Bestiary V: The Court of Shadows

Darkness lies beyond the countless gateways of the Silent City, but there is so much more there than a mere absence of light.

 (edit 12/03/2024: I used AI to make the images in this article before I realised how morally bankrupt the whole thing was. I'm not going to delete them but I am going to point out that the generative AI industry isn't far from a form of modern slavery. It's hollow and awful. Stealing work from artists and using that stolen work to train an algorithm is short-sighted, foolish, and basically evil.)

The Shadow is a rightly feared foe in D&D, but I wanted to create something a little more all-encompassing to reflect the idea that, when the light fades, the dark is all there is.

Thus, the Court of Shadows. It is many things- incorporeal horde, security system, location, even a transit system.

Living Darkness

 People tell stories about the darkness within the walls of the Silent City- the place where the dead lie eternal. Those who have been there - who have walked its hallowed paths and seen its sacred chambers - they say that the dark there is deeper, more profound. It presses down on you like a weight, dimming the flame from your lamp and enfolding your senses. In the deep and forgotten parts of the great tomb city, amongst crumbling stones and inches of cold dust in flickering torchlight, you could almost be convinced that the shadows themselves are alive. Watching.

 You wouldn't be entirely wrong.

 

 

 The Silent City's history stretches far back into the forgotten depths of time. Countless thousands of dead have gone to rest within its walls, and the Court of Shadows is comprised of the very oldest of its denizens- those numberless who have become naught but air. Although the dead may take great pains to preserve their bodies, slathering themselves with pungent medicines, exotic oils and spices, there is nothing that can halt the march of time entirely. Every being succumbs, whether in ten years or ten-thousand. Skin turns to fine paper, crumbling in the breeze. Cold bones become scattered dust. The spirit itches, the mind wanders. Shadows are the remnants of dust left behind after a body finally loses its struggle with the immense weight of time.

 This disembodiment does something strange to the mind and the senses- an unanchored abstraction. Unfathomable depths of shadow exist wherever light does not fall- in the infinitesimal cracks between ancient stones, or in the mountainous immensity under the very earth itself. This is where they make their home, their cities within the city. Shape, size, and even time become meaningless in this new dimension of thought. Affairs of the material world hold little significance. The Shadow Courts are not evil, merely indifferent.

 Except, that is, when the living intrude upon their quietude. The light of the living offends all amongst the dead, and the Shadow Courts most of all.

 

 

 Within the walls of the Silent City, the Shadow Courts have an ancient and powerful mandate: they uphold the antediluvian laws of the Corpse Lords, they decide who stays and who goes. It is to the Shadow Courts that people leave their offerings, their tithe for passage into the city. All the riches both permanent and perishable- gold and the rubies, the beautiful shells of seldom-seen molluscs, edible delicacies from far and wide, baskets of petals, tomes of knowledge, the temporal and spiritual riches of a life lived in pursuit of a single goal- quietude behind the hallowed walls.

 When the dead are brought to the threshold, the Shadow Courts seethe into being. The black mist gathers and forms itself into indistinct, silent figures, sombre as mourners at a graveside. Borne upon palanquin and carried by pallbearer through the great doorways into the tombs, the dead make their way beneath the immense archers, the portals which guard passage into the resting places, into the crypts and catacombs, the monuments and mausolea which comprise the city's most sacred houses of repose. And when they do, the Shadow Courts are there, huddled around the stone columns, gathered beneath the ancient arches and lintels.

 The verdicts that they give are final, and many petitioners (the so-named applicants who wish to be granted entry to the city) find themselves turned away. Despite the assurances of many who wish to profit from these pilgrimages, none can truly know the whims and requirements of the Court of Shadows.

 As the Courts make their inscrutable way through the city's dark and empty streets to observe the offerings of petitioners, a chill wind marks their passing, and the sibilant cacophony of a thousand whispers fills the air. If travellers wander there without permission, they would do well to hide from the cold winds that blow, from the black mist, and from the long, uncast shadows which float across the cobbles. Else, they might quickly find themselves put on trial, and a trial can be difficult against plaintiffs so old that they know every precedent and verdict ever uttered.

 Like their solitary counterparts, the Shadows, the Court can move through any gap through which air can pass. Unlike their solitary counterparts, the Court is able shrink or grow to fill any size of chamber. A coalescence of the Court can be a rapid thing- one moment, interlopers might be roaming through the deep, forgotten corridors and chambers. In these places, light falls softly from far above, through skylights, through layers of dust spinning through the air. It is utterly quiet. And the next moment, shadows slide upwards and obscure everything. The air becomes thick with seething, dark mist. The interlopers find themselves amongst crowds of black-robed figures. Their senses are bombarded by darkness and a chorus of hissing, muttering voices. Amongst the whispers, they hear allegations like:

 Intruder,

 Trespasser,

 Outsider,

 Begone!

 Blinded and deafened, the accused feel themselves being jostled forwards to some unseen place. Those amongst the accused with keen senses in the dark might see aged figures clad in a swirling mass of dusty, decaying finery- the regalia of office which these beings wore in life now projected into their insubstantial forms.

 

~

 Fighting the Court

 You may wonder how it is that a person fights against such a foe. They have no corporeal body, and so cannot be harmed easily by conventional means. Like other incorporeal undead they may be harmed by magic - such as enchanted weapons and magical radiance - but doing so would prove ultimately futile, not to mention dangerous. With the disintegration of their physical bodies comes an equally diminished physical presence. They lack the strength to manipulate the world in the same way as they once could. A solid door and even a bright lamp might be able to keep them at bay for a while. However, then they do get their ghostly hands on their targets, this mass of shadows attacks in a similar way to solitary shadows, draining strength and energy like the cold of the grave itself. Except in this incarnation, they can expand to encompass any size of room. Mechanically, I suppose that could translate to them being any size from, let's say huge all the way to colossal, depending on how big and dark the room is. They can manifest in the open air too, but perhaps in a more limited way- only being able to mimic the shape of a crowd of humanoid figures, a sea of dark robes.

 Even if bested in this way, the Court of Shadows is not truly gone. They will reform in a few short hours, and by the next nightfall they will again be at full strength. The Courts are likely to know the location of the intruders if they remain in the city, and the next time they appear, they may bring with them one of the City's feared Arbiters- a far more corporeal threat (more to come on those another time).

 

 (Note- If you want to make this creature work in D&D, then have a look at the Book of Hordes on GM Binder. I've found it to be basically great for this purpose. But I'd like to give the disclaimer that in this case, a horde enemy isn't merely lazy GMing- the whole point is that this creature is a collective consciousness, something large and amorphous and communal. PLUS when combined with the Arbiter (coming up), the combat encounter could be very nasty indeed. You'll see why. Give the horde 4 attacks and 12 times the hitpoints of a regular shadow, but don't increase their strength (contrary to what the book suggests). Make anyone inside the horde subject to saves to avoid becoming deafened and blinded, and give them the ability to change their size to move through any space and fill any room, and you're basically there.)

 

 

 Encountering the Court of Shadows on their own terms, in accordance with the laws of the Silent City, is more like testing one's powers of persuasion. The accused must prove that they are not trespassing within the walls, and that they have come to the city on legitimate business. This may even be true. Many come to the city on pilgrimage to the tombs of their ancestors, or to leave a prayer and a candle in one of the great halls, and it is all too easy to become lost in its twisting streets, alleys, and corridors.

If this trial goes well for the defendant, the Court of Shadows is likely to tolerate their presence for a time, perhaps until their next visit. The darkness recedes, the whispering ceases, and silence returns. The Court of Shadows cares little if the vindicated party does indeed go on to loot and pillage the tombs of the dead. Their abstract requirements have been satisfied.

 That said, if the defendant is found to be guilty, a wholly different fate awaits them. It is within the ability of the Courts to transport a person temporarily into the plane of shadow and, in doing so, whisk them away to another location within the Silent City. While there they see a wholly different version of the city- a vision from the past mingled with that of the present, all dark and crumbling and warped, entangled with twisting roots and tendrils of shadow. That is, if such a thing as the plane of shadows exists in your campaign. If not, then some other explanation might suffice. Perhaps they can transform someone into the stuff of shadow itself for a time, rendering them immune to the normal laws of the physical world, able to move in the shadow way. They must pass some kind of strength test or find themselves transported at great speed. If the Court of Shadows is unable to best them fully, the defendant may be taken to the nearest gate out of the city and deposited unceremoniously at the foot of it. However, if the Courts pass the ultimate verdict, the defendant may be transported elsewhere...

~

The Deep Chambers

 

There are places in the Silent City where even the dead cannot go. Sealed and forgotten, the Deep Chambers form the city's lowest and most ancient layer. To find oneself here is to face wandering through ruined, empty rooms for the rest of one's life. Light from above still reaches some of these rooms, though the distance it has travelled renders it cold and wan. The walls are sheer, and the ceilings are high. Without climbing equipment, there is little hope of escape. There may be riches here beyond imagining- the first and greatest of the dead made this their home, along with their wealth and their knowledge. However, with nowhere to take them, all the riches in the world are for naught.

 

 

Perhaps, here of all places, a roll table is required. What room awaits after hours of wandering through empty corridors? What doorway is peered through in passing? Feasibly, upon transportation to the Deep Chambers, players could end up directly in one of these types of room. There would be little point trying to form a coherent or cohesive map of the Deep Chambers from this table alone, as they represent isolated points of interest interspersed amongst seemingly endless subterranean streets and corridors- places of note between nonspecific routes and choices of left or right, and so on.

Roll on the following table for each hour a group spends wandering through the Deep Chambers:

D100 Deep Chambers-

A number with 1 factor- In this room, piles of bones have been stacked as high as the ceiling, but these bones are unlike those of any human. They are a full ten times larger, almost tree-like in their scale. Perhaps there equally scaled grave goods- necklaces with beads of carnelian and malachite the size of a man's fist, and golden coins as large as dinner plates.

A number with 2 factors- This room contains a deep fissure which descends further than eyes can see- even those with darkvision. It may divide the room in two. Or perhaps the floor simply stops. Dropping something down it results in echoing crashes for a good few minutes, growing quieter until it can no longer be heard. If a lit object is dropped, it falls and ricochets off the walls until it can no longer be seen. There is no discernible bottom.

A number with 3 factors- This room is stuffed with crooked shelves, some of which have crumbled to nothing but splinters. But others are crammed with books and scrolls and tablets of all kinds. If any of these languages had been spoken in the last ten thousand years, or perhaps if anyone had the time to translate them, the knowledge within might be of great interest to a scholar. Histories, treatise on magic, usable spells. Fortunately, those wandering in the deep chambers have nothing but time.

A number with 4 factors- The room is particularly grand and large, but otherwise empty. Perhaps you find yourself in a long, tall gallery flanked by deep alcoves, or a wide circular chamber with a domed roof, or perhaps a chamber filled with thick, tree-like columns which hold up crooked arches. You wade through thick dust. Brittle stone pops and crumbles beneath your feet. Particles drift down like sparse snow from the vaulted ceiling overhead, and your shuffling footsteps echo back at you from strange angles.

A number with 5 factors-  This chamber has suffered a catastrophic collapse. Huge blocks of masonry lie in heaps, the floor smashed to bits. Above is a gaping hole through which sunlight streams, a wound in the skin of the Silent City. High above, perhaps a hundred meters or more, the sky lies open. Whatever used to be here is now underneath tons of rock. Climbing over the ruins is possible, but what would you even find on the other side? More endless corridors and grey dust? Though perhaps the rubble has left a rough path upwards, for the skilled climber.

A number with 6 factors- There are large clay urns scattered throughout this room. Many of them are empty. Some of them are smashed or crumbled. Fewer still are sealed with mud or wax. Inside there may be rancid wine, or perhaps some small riches - corroded metal coins which are probably no longer legal tender, or semiprecious stones like amethyst and quartz. Or perhaps there is nothing in them but more dust.

 

A number with 7 factors- This room is tall and cylindrical. A spiral staircase winds around the wall, and many open doorways are dotted up the length of it, leading into the rock. Each doorway is barred with rusted iron, and leads to a cell little more than a metre squared. Some of them are empty, some of them contain one or more mouldering skeletons. In one of them, however, languishes one of the unquiet dead- a corpse which has clung to animus through sheer will alone. This person may be dangerous, or they may be amenable to conversation. But after such a long time, there is little chance of them being entirely sane. Perhaps they know a way out. Perhaps there is a deal to be struck.

A number with 8 factors- Upon the walls of this room are intricate murals and written texts which, though faded and worn, tell stories about lost and forgotten histories. Perhaps they are carved into the stone, or painted with ancient pigments in shades of red and brown. Animals which no longer exist cavort across the walls. Names and words unspoken in millennia are written beneath. These would be of immeasurable value to those who study such lore. Perhaps a skill increase can be given to those willing to study them.

A number with 9 factors- Water, dripping endlessly from the ceiling of this room, has formed a beautiful forest of stalactites. The calcite formations reach downwards like pale fingers.

A number with 10 factors- A spring wells up from the floor of this room. The water bubbles up through cracks, and pools in the centre of the chamber. Perhaps there are little patches of moss or lichen growing where light falls onto the flagstones. If passing wanderers feel so inclined, they could drink from the spring with no ill consequences. The water is sweet and cold.

A number with 11 factors- There are no numbers between one and one-hundred with eleven factors. Isn't that fun?

A number with 12 factors- A tomb. A sarcophagus atop a raised dais lies in the centre of this room. The sarcophagus is of stone, large and solid. A recumbent effigy of the interred is carved into the lid. The carving is perfect, peaceful, even beautiful. Inside the stone casket could be vast riches- the funerary regalia of a long-dead lord or lady, high priest, or even a monarch of some kind. However, they are likely to be in there themselves, and probably wouldn't take kindly to being disturbed, let alone burglarized.

Consecutive even-factored rolls- If two even-factored numbers are rolled consecutively, roll one more time and combine the two rolls into a single room. For example, after rolling at 34 (4 factors) and finding an empty room, the players continue to wander. In about an hour, they stumble upon another room. I roll a 49 (10 factors) and they find a chamber with a spring of clear, sweet water. Because I rolled another even-factored number, I roll again and get an 84 (2 factors), indicating that the floor of this room has a fissure or chasm in it. The spring water runs over the edge of this chasm and falls endlessly into the void. Perhaps they can hear it echoing up from below as it splashes down over the side, turning to spray before it ever reaches the bottom.

Consecutive odd-factored rolls- If consecutive odd-factored numbers are rolled (e.g., if a number with 5 factors is rolled, then a number with 9 factors) then the next room, in addition to its rolled content, contains some kind of staircase, mechanical lift, roughly-hewn tunnel, or easily scalable shaft which allows players to ascend (or descend) to another level of the city. Depending on how you are feeling, you could allow the players to escape the Deep Chambers entirely this way.

Perhaps players can also find their back to a previously visited room with a successful intelligence or wisdom check. It takes a number of hours equal to half the number of rooms visited so far, to reflect them knowing the way more directly instead of simply wandering aimlessly.

 

(n.b. This roll table is not meant for practical use unless you have another table of numbers from 1-100 ordered by number of factors. Sorry not sorry. Perhaps if you don't like that you could pre-generate a map based on some handy city-building mechanic like this one on the Last Gasp Grimoire site and then chuck in some more empty chambers for a laugh. I love that site, it's nuts.)

~

I have decided not to include any combat encounters in the previous table because I think it would be interesting to try and run a nonviolent escape session. Feel free to include some monsters if that's what you're after, but I wonder if something a little more puzzling and less hair-raising wouldn't be better or at least more fitting. There is no immediate fear in the Deep Chambers. There is only an interminable, existential kind of dread that you may never be able to find your way out. And that if you do manage to escape, the Court of Shadows will find you once more. Next time, they may not be so lenient.

 

Wrapping Up

 

This ability of the Court of Shadows to move people around within the Silent City has some interesting implications for those who pursue the agenda of the dead, for those who are in league with them. Sometimes, the Corpse Lords turn to members of the living to carry out their will. Sometimes, the living are invited into the Silent City to serve as agents of the eternal kings and queens who govern there. If the players carry some kind of writ from the Corpse Lords, perhaps the Shadow Courts can act as a kind of guide, able to ferry players to where they need to be rather more quickly than their legs could carry them. They would be able to take players from gate to gate, so that the Silent City acts as a metro system, of sorts. Perhaps they might even be able to take players to some vague place within the city, for example a vast library or treasure vault. The Shadows care little for the affairs of mortals, only that the laws are followed to the letter. To the uninvited, the place behind the walls is a forbidding realm- the threat of eternal imprisonment looms round every corner. But once in league with the Silent City, the Shadow Courts can be the ultimate conveyance, able to deliver a person to the very threshold of their wildest dreams.

However, all this is to be said only of the Shadows which reside within the Silent City itself. There are those afflicted by the unquiet sickness who slip away from the collective body of the Courts and pursue their own agenda. They slide solitary beneath doorways and through keyholes in the dark, seeking to extinguish the light of the living wherever they find it, for it wounds them deeply. These are the lonely silent killers which lurk in darkness. There are a number of creatures I've mentioned in this post somewhat tangentially- the Arbiters, the solitary shadows, petitioners denied entry to the Silent City, possibly more. I'll be writing about all of these in turn. But this post needs to end; it's becoming unwieldy.

As with the last post, I used Midjourney to generate the images, so if you're curious about the prompts and methods I used, get in touch with me on reddit - u/W-R-St - because for some reason I can't get post comments to work on blogger any more.

Peace,

Orlaster

Bestiary IX: Eaters of the Dead

 

 (edit 12/03/2024: I used AI to make the images in this article before I realised how morally bankrupt the whole thing was. I'm not going to delete them but I am going to point out that the generative AI industry isn't far from a form of modern slavery. It's hollow and awful. Stealing work from artists and using that stolen work to train an algorithm is short-sighted, foolish, and basically evil.)

The edicts of the Silent City are unsurpassed in all matters. This is the First Law Of the Dead.
Death repeals all mortal trappings. This is the Second Law of the Dead.
~
When one dies one rises, as a god to the living, above and beyond the preoccupations of the crowded public. An eternity inside the walls of the Silent City beckons.
~
But a ghoul cares neither for the laws of the dead nor of the living, for they belong to neither. They have not died, so they are unprotected by the mandates of the Corpse Lords, and the living cannot tolerate them. They desecrate and transgress without remorse. They are without creed or constitution. Their only drive is a yearning, an aching, for consumption.

 

     The Ghoul is a venerable creature in the world of D&D. Their grimy claws and glistening tongues have been paralysing players for decades. In this post I want to expand the lore around this creature, to make it not simply a singular monster but almost a genus in its own right- a culture, a mythology even. For some context, these stories exist in a world I've been building for some time, but I want them to be something which can slot into any game and provide a slew of gruesome adventures, something truly unsettling worthy of a horror-themed campaign.

 Fair warning, reader, this may be some of the most grim and grotty stuff I've ever written, so there you are. Probably NSFW. A trigger warning for body-horror, disease, death, vivid descriptions and abstract depictions of gore and bones and horrible stuff like that.

Plus, it's a long one, so strap in.

 

~

 The Makings of an Illness

 There is a plague, a curse upon both the living and the dead, a plague which feasts upon the distended body of civilization and picks at the threads of its fraying fabric. The afflicted are scavengers, skirting the edges of towns and villages, lurking amongst darkened woods, languishing in mildewed burrows, skulking through midnight alleys. The ghoul. Inside them burns an insatiable hunger, a craving for flesh. This voracious appetite claws at their insides and drags its tendrils through their minds, turning the ghoul from a thinking, feeling person into a hollow pit of lust and greed. But how does a ghoul come to be? What abominable path must a person tread in order to debase themselves so?

 

"There is power in these bones. Come, sup of them and feel it course through your veins. Taste the dusty potency which lies hidden within. Forget your woes, cast aside your anguish, for a new world awaits you."

-A wise woman amongst the exiles entreats the poor, the hungry, and the desperate.

Fables tell of the power of unquiet bones. Some believe them.

 The affliction, born of poverty and desperation, casts a deathly pall over the land. Those amongst the poor who dream of something greater, who wish for the strength to lift themselves out of their suffering, might venture into the wilds in search of an occultist versed in the ways of magic and medicine. But the gift they seek has a price- a price that will be paid for ever more in the bloodline of the afflicted.

 

 "Shamans and witches amongst those exiled and those common folk who eke out a living tilling fields and cutting wood- they do not see the dead as we do. They do not have the same reverence for the laws of the dead and those who dwell within the walled city. In the untamed wilds, a corpse is a tool rather than a personage of reverence. They see the unquiet, those unfortunate enough to succumb to the madness, and they feel hunger rather than fear- a hunger for power beyond the reach of the living." 

- Excerpt from the journal of  Eliphas Quinn, traveller.

Those who taste even once of unquiet bones cannot forget the sweetness and the sting. It is a drug to them, an exquisite, heavenly remedy which chases away the gnawing, the longing within them.

 

 The call of power is difficult to resist, likewise is the hunger felt by those stricken with famine and starvation. Ghouls are the result of both. For whatever reason, once one commits the unspeakable act of necrophagy, a crime punishable by the most dire and swift of measures, a slow transformation takes place. The disease takes months, perhaps even a year or more to fully ensnare its victim, but although slow, after the illness begins, there is no stopping it. There is no cure. Only a protracted farewell.

At first, the imbiber is filled with a euphoria- a feeling so glorious that it leaves all other experiences a grey and tired husk. A night of revelry and cavorting, buoyed up by almost supernatural vigour.

 But then, tremors wrack the body of the afflicted. They shiver and quake endlessly in the wake of their elation.

 Second, they develop a dark, uncontrollable laughter and a morbid gaze which speaks of a mind burgeoning into insanity. 

 Next, a distaste for normal food. The afflicted will starve rather than resume a conventional diet, and experiences an urgent compulsion to consume flesh, wherever they can find it. This frequently means that household pets are not safe around the afflicted while they remain in the home. Nor are children.

 Once this shaking, laughing sickness takes hold fully, the victim's body twists and distorts with the sheer force these tremors exert- a freakish strength hitherto unknown. They violently cast aside their human adornments, clothes and words and objects, and let their hair grow wild and matted. At this stage the family of the afflicted have no choice but to turn them out of whatever village, town, or other community they have been part of. Shunned from human society to live like an animal.

 

Wracked with agony, the poor afflicted feels their mind and body warping beyond repair.

And after. After scrambling from the town they called home, after being chased away with steel and flame and anger, driven by their own pain as much as their persecution, what results is a feral, flesh-craving, bestial half-human. Cannibals. Scavengers. Like hyenas they wait in groups, chittering and snickering beyond the firelight, their eyes reflecting the flame's glow in luminous green and red. They stoop awkwardly and scrabble amongst the dirt and rocks with ragged nails. They stop and sniff the air for the scent of rot- a day old corpse on the roadside, pale and bloated like them, gums and lips snarled away from its teeth like them, eyes small an sunken like them. But although they take on the appearance of one deceased, they are all too alive. All too familiar with the grief and the misery, the sheer burden of living. The hunger.

 A frenzy of congealed blood and ragged flesh follows. The pack gorges until nothing is left but splinters of bone and a dark stain on the earth. Unsatisfied, but bereft of further feasting, they crawl and lope back to the dank hole which they now call home.

 But there is more to this than just one miserable story...

 

In the wilds, the ghoul makes its cold, damp home amongst mildewed burrows and the roots of trees.

 

~

An Ecology of the Ghoul

Why any sane person would undertake a scientific work to study and classify these loathsome creatures is beyond common understanding, but be that as it may there are always those with tastes which run to the macabre, and curiosities which do not shy away from the morbid. And for those who do look closely, the fabric of this new life unfolds.

- The Wretched Scavenger

 This is the creature that you are familiar with- the creeping, gibbering creature that superstitious villagers fear. The creature of urgent, insatiable hunger. The creature they whisper about in the dark hours before dawn as they make a sign to ward off evil, the one they imagine leaping out on the gloomy track through the wilds, stalking through dense, twisted branches. This is the woeful monster from the stories that eats the dog, eats the children, that digs up the grandparents with its bare hands and eats them too. A crunching and slurping you hear at night, a quiet happy laughter, only to discover it has crept through the window and is feeding on your family.

 It comes alone, it comes in packs, but always it comes wanting warm sustenance, wanting hot liquid blood on its cracked lips. It scurries away once it has gorged, with its arms full of bone and offal and gore. It retreats to secrete its prize away in some dank hole, some odious den in the woods or the sewers, or out in cold fields away from the sight of civilised folk where it can escape the shame of judgement. Its life is not a long one, nor comfortable.

 But this is far from the worst of its kind.

- The Sanguine Cannibal

 Here is a different tale. A fluke? Some freak happenstance or grim fortune? 

 Perhaps it is a mercy that not all who succumb to the laughing sickness lose their minds. When they discover that a diet of unquiet flesh and bones not only satisfies their appetite but also grants them unnatural strength and longevity, they gain new purpose. Though their ways are still abhorrent, they walk a path of sorts. A grave-robber gourmand. A ghoul with aspirations.

 Perhaps it is a mercy that these particular ghouls still possess a shred of their previous life, their tattered thoughts and dreams. When their hunger is satisfied, they can be surprisingly good company. Volatile, but tolerable if in the right mood. Although they still possess the darkened gaze and pallid demeanour of the exile, one might go so far as to call them cultured, comparatively speaking. You may even have met one or two without realising.

 Perhaps it is a mercy that they hunger for sweeter things than warm blood and gristle. It is the cold, saccharine matter of the grave that calls to them, so they may not immediately tear you apart if they meet you on a darkened road. But if they do, you can rest assured that it is for sport, not for nourishment. Maybe it is jealousy. Maybe they miss their days walking in the sun, the music and the taste of fresh fruit. They may even share a joke with you as they wrench limb from limb. It's just their dark sense of humour, you understand. Perhaps it is a mercy. Perhaps.

 

- The Grotesque Mutant

 A ghoul's grasp on their mental sanity is tenuous at best, but the hold they have over their physical sanity is even more precarious. For all the strength and potency that unquiet bones grant, their gift also plants a boiling, seething kernel of mutative energy in a ghoul's soul, a rogue animus which becomes increasingly difficult to resist. As a ghoul consumes more and more flesh of the unquiet dead, that grasp slips ever more through their gnarled fingers. Their form makes less and less sense, until they barely resemble the human that they once were.

 With bloated muscles, warped bones, and blistered shifting flesh, the Grotesque Mutant is a true horror to behold. It is the worst example of what the unquiet sickness of the dead can do to a living being. It is a creature of unbridled derangement, a  hulking, frenzied aberration in whom a ghoul's appetite runs rampant and unchecked. Even their lesser kin are wary of it: a Mutant is just as likely to be found wandering alone as it is lumbering amongst its bethren.

 Thankfully, these creatures are rare. When a ghoul slips into the madness of this further transformation, its lifespan is limited. The mutation does not cease and, once it has become so bloated and rubbery that it cannot stand or move freely, unless it is fed continually by any faithful attendants, it wastes away, dissolving into the earth with disturbing rapidity. Perhaps the ghouls surrounding them relish the opportunity to partake of this rich and exquisite banquet, lapping at the foul froth and foam with abandon. For this reason, this form of ghoul is barely known in all but the most hushed and fearful of circles. But those listening on the wind for the hunting cry of a ghoul pack would do well also to listen for the answering bellow which signals the approach of one of these monsters- a chilling roar which curdles the blood, and sends a numb chill of fear through the guts of even the most hardened warriors.

- The Loathsome Kyriarch

 If the Grotesque Mutant is an example of a ghoul's path veering off into the tangled briars and dark, dead tunnels of incurable mutation, the Loathsome Kyriarch is what results from a long journey down the straight and narrow, so to speak.

Truly harnessing the power of the unquiet, these creatures rise from the ranks of the Sanguine Cannibals and are the undisputed monarchs of ther kind. Casting off the memories of its human life and totally embracing the dark chill of the woods and the taste of grave earth, this beast is the pinnacle of its kind. When a ghoul ascends to the top of its pack's heirarchy, it rules brutally. It gets its pick of the choicest of meats and the most delectable of bones. From this nourishment, it grows huge and extraordinarily strong. It doles out arbitrary and bloody punishment with talons and fangs of cast iron, ripping and tearing with corded muscle and sinews like steel. An order is created- a cruel and vicious order born of raw strength and a will of granite.

These lords amongst flesh-eaters are practically immortal. Their plans run deep and weave together over many years. They scheme and plot to loot the oldest and most delicately preserved of relics from their tombs. Like a fine wine, an old corpse with an excellent vintage is something to be cherished and savoured. And as long as they can sustain themselves with their rather specialised diet, they can endure almost indefinitely.

 It is under the yoke of these wily tyrants that ghouls become more than a simple pest, more than furtive scavengers. When ghouls have a leader, their actions are not simple instinct. Scattered burrows full of mewling wretches come together with common purpose. These monarchs loose the slavering savagery of the ghoul upon humanity. Woe betide a settlement in the path of a Loathsome Kyriarch. After they pass there is nothing left. Ragged curtains flutter in empty windows. Bones, grim bunting strung across the street, clatter tunelessly in the hollow breeze.

- The Morbid Disciple

 A leprous beggar lies in the street with his bowl collecting coins, dreaming of one day walking tall again, proud and strong.

 A homeless street urchin skulks through the rain into an ancient mausoleum, her overwhelming curiosity, and perhaps her desire for a dry sleeping place, finally getting the better of her judgement.

 Who can give these people what they seek?

 Those who possess a destiny, no matter how grim, always attract apostles. Ghouls are no different. The poor and the dispossessed flock to the strong for comfort and for hope. They see the ghoul and they see freedom- they see emancipation from the toil and the hardship of their lives, from the inevitability of death.

 Some of these sorry folk simply wish for a better future, and they cannot see a place for themselves in a society under the eye of the Silent City. They are the ones who do not belong, those broken shards lying scattered on the floor, swept into the street to lie in a gutter or wash down the drain.

Others have already tasted of unquiet flesh and feel the beginnings of the disease shudder through their bodies. Unsteady hands and dark, unhinged, wheezing laughter. Perhaps they seek the wisdom of the ghouls, such as it is, to stave off the worst of the illness- the transformation which turns a person into a feral eater of the dead. They deliver sweetmeats into the hands of the ghouls in exchange for ... what? What tidbits are they offered in return? Are they given empty promises or something more concrete? Crumbs from the banquet table. They do the bidding of the ghouls, stealing into places inaccessible to their masters, in the hopes that they will be blessed with power rather than cursed with agony. The truth is always more of a mixture.

- The Hedge Necromancer

 Who amongst the living can truly understand the dead except one who exists as they do? To this end, there are those amongst the exiles who voluntarily shun the world of the living and embrace cold quietude, communing with the silence in dark tombs. Each of the living has a powerful, inner radiance which is painful for the dead to be near, but these necromancers purposefully stifle the brightness of their waking life with secret mortification rituals, and drift perpetually in a dream-like state. They traverse the daylight lands of the living and delve through the hushed realms reserved for the dead. But although they exist in both worlds, they are not truly part of either. The dead do not trust them, nor do the living. However, despite their status as pariahs, they can be of use.

 The loose group of practitioners known as Hedge Necromancers serve several roles, depending on where they find themselves and what their goals are. These morose figures sometimes act as intermediaries between the two worlds they inhabit. In small isolated settlements far from the Silent City, these services are rare, and although they are not well liked, Necromancers are respected for their skill. They also understand the power of the dead in a similar way to ghouls, and sometimes latch on to more accommodating clans in order to seek out tombs rich with unquiet remains. What they do with these remains is a closely guarded trade secret, but in this endeavour they make enemies of the Silent City just as the ghouls. Misery loves company, they say.

~

 

-Putting Them All Together

In the same way that the sickness progresses, I imagine using this material in a campaign over a series of adventures would start fairly ominously, and would build into a grisly crescendo of dark and majestic proportions. It might go a little like this:

-One

The players stumble upon some strange kind of sickness. A person in the street, in a side alley, looking extremely unwell. Or perhaps lying in a bed, the players having been entreated to do something about it- to find a cure or. Pale, shuddering, chuckling to themselves, they cannot talk coherently and cannot explain their predicament. Perhaps they have to seek a Hedge Necromancer in the wilds who tells them how it is and explains that this person cannot be saved. They then have a pretty tough decision to make.

-Two

The players are escorting a caravan of coffins to their final resting place in the Silent City, and are ambushed by frenzied, naked cannibals desperate to crack open the coffin and sup on the bodies within. The cannibals make off with a number of the coffins. The players must give chase to recover the bodies within and deliver them to their original destination. They Silent City is the most wealthy and generous of patrons, after all.

-Three

An emissary of the Silent City sends word that a band of pillagers has broken through a weak spot in the walls in a forgotten, mouldy borough. When they arrive, the players stumble across a fillthy nest of ghouls feasting on the hapless inhabitants of the tomb city (their peacful rest rudely disturbed), and a deep dungeon delve ensues. They players must cleanse the tomb complex of ghouls before their presence angers the dead and causes even further mayhem. They hear the deep apparatus of the Silent City slowly cranking into motion while ghouls run riot in the streets. This could be interesting because, with all that access to edible matter, the players could witness ghouls transforming into ever more terrifying forms before their very eyes.

-Four

Stories persist of a whole village that went missing several years ago. In the wake of a war, a great famine struck the land and swathes of people in the countryside died or had to resort to rather gruesome means to survive. In recent months, there have been reports of abductions and murders unspeakable in nature. Locals whisper fearfully about gruesome things they have seen or heard out in the woods. After a series of escalating encounters, they find that the chief of the village and the remaining pesants have indeed metamorphosed into a Loathsome Kyriarch and an attendant court of ghouls. Perhaps they have to get the local militia involved to scour the surrounding countryside, find these foul monsters, and do away with them once and for all.

 

~

To What End Is All This Misery?

You may notice that I haven't provided any stat blocks in this post. This is semi-intentional, because I can't really decide which rules set to make them for yet. It's just some evocative writing and vague ideas for now. I'm considering drawing all of this up for D&D, complete with some player races and new classes, but that's a lot of scrawling and I haven't managed it yet. I'm also considering making it compatible with Troika! because I really enjoy that system and its whackiness. If anyone has recommendations or suggestions, I'd appreciate feedback.

There's a lot more of this to come, so if you're interested, watch this space.

The life of a ghoul is a tapestry woven from leafmould and brambles, gilded with dust from a tomb, sewn with needle of piercing bone and thread of greasy sinew.

~

 As part of a closing ramble, it would be remiss of me to avoid mentioning the texts I drew on for inspiration. Both of these books have stuck with me, and it is partly thanks to them that my mind is so full of this weird, twisted rubbish. Though I wouldn't have it any other way.

 The Throne of Bones by Brian MacNaughton is possibly the single most disturbing book I've ever read. The only book which has given me nightmares. It's both wildly imaginative and warped beyond words. Read it if you want but don't complain to me if you find it highly objectionable.

 And Laughing Death: The Untold Story of Kuru by Dr. Vincent Zigas is an absolutely fascinating but also quite chilling book which details one doctor's discovery of a devastating illness. An uncurable, deadly prion disease in New Guinea resulting from ritual cannibalism as part of their mourning process. It's horriffic to read about, and always you must remember that this thing is real. Unlike the horror I prattle on about above, Kuru is a real disease which destroys real lives, which should never be forgotten. Perhaps that is my way of dealing with that- delving into the horror of it and trying my best to understand how awful it must feel. Abstracting something shocking from its reality- maybe that's a good way of moving from an intellectual grasp of something to a more intimate, empathetic understanding.

 Anyway, enough now.

 I don't think these books are very widely available but I managed to get my grubby hands on them so I daresay you could too if you looked hard enough.

Lastly, if you've reached the end and you're still curious about all these cool pictures, here's the secret. They were made using the midjourney ai software and are apparently owned by the author (me). I wouldn't necessarily call them original, but I suppose in a way they are. It's just advanced photobashing, honestly, but I have a feeling this kind of technology will really put a dent in the stock image industry. Use them if you wish but please don't sell them for money, that would be quite uncool. You know what is cool though? Midjourney is cool. Go check it out if you want. You could do that, and then go on an adventure creating gnarly art like I did.* I spent hours on it. Literal hours which segued into days spent thinking up keyword prompts for images of flesh eating cannibal scavengers. Help me please.

I hope that's the end, for now. Maybe my next post will be about butterflies instead.

Peace- O

31/08/2022 edit: I cannot reply to comments on blogger at the moment for some unknown reason. Please do leave one if you feel so inclined, but be aware that I won't be able to respond. If you have a question or just want to get in touch, the best way is via my reddit at u/W-R-St because I'm there all the time.

*I absolutely rescind this opinion. Midjourney is not in fact cool, as I have discovered. It is a tool of enslavement for capitalists to use against human beings in the most callous way possible -- to harvest their humanity and then to package and sell it back to them as a subscription service. (edit 26/01/2024)

Bestiary IV: The Inverted Gorgon

Illustration by author

The hubris of magicians made mercurial flesh, the Inverted Gorgon persists as a warning to arcane practitioners who would seek to reshape their bodies in search of power. In theory, the transformation is not unlike a permanent Polymorph spell, but the Gorgon's search went awry when it made contact with creatures from the chaotic realms beyond the prime material, and now it is cursed with a grotesque and freakish form. Its skin is wet and grey, translucent and rubbery. But you will never see its face. No matter where you stand, no matter how many people surround it, you will see only the back of its head -- a bald, slippery cranium which points directly at any observer at all times. The only indication that it has a face at all is the demented monologue which spills unceasingly from its mouth. Forever babbling, its mood swings wildly to and fro as it laughs, curses, and sobs uncontrollably.

Unnatural form. The Gorgon is a mess of limbs that bend at unnatural angles, sprouting from its torso, forming and reforming. It shifts and rolls like a manic pinwheel as it moves, clawing and grasping, pulling itself through the air as though it were swimming through syrup. Its uncanny gait is not limited to the horizontal plane, and may climb vertical surfaces, even walking upside down without difficulty.

Obsessive Hoarder. Before its transformation, the Gorgon was a wizard with a passion for collecting obscure artefacts and lost knowledge. It continues now, accumulating rare items, scrolls, books, and other oddities from across the planes and bringing them back to its lair. If it encounters players in possession of magical items, it may prefer to bargain for these items instead of fight. It is open to conversation, and speaks haltingly between muffled bouts of gibbering.

Ruined ambition. Just as a reclusive arcanist may establish a laboratory or sanctum hidden away from prying eyes, the Inverted Gorgon may inhabit the ruins of such a place. However, the Gorgon embodies the degradation of a wizard's pride, wearing neglected, filthy robes and little else. They are unwashed and care little for their physical state. They have no care for their surroundings and the places they inhabit are often in a state of total chaos. A tower, once grand and elegant, may have become a leaning ruin. A beautiful library may have become a dusty, moth-eaten wreck.

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