated for as long as the invocation remains.

 

At the bare minimum, this health reduction is equivalent to the average of one of the victim's Hit Dice per MD. Of course, losing a limb in this situation would be far, far worse. For them.

Lead Spells

1. Sixth Sense
   R: n/a T: self D: n/a
   If a projectile would hit you, you can choose to avoid it instead, or roll Defense if it would have struck automatically. This only applies to projectiles: arrows and dart traps are okay, giant swinging logs are arguably fine too, but pitfalls are not.
   
2. Golden Gun
   R: touch T: a loaded gun D:[dice] attacks
   Your enchanted firearm glistens in the sunlight, but distorts into geometry in the dark. A creature killed by this weapon transmutates, with anything in a 6" radius surrounding the killing blow (including belongings and flesh) becoming 2d4 + [dice] in raw gold. This material reverts in a degraded state after 24 hours. 
   
3. Black Powder Calling
   R: touch T: a loaded gun D: [dice] hours
   You grant one of your firearms a soft independence, allowing it to levitate around your body—about as high or far as you are tall—at will. You can manipulate the weapon and fire it while keeping your hands free, but it must be reloaded manually. This weapon is considered brandished for the duration.
   
4. Did You Hear That?
   R: instant T: [sum] pieces of ammunition D:n/a
   Outside of a dim flash of light, your next [sum] attacks are nearly imperceptible, producing no smoke or sound.
   
5. Feelin' Lucky?
   R: 20' T: a creature of [dice] HD or fewer D: until dispelled
   If threats of physical violence won't work, then a combination of physical and spiritual violence might just do the trick. You gain a [dice] bonus to relevant "persuasion" checks and intimidation attempts against the target, so long as you keep your sights (literally) trained on them. If they didn't hate your guts before, though, they definitely do now. 
   
6. High Gaze
   R: sight T: a creature with equal or more HD than you D: [dice] rounds
   Clocks strike at the Witching Hour wherever you go. A bird falls from the sky when this spell ends at the end of your turn: at that moment, both you and the target must immediately make an attack with a ranged weapon. For each prior turn spent (up to [dice] rounds) without taking the Cast a Spell or Attack action, the attacker deals an additional 1d8 damage. If the target is out of sight when this spell ends, only you take that damage.
   

Tools Of The Trade

1. Chitin Plate. If you would be the victim of a critical hit, it becomes a regular hit instead. The plate then cracks and becomes worthless. Also good for target practice.
   
2. Pixie Flytrap. Not as bad as it sounds; a catch-and-release system for nature spirits. +2 MD, but can only be spent on your cursed ammunition. Two slots.
   
3. Silver Bullets. You can never be too careful. half a slot, equal to five pieces of ammunition.
   
4. Hand-Loading Kit. A heavy-duty satchel covered in webbing and hidden pockets. Fashionable, too. You can produce twice as much ammunition using this kit. Slot-neutral.
   
5. BY LORD'S DOOR. He is a stubby, light rapier (+1), stained dark with soot and gunk. Deep pink scars are all that remain of the surface of this once decent blade. Coughs incessantly, but thumbing the pommel seems to help.
   
6. Cauldron. Doubles as a cooking pot, so long as you remember to clean it out beforehand. Comes with some neat wheels, otherwise two slots.
   
7. Bug Spear. For emergencies, big game, or emergencies caused by big game. A heavy spear that, once primed as an action, explodes upon contact with a solid object. Everything within 10 feet takes 3d8 damage, or half on a successful Save.
   
8. Mag Pull. In terms of availability, you're probably one of the continent's lucky few. In fact, you probably made it yourself. Acts as an effective +2 to one of your gun's capacity.
   

Puking All Over The President (Sludge Post)

Here's a rough collection of thoughts pulled out of my first sludge pile, which I filled sometime in 2022. It is a mixture of setting-specific blurbs, wild ideas, and whatever random bullshit crawled into and out of my brain. May my trash somehow become your treasure!

-----

Chronomancy — the reversal of molecules to younger forms

Gustneau's Pet — At what point does artificial life become life?

The Blood and The Body are not the same thing

Communicate through dreams by changing one aspect of the environment at a time.

Lycanthropy is a disease, Vampirism is a curse

Vampires can consume "normal" food and drink without difficulty, and some even take great pleasure in it. It cannot, however, subsist them fully

What DOES happen to tieflings when they die????

Who said that imps (bug-people) learned to speak common? Or that they even have voice boxes? They're magic users, after all

You Reap What You Sow goes both ways

Mimics first teach their children to imitate currency when they hatch

Mimics like the ones from Prey (2017)

Four owls in one's dream is a sign of witchcraft

A firearm that requires hit dice / spell slots / magic dice to fire

Lunar Witches (and by extension, potentially lycanthropes) can hear the moon humming (crying?) to them

POSITIVISM IMPLIES FINALITY // YOU ONLY SPEAK OF LIES // OPEN WIDE

The Solaine have a guilty pleasure of drinking blood tinctured with drugs (what kind?)

"I could wake up as a hundred different people, and it wouldn't change a thing."

The borderline is visibly drawn, strewn with blood and gore

Grinders: Body-Modders

WE ARE NOT MANY / / YOU ARE FEW / / THE GRAIN THINKS ITSELF THE MOUND

Training yourself to have object-permanent dreams

Cogphtram: a drug that makes you perceive yourself as another person

...Do Liches learn to control all their bodily functions by getting super stoned?

FLAW: "I hate people who are in the same position as me"

The imps were not created with telepathy; it was earned, and it can be removed (albeit over generations)

Hypatia was the first of the angels to step foot on Séraphine, perhaps? Importance lies in the fact that the first angel was a devil

A monster that changes intent every time it takes damage

FLAW: "There must be no copies of me. Not reflections, no records, no exceptions"

A calling card that constructs itself out of the victim's blood, either as an object or a puddle

"Rabbit, why must we drink from the bottom of the glass?" / / "Too much tea is bad for your teeth, dear Alice!"

A lightsaber which balances on the shoulder like a greatsword

Third-Leg Magik philosophy

Emotional sign systems

Calling barracks "tombs"

Seeing a group of witches for the first time is a terrifying experience:  whispering cacophonies from identical shadows

Airports are fae space

A giant, cylindrical lake at the bottom of a dense jungle gully

An Electric motor in a spaceship that throws thousands of incredibly dense orbee-like balls behind it

"I know people worry they’ve lost too much blood. Don’t worry, you keep making more. Just like tears."

Nailing copper nails into trees to stop them from (re)growing

Iridovirus

Dragons prevent space travel through violence and desolation—Mars was only the beginning, shattered to bits by falling stars

A drug that can't be taken during the day / at sundown

Fungal creatures, using bodies as hosts/greenhouses, would be about as temperature-resistant

The greatest claim any self-proclaimed [enchanter] could make is that they were miraculously immune to propaganda

"See that guy over there? I killed him yesterday, and he doesn't even know it yet"

Goldfish acknowledge space—humans track it

Alright Ramblers, Let's Get Rambling (Rant Post, Hello 2024!)

 This isn't anything like my usual posts on here. But, seeing as I haven't posted anything in almost a year, I feel as if I have an opportunity to live up to this blog's name. So, what's on my mind?

I'm a really big fan of war games. More than that, I've always been a fan of the simulation aspect of war games. There's something about an attention to detail, not just in terms of mechanics but in the literal attention that is required from the player, that intrigues me. Sadly, like plenty other interests, I suffer from a severe lack of experience in the medium. I also suffer from a lack of skill. They're related, but not like you think.

A big issue of mine is "putting your money where your mouth is". Although I will spill buckets from my mouth about a given topic, or how much I enjoy thinking about that topic, or what I'd like to do within that medium, rarely do I actually live up to this standard. It's not a standard at all, really—simply describing who I am or would want to be—but it's nonetheless frustrating. Want to role-play as a particular character in an RPG? Good luck getting me to maintain the illusion for very long. How about sticking to a rule set or immersing yourself into a book / game / other medium? Better outcomes, in bursts, while suffering the same degradation in the long-term. Maybe you should write an adventure, or run a campaign, or start writing in a routine again! Doesn't that sound great?

...Yeah, about that...

My point is that it upsets me. I could spend centuries trying to rationalize why it happens or where it comes from (my ADHD diagnosis last year notwithstanding), but ultimately I don't think that matters. Who cares where it comes from? I've had to deal with this sort of thing since childhood, medication hasn't magically fixed the problem, and I've obviously not uncovered a good coping mechanism for it.

Yet in spite of these very real feelings, I continue to play war games. I still play RTS games, I still get upset at simulators, and still do I daydream about the various scenarios that I could craft, re-enact, or run for others. For myself as well, of course, but this feels like it falls into a bucket similar to writing: I have so many ideas, and so much more that I'd like to do with them.

Why do I bring any of this up? For one, because I can, but also because I've spent much of my waking time this year trying to not do nothing and still failing. I could go back several years and argue the same, but screw that noise. I bring this up because there's only one good reason.

I Want Control Change

Mucho Texto, enjoy some compensation
Art by Fishiibo

Now ain't that something we've all heard before? 

Change is a complicated topic. It isn't instantaneous, by which I mean that change is a gradual process, rather than an immediate shift in being, but it seems anytime I see change referred to it's spoken of as if it were immediate. Whether in fiction or non-fiction, I often find change described as both a catalyst and as the sum of its parts. What I mean by that is the "spark", the "moment of change", is always given the honor of being 'the moment things changed.' That past tense is very important to me. Why? Because it wasn't the moment of realization that made things different—it was the aftermath. 

I realize that this is ridiculous, unnecessarily pedantic, and even plain stupid, but hear me out for a second. "Change" as we often describe it, on an individual level, is nothing more than an idea. It is a thought, a light bulb, an 'aha!' which informs our actions. But it isn't the idea that actually changes things, is it? Outside of fiction, where a character's written thoughts directly affect their next move—you would drown if you took a shot for every work whose protagonist suddenly refused to defeat their villain in the final battle—'what we think' can hardly be rephrased as 'what we do'. Because that would be ridiculous, no? If judgements were carried out based on people's thoughts rather than their deeds, not on action but on word, mental word, wouldn't we be in a whole heap of shit? That means it isn't our thoughts that change the world, but our actions. I can think of all sorts of philanthropic shit to do, but if I never actually do any of it, I might as well have never brought it up.

Maybe I'm just nitpicking. I could be making a mountain out of a mole hill, one that only I care about, but what speaks to me is how appropriate it is. I have spent years now trying to formulate a schedule for myself, desperately trying to design and then follow a routine which works for me. I have tried planners, timers, and reward systems. I have tried setting breaks, crafting personalized deadlines, and daily goals. I have tried damn-well everything to what seems like zero effect...

...and yet I've changed, haven't I? In many ways I'm still the same, yes; I still hold many of the same struggles as years prior, but there are places where I have changed. There are differences in my thoughts and in my actions, things which may not have been intentional, but were nonetheless adopted in my struggle to achieve other goals. I never noticed these things they were a part of me.

Things change gradually, but is it always so secret?

I wonder what it feels like to be somebody else. In living their life, which decisions are easy or hard? What does it feel like to sit down and do something? To decide that there are things which must be done and tasks which must be met? What are their habits like? Are their routines always a conscious decision, a meticulously placed puzzle piece, or do they simply carry themselves to do it? Muscle memory is one thing, but what about the mind? Do they feel the draw to dissociate, to stare into space? Do they heed the call of the void?

I can ask these questions forever. I know because I have, in drafts far older than this one, which will probably never see the light of day. Part of why I would like to be different through posting this one is my desire to break this cycle. I want to put my money where my mouth is, I want to follow my own advice. Yet every time I try to crack down on these issue they sprout right back up, like dandelions. 

I know better than to desire "change". Change as an object, as a kind of particle, is useless. It's worse than useless, namely because change alone doesn't do anything. Change requires an intention. More than that, change requires a will behind it, because real change does not come from the idea, but rather the desire to make that idea a reality.

This might all be obvious. I am aware of that, but awareness alone isn't going to cut it.

Esprit de Corps 

I don't want things to be easier, I want it to be fair
Artist Unknown

In the tireless fight to get my shit together, one thing that I have become increasingly aware of is that I have basically zero support network when it comes to making art. I have friends, hell, I have artistic friends, not to mention being part of all manner of online creative communities... so it seems extra weird that I don't interact with any of them. I've tried to make a conscious effort to be involved in these sorts of things, y'know, engaging with other people's work and sharing your own, but for some reason it's always a goddamn struggle. Why is that? 

Maybe it's a lack of praise? I would think not, since I've argued before about the balancing act between making art for yourself and making art for others, but I also wouldn't put it past me. A lack of attention? Similar concept, but I do rarely feel the need to share stuff that I should want to share, and that definitely wasn't always the case.

I don't even TALK about what I might be working on.

I'm still trying to figure this one out. I'm trying to figure all of these out, honestly, but I like to assume the best of people. Solving these problems shouldn't include a blaming game.

Boulder Up A Hill

One must imagine Sisyphus happy. I sure do, because if he can make the most out of literal hell, then maybe I'm not too screwed. As I've mentioned in parts scattered throughout this post, I am not a very big fan of the endless two-way cycle. Either I try to stick to a routine, pushing myself and failing to establish a cycle of things I enjoy (or claim to enjoy) doing, or I don't. Choosing not to attempt a cycle leads to either figuring things out on a day-by-day basis, which I am objectively terrible at, or a worsening of my mental health. Why does my mental health worsen? Because I'm not trying to figure my shit out, of course!

Is there really a 'shit' to figure out, though? Arguably, yes, but it's certainly not some ten-step plan or yellow brick road. There is no one true path to success, and by no means do I have any delusions of grandeur about that, but that still means that I can try to develop a cycle which works for me. 

I haven't made much progress.

But that's why I am writing this! Sure, writing it has been largely a stream of consciousness over the course of four hours. Yeah, I desperately want to delete whole paragraphs in search of the perfect word, or I could delete everything and pretend like this article never existed. It doesn't affect anyone else that I do these things, only me, but it makes things difficult. irritatingly difficult. 

I could stare at this page for another four hours and find another dozen unrelated topics to ramble about. Would that be a good idea? I don't know, but maybe it would be therapeutic. I could also leave it until tomorrow, to which I say that that's a bad idea, since I know that I would delete this draft the moment I remember it exists.

I don't know if the person I wake up as is the same as the person who went to bed. I'd like to imagine it isn't, though, because that means that I actually have the capacity to change my mind about something. Even if I'm not aware of it, maybe one of these days a version of me will forget about one of their bad quirks, and a more desirable one will slither into its place. That requires that I still put in the work, though, both as this new person and who I am now. 

I think that I can do the right thing. For my sake, I have to believe it. 

In Unrelated News

Howdy! Like said, definitely an unorthodox post. Good chance you skipped this in its entirety, or you skipped to the end, to which I say that I don't blame you! Life is hard enough as it is without some internet stranger airing their dirty laundry in your face. If you did read to the end of this post though, hello there! Also, thank you. I appreciate your commitment. Was the reading any good?

More appropriate posts in the future! When? Hell if I know, because I'm writing this post all in one sitting! I know damn well that if I try to make up some deadline here it'll be ignored and/or I'll fail to meet it, so instead, I'm going to make a vague written promise. If I could make a pinky promise online—can I?—it would make this a tad extra serious.

 I'm still alive, still world-building, and most of all, I'm still dreaming! Let's hope that this post is a sign of clearer skies. Will it be? I have no idea, and I don't wish to jinx myself, but let us hope for the best.

Go Go Gadget, Post!