Bestiary III - The Newly Dead

Illustration by author

    The unquiet dead do not often rise quickly from their graves. It can take weeks, months, or even years before those who die begin to feel the stirrings of animus once more. However, for those who have died a  bloody or violent death, the transition to the grips of the unquiet sickness can be brutally swift. Gaping wounds mar their body, still gushing with congealed blood. Their skin is livid, the blotched pink, bruised green, or deep purple-black of the recently deceased. Their limbs hang at awkward angles, hacked and hewn, but their movement is not hindered by dismemberment. They are driven by a vigorous, deathly vitality. In their eyes is a fierce radiance, their sockets ringed by dark insomniac circles. Their minds are torn to shreds by the break-neck speed at which they were pulled from life into death, but they retain enough to remember who they were, and have a certain bestial cunning about them. They suffer from the want, the yearning of the unquiet, the hunger that drives the dead, but theirs manifests in a different way. They do not hunger for the acquisition of wealth, power, or knowledge. The want to bathe in violence and immerse themselves in pain- perhaps to chase away the demons of their own suffering. Their constant, open-mouthed rictus and relentless intensity serve as unnerving hints to the agonies they long to inflict upon those still alive.

A Bloody Demise. People from all walks of life may become branded by the sickness in this manner, but those who deal regularly with violence are more likely to be afflicted. Thugs, petty criminals, and murderers often die in painful ways, as do mercenaries, soldiers, gunslingers, adventurers, and other ne’er-do-wells. The Newly Dead use whatever equipment they may have used in life, albeit more recklessly and with no regard for their own well being.

Violent Delights. The Newly Dead have only one drive: to visit pain and violence upon the living in whatever twisted way they can imagine. They will never shy away from violence, indeed will go out of their way and actively seek it wherever they might be. Similarly, they have no regard for violence inflicted upon themselves. They will not seek to preserve their existence in any way, seeming to enjoy the promise of further mutilation.

Howling Packs. In their hunt to dispense cruelty, the Newly Dead sometimes stumble across others with the same drive. They gather slowly in their masses and then descend like wildfire upon those who lack the courage or the wits to run. And they cry and they shriek and they laugh as they do so. Battlefields become recruiting grounds, and dark alleys become the perfect ambush.

Undead Nature. The Newly Dead do not require air, food, drink, or sleep, although sometimes in quiet moments they may listlessly mimic the things they did before- a meagre shadow of a life once lived. They may take a bite out of a morsel of food before letting it tumble from their lips, or they may stop suddenly to smell the crisp night air, lost in the remnants of a memory.

In the Grips of Sickness. The Newly Dead do not exist for a long time. They burn like a flame and snuff out like a brief candle. They are also particularly susceptible to the runaway effects of the unquiet sickness. They succumb with shocking speed to its mutating force. If it takes hold, it can warp and twist their already mangled bodies, making them terrifying and grotesque, monstrous, before they meet yet another violent end. If this happens, they drop all equipment they have and fly into a senseless bloodthirsty rage, attacking with their bare hands and their gnashing teeth. Their bodies begin to grow, expanding, distended, amorphous and sickening.

The idea with this monster is that it is a template which you can apply to virtually any NPC. The only thing they require is the addition of a few extra rules- Vulnerability to fire and other undead condition immunities, Deathly Vigour, Lifesense, and the optional but recommended:

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Variant: Unquiet Mutation

After taking damage in combat, the dead must make a Constitution saving throw (DC is equal to 10 plus the damage taken). If it fails, it gains 1 hit die and 1d8 temporary hit points. On each of its subsequent turns, regardless of whether damage is taken, the effect happens again- no save is required.

Once this effect has been triggered six times, its size increases to large and it gains 1d6 Strength and 1d6 Constitution. If the effect is triggered a further six times then its size, Strength and Constitution increases again and it adds another +1d8 damage to its Slam attack, and so on. Repeat as necessary.

Size and Strength. While the dead's size is medium, it cannot use its Slam attack. Once it is large, it may make up to two Slam attacks per round. However, it cannot use its other actions.

Slam. Melee Weapon Attack: Strength +2 to hit, reach 5 ft., one target. Hit: 1d8 + Strength bludgeoning damage.

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 This rule ensures that the body horror aspect of the unquiet sickness remains at the forefront of the game. An unspeakable, unceasing, growing monstrosity like something out of AKIRA. A mountain of burgeoning flesh. I magine them a little bit like a mix of that and the Forged from Robin Hobb's Assassin trilogy.

Feel free to use this monster as you see fit. Tweak the rules if you wish, they aren't watertight by any stretch of the imagination.

Peace,

O

Bestiary II - The Shrouded Carrion

Illustration by yours truly

 

Amongst the unquiet dead, there are those who cling to the dark and shun light in the vain hope of quelling the sickness from which they suffer. But the disease is a twisted force, and once it has taken hold there is little which can stop it. Shrouded carrion wander endlessly through catacombs, craggy ruins, and moonlit streets, unable to rest in their tombs for the incessant itching hunger which claws at their minds. The unquenchable want which plagues the dead has rooted in their soul.

They bring with them their burial shroud and clutch it tightly around them. As a memento of their former self, it is a shield to ward away the outside world, but it is not enough. The burning light of the living shines through even the thickest of cloth and scorches them all the same, causing pain and madness, turning them inexorably to violence.

Undead Nature. Carrion do not require air, food, drink, or sleep.

Creeping Assailant. Before combat, a carrion will attempt to hide, gaining an advantageous position to surprise and smother the nearest most vulnerable living creature with their shroud. They swiftly wrap the shroud over their opponent’s head and begin to constrict their face and neck with long, sinewy fingers.

A note about this monster- my initial idea when creating monsters for this project was to make undead a little more interesting. I wanted to make them more varied and potentially quite scary, even at low challenge ratings. There's nothing about the shrouded carrion which suggests they would be difficult to beat in a fight, but their Smother ability makes them a potentially dangerous assailant for the unwary.

 Feel free to use this monster as you wish.

Peace,

O

Bestiary I - The Blubber Golem

 

An illustration of the Blubber Golem by yours truly.

Apostates and pariahs must still practice their craft, regardless of where they are forced to hide. The town of Leviathan Bay provides such a refuge for those who practice the art of golemancy and study the science of anatomy. Those who tamper with animating dead matter are shunned by polite society (and many amongst impolite society too for that matter), and even at the best of times, human tissue is staggeringly expensive. When resources to create their delicate masterpiece are scarce, artificers must content themselves with more inelegant meat. Fortunately, the squalid town has a literal mountain of it. However, what results is often ugly and ponderous. Constructed with greasy matter gleaned from the corpse of the stranded titan, this strange breed of golem is a crude and clumsy assembly. A rubbery mass of tissue, a lipid monstrosity of oily offal imbued with rudimentary motive force. Its bones are shaved and sawed into shape, bound by slippery cartilage into an ersatz skeleton and grafted with waxy flesh. Its gangly limbs jut out at strange angles, and its joints bend to uncanny degrees. It moves with a clumsy, lurching gait and carries the heavy tools of the flesh gangs- an immense meat cleaver, a serrated greatsword, a huge bonesaw, and the like.

The creature's exact shape varies between specimens, but most have a stunted nub of a head atop a hulking and lumpen body. Its hide is heavy and thick, and slick with foul-smelling oil. This provides the creature with a durable and weatherproof skin, but there is little available to grant the construct much sight or hearing. The golem’s sensory organs are a mere gesture towards function. Many have little more than pinholes for eyes, and an asymmetrical gash of a mouth. They are often dressed in simple garments of rope and hessian cloth, or other materials common amongst seafaring communities- seal skin or shark leather.

The following rules apply to blubber golems in addition to the general rules for golems found in the Monster Manual:

Graceless Anatomy. The golem’s body is constructed from unsuitable materials and assembled by an artificer with inadequate knowledge of anatomy. It stumbles as it walks, and its limbs flail as it attempts to balance itself.

Mercenary Muscle. Blubber golems are often brought along as crew on whaling ships, or amongst the flesh gangs- land based scavengers who scour the shores for scraps of meat and oil. They carry the heavy loads, and the heavy weapons. Chopping up large whales requires equally large knives. You may replace the golem's Immense Whale Cleaver with another appropriately huge, appropriately sharp weapon.

Pelagic Memories. Blubber golems are made from the stuff of the sea, and their form unconsciously remembers the feel of water. Although they are slow on the land, they can swim perfectly, with a speed of 40 feet per round. Additionally, when they are fully submerged in water, they no longer count as Clumsy.

 

Feel absolutely free to use this monster in any way you see fit, shove it into your games of nautical nonsense and watery weirdness. I'm going to make a few more posts about monsters I've created and illustrated.

Peace,

O

How Many Words do They Have for the Dark?

https://cosmosmagazine.com/archaeology/neanderthals-live-us/ - The relationship between H. neanderthalensis and H. sapiens is much closer than a lot of people think.

 

Dwarves live underground. Yeah that's cool, but why?

Dwarves are shorter and more beardy than humans. Yeah sure, but why?

Dwarven craftspeople are renowned for their meticulous work. Yeah, but why?!

Dwarves are resistant to poison. Yeah cool but please tell me WHYYYY!!

The people of the dark, our mysterious and taciturn cousins, the Khuzd, as Tolkien termed them. Dwarves, as deemed by the common tongue, come from a world unlike our own. A world of cold and darkness, of shifting shadows and inhospitable crags. In this post I'm going to talk about various anthropological ideas and how we could use them to think about the different races of D&D- in this case, Dwarves. The theories and ideas I'll be touching upon come from human evolution and our close relatives the Neanderthals, the Kula from Malinowski's Argonauts of the Western Pacific, The Gift by Marcel Mauss, and the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis of linguistic and cognitive interrelation.

The Biological

I was first interested in expounding on the history of the Dwarves after reading about how similar they could be to our cousins in the real world- the Neanderthals. With a background in human evolution, it makes perfect sense to me. Neanderthals evolved in the relative cold and dark of ice-age Europe after a migration of an earlier species of Homo found themselves isolated from African and Asian populations by glaciation and a cooler climate. The Europe of half-a-million years ago was, relative to the vast open plains of Africa and the dense hot jungles of Asia, a gloomy and frigid place. Let's move further into the realm of D&D to have a look at the rules which apply to the race, and what this might say about their evolutionary heritage.

 

Dwarves get a constitution bonus of +2. This implies they are tough and robust. From the fossil evidence, we know that the average Neanderthal's body plan is stout and broad, with shorter limbs than their more gracile cousins- perfectly suited to a cold environment. Creatures which are adapted to the cold are often shorter and stockier, with a greater mass to surface area ratio than their warm climate relatives (see Bergmann's and Allen's rules). Not only this, but their Dwarven Resilience rule suggests that they are adapted to an environment of dietary scarcity or scavenging behaviour akin to vultures. It might also suggest that they had to resort to eating poisonous plants or fungi as a fallback food. Fallback foods are what a species relies upon when their preferred diet is unavailable, generally thought as a more effective driver of digestive and masticatory (chewing) anatomy than a species's preferred food source- if you can't survive in times of scarcity, you won't make it to when the good food comes back.

 

The article I referenced above also talks about some of the Neanderthals' other anatomical features, such as a wider nasal cavity (for greater heat retention and warming of the cold air being inhaled through the nose) and larger eye sockets (for better vision in Europe's darker climate). If you haven't read it yet, you should give it a look, it's pretty cool. 

 

Their darkvision ability is a little harder to rationalise, being a somewhat supernatural ability which lets a creature see in total darkness rather than just low-light conditions, but what it suggests to me is that perhaps Dwarves (and other races which can see in the dark- goblins, elves, etc.) possess something like a Tapetum Lucidum- a layer of reflective tissue at the back of the eye which allows the retinal cells to collect more light and thus see more clearly in darkened conditions. It's responsible for that 'eyeshine' effect so often seen when you shine a torch at a cat in the dark, or take its photo. Although absent in primates (that's why nocturnal species like tarsiers have such massive 

eyes instead), given that this anatomical feature is a common mammalian adaptation, there's no reason it couldn't make an appearance in a fantasy setting. Also the idea of Dwarves' eyes catching the light from glowing embers at the edge of the party's campsite is pretty cool. In any case, this adaptation often suggests a nocturnal activity pattern, but for our purposes, it could just as readily suggest a semi-subterranean one.

From the evidence, we might see a pattern emerging which suggests an evolutionary environment of extremely harsh winters- arctic even- combined with the existence of safe havens in the form of massive, sprawling caves and caverns complete with poisonous fungi. Perhaps to cope with the biting cold of winter, this species used underground habitats as shelter. To adapt to the scarcity of this environment, acquisition of poison resistance and a tapetum lucidum allowed them to survive until temperatures above ground increased, even if only marginally. Populations would probably return to the same underground havens year after year, using them as places to live, to raise young, and bury their dead.

We can also see from numerous sources of evidence that Neanderthals weren't the thoughtless primitives that we used to imagine- the mythical 'cave man.' They could engage in complex symbolic thought, created art, and were probably able to use linguistic expression in the same way as humans. In fact we are so similar that there are a number of anthropologists who even consider them the same species as H. sapiens, owing to the evidence that neanderthal DNA is found in human populations to this day. Allegedly, this interbreeding between populations is where we get the gene for red hair, straight hair, increased body hair, red cheeks, and even freckles. Much literature on the topic is still emerging and it's an exciting time for paleoanthropologists and geneticists alike.

The ... Social?

I'm inserting this subtitle because it's a moiety I feel comfortable with, but in reality it isn't as simple as that. There's a gradual segue between the biological and social sides of anthropology. Or in this case ... Dwarthropology?

As you might be imagining, we see an interesting evolutionary context forming. This can function as the basis for an emergent Dwarfish culture. Over time, populations return again and again to these previously mentioned underground winter havens, and they begin to venerate them as sacred places. They regard them as an ancestral home, and those who preceded them have been interred there over the generations. Perhaps contemporary populations imagine or believe they are being watched over by their ancestors, or that these havens are to be guarded- defended from interlopers and strangers. Their subterranean home is both a place to seek sanctuary and a place to be staunchly defended.

Sociality and Survival

 

 During the winter months, these settlements are isolated almost entirely from the rest of the world. No trade happens, no communication. And I would imagine also that because of the fantastic nature of this world, perils from below are just as present as perils from above. Goblins and other snarling, creeping creatures of the deep dark provide a lurking terror for the Dwarves who venture further below. We might also imagine the kind of society which would exist in a place like this. Existing in close proximity for a number of months at a time might require strict rules and codes of conduct for maintaining social order. A tight-knit community which values social cohesion and working together would stand a better chance than one stricken with internecine squabbles- this reflects the D&D rulebook's suggestion that Dwarves favour a lawful alignment. The laws of the hearth, house, and home are sacrosanct, handed down from antiquity.

 

 

 Voyages of Exchange- The Gift and the Argonauts of the frozen north

Two landmark texts of social anthropology, The Gift by Marcel Mauss and Argonauts of the Western Pacific by Bronislaw Malinowski, have an interesting parallel here. Without going into too much detail about the academic side of it, these treatise talk  about economies of gift exchange in paticular societies. One of these happens to be a loose collection of tribes in a place known as the Trobriand islands in Papua New Guinea. These isolated communities take to the seas and sail vast distances, risking their lives to partake in the exchange of trinkets and other goods. The system is known as the Kula ring, and pieces of jewellery make their way in a circuit around the islands, exchanging hands, and linking the gift giver and receiver inextricably, some say for life. The interesting thing here is that this mechanism of exchange, this ritualised gifting, serves to tie loose tribes together and create bonds which foster migration and economic activity between the two, whilst also elevating the status of the one who undertakes the journey within their own tribe.

We might say for our purposes that this Kula exchange appears in Dwarven society too. During the brief summer months, when conditions above ground allow it, a frenzy of activity takes place between previously isolated tribes. They come together, hosting those who travel over the forbidding mountain ranges and through the glacial valleys to give lavish gifts. Perhaps there is a long and deep tradition of hospitality amongst  these peoples. And that these trinkets, the symbolic tokens which mark someone as an experienced traveller, grow in number the more journeys one undertakes. Older members of a tribe might have dozens of bangles, necklaces, beard rings, or some other kind of hand-crafted jewellery inscribed with the names of those who held it before. Perhaps they could even carry good luck wishes for the ones who carry it in the future.

 

Hand-crafted jewellry from the Trobriand islands, similar to that used in the Kula ring written about by Malinowski.

How many words do they have for the dark?

When I studied a bit of social Anthropology at undergrad, I spent a couple of terms thinking about culture, cognition, and linguistics. This corner of a much larger course focused primarily on the difficulty of the Sapir-Whorf hypothesis or, more accessibly, the idea that a person's or a people's language changes the way they think about the world.

This is best illustrated by the old story that Inuits have about fifty words for snow or something like that. Everyone's heard that one, and the explanation is fairly reasonable. People are unsure generally whether this is a myth or not, but it seems like there is at least a grain of truth to it. Because Inuit cultures and languages developed in a cold place with lots of snow, they recognised that there were different kinds of snow and as such their language developed ways of describing them accordingly. It isn't so much that they have many different words for the same thing- I'm not simply talking about a kind of linguistic redundancy- more like they have intricate ways of describing subtle variations in a common phenomenon.

 

A more contemporary version of this might be the many, many different names we have for a nice cup of coffee. Americano, latte, cappuccino, long black, flat white, macchiato, espresso, filter, cortado, etc etc... You get the idea. The variety of language we have for different types of coffee helps us to appreciate the differences between them, and think about the topic in more depth. I'd like to point out my use of the word 'helps' here- we can still think about things without the language to facilitate it, albeit more nebulously. The vocabulary helps us to clarify our thoughts, but lack of language doesn't stop us being able to think something which we can't quite articulate. When I was working in cafes, I would get a little exasperated when people would come up to the counter and ask for "just a normal coffee." There's nothing ab-normal about all these different types of drink, the patron simply lacked the knowledge to discern between them, and regarded them all as a confusing mess. This isn't a condemnation, it's just a meeting of two different schema, two alternate maps of understanding.

To bring it back to the world of fantay, the thing which Dwarves unoubtedly spend their time immersed in is a dark enviroment. They could have dozens of ways to describe different kinds of darkness. Subtle variations in tone, perhaps even varying degrees of near-darkness and colour of light. Accompanying sounds, temperature, moisture level, percieved danger, emotional state of the perciever, smell- these could all contribute to a deep and rich vocabulary which comes from an a appreciation for all things unlit. Simply saying somewhere is "dark" when a Dwarf is in earshot might prompt bafflement or derision. Something like "What do you mean?" To which an uncultured human might reply, "You know, just normal dark. Like, when you can't see anything." The philistine.

Let's end things with a little imaginative delve into types of dark- a literal translation of the Dwarven word, followed by a slightly more detailed description.

Stone-pressing: This word describes the kind of dark where you know you are surrounded on all siddes by impenetrable walls of solid, metamorphic rock. Stones which have been still since the beginning of time, pressed and crushed into a form so strong and dense that nothing in existence can move them. There is no sound except your own breathing, the beating of your own heart, blood rushing through your ears. There is no movement of air, it is just closeness, stillness. A kind of peace. In the language of the Dwarves it sounds almost like the word for home.

Young-billow: The feeling of cold seeping into the ends of your toes and fingers, the tip of your nose. Cold, fresh air moving slowly through enormous space, but not being in the space itself. The air carries with it the feeling of immensity, and the darkness resonates with the orchestral echoes of frozen dust and cave clouds whispering as they wash over themselves. Many Dwarves say this darkness makes them feel invigorated, like a human might if they went walking on a crisp winter morning.

Rising-scalp-warmth: In the dark, when you can hear the dripping of a single water droplet, incessantly and unceasingly. Often when you are trying to sleep.

Beard-curl: When you can smell green things growing around you and the air is cool and wet with the breath of plants and mould and mushrooms. When there is soft earth beneath your feet and moss between your toes. You can almost see the stuff of the darkness itself swirling around you like a chilly soup. Tiny droplets of water spinning in a ballet.

Wall-mouthing: The feeling of hearing a living creature moving or talking far away. Distant echoes from uncertain directions. The sound reverberates through the darkness, and the direction feels fuzzy. This can be a comforting feeling, or a confusing and terrifying one.

Neck-cloth: In the silence when you hear a quiet shuffle of somethig moving nearby when you previously though there was nothing there. It is darkness enflamed with intense and sudden fear. A feeling which makes you want to dissipate into mist.

Far-shaping: When you are walking and in the distance you catch a glint of something- a glowing fungi, the shine of the water's surface, the sheen of precious metal, and your own movement allows you for a split second to see the full hugeness of the space you are moving in. A sense of visual depth or distance in a world where depth is otherwise defined by sound, touch, or smell.

Grey-rub: When you know that, however slowly, the rocks around you are moving. You can feel time pushing with immense weight and the rocks around you begin to feel almost like liquid. Perhaps you can hear them creak, crack, and groan as you sit in silence, or wander through deserted tunnels through the heart of the earth itself. Perhaps you can hear rivers of clear water flowing in forgotten places. It is a spiritual feeling. A connectedness.

I'm sure there are many more. I don't think my clumsy descriptions and literal translations have quite done justice to the subtle poetry that are Dwarven words for the dark.