Thursday 28 March 2019

Session 216 - The Poisoned Years (Do Not Let Us Die In The Dark Of This Cold Winter)

Behold! Thirteen long and harrowing years following the end of the world.
Carter's really pulled out all the stops on this one - see attached pdf.

I'll copy-paste the text into this email too in case you prefer to read it like that, but the pdf even has a cool yellowed paper effect!


In summary:
10 groups of survivors, so approx 500 people survive in New Moondin.
That's a hell of a genetic bottleneck, especially since it's not all humans, but populations have grown from much worse!

New Moondin got a bunch of upgrades too, making it a real good hub town!

New Moondin Upgrades:
Blood Sweat & Prayers: The Powerchurch-slash-gym run by the Ex-Drakencult worshippers of POWERLAD. Purify yourself here through gains.
Church of Snels: The old Nonanist church taken over by the Snelsmen who follow in Snels' prepper footsteps.
Crafting District: Workshops and forges which will allow you to convert interesting materials into "cool stuff" - basically where you can bring monster parts or dead angels or whatever to have them turned into bombs and items and other cool shit.
Creeper Fields: Large protected fields with many mills run by a bunch of preppers. +1d6 Resources in Spring.
Hive Quarter: Legitimately rad-looking geometric-pattern Blood Honey hives built over the original graveyard. Blood Honey is now a Common Drug.
In Time of Mead: A fortified tavern. New Moondin counts as a Capital for carousing purposes.
Main Dome: The combined warehouse and goblin bank. Like Gringotts plus Argos. Exchange different types of currency here and open bank accounts. New Moondin counts as an Urban settlement for item list purposes.
Museum-Amphitheatre: Honey Healing-run museum and theatre, so as not to forget the old world that was. Bring old world items here to get double cash and exp. It belongs in a museum!
Spider Temple: Run by the Spider-Priests, who run this as a temple and a communications hub. They can send messages through the web. Harr harr. But for real, this will let settlements connected by their webs to communicate with each other - game-changer! Varys-type spider priest at the centre of it all.
Underhive: Goblin-run series of protected underground farms. New Moondin can support and "store" unlimited Survivor Groups.







And finally, the copy-pasted version of the pdf:

Session 216 - The Poisoned Years




From the writings of the former monk
Gareth Essendon
Year’s Summaries of the Town of
New Moondin
In the wake of the end of the world


Year 1 – The Year of Sacrifice
The first year since the great battle was a period of great contemplation. The shell of Powerlad’s spirit is immensely strong keeping at bay the toxin such that people can wander outside unprotected. We who were in the first Moondin who saw the effects of the toxin can only stand in awe of his divine protection.
The town was well stocked but upon arrival we had approximately 1,500 people and 6 herds of animal of mixed alpacas, sheep, horses and oxen. Precise numbers were impossible to gather between the goblins and the spider people. It was determined immediately that filter plants would be our first priority as there was no telling how long Powerlad’s shell could stand.
Our united peoples were quickly divided into households that could be sheltered from the storm. The main households were;
·         those fully devoted to the dragon Ninhursag and so were dubbed ExDrakencultists
·         the remains of the business conglomerate Honey Healing 4 U shortened to simply, the Honey Healers
·         persons who had been preparing for the apocalypse in any form for years, the Preppers (a strange bunch in my humble opinion)
·         remnants of the Army of Fate who were unable to return to their home and so dedicated themselves to helping us. While many are grateful they came to our aid there is a feeling of separation between them and the rest of the groups, not entirely one sided.
·         The Spider-children of Powerlad have declared themselves priests of the new order, although this has sparked arguments with the ExDrakencultists peace is maintained by both sides being truly grateful to His mercy and protection.
·         The final household was the goblins. Under the guidance of the aging figure stones they managed to establish themselves but being goblins even still there is a stigma against them. (One that I perhaps am not entirely innocent of).
Those who did not precisely fit in with such groups (such as myself) were quietly folded in with those that could take them. Each household, so called because they lay claim to a large singular structure, was established by claiming a stone orb or cluster of buildings and sealing against the environmental ravages. The bare minimum was six such households, but even so the buildings were bursting.
With the poisonous clouds still drifting in partially filter plants were our highest priority. The main dome carried on the back of our lord Ninhursag was already prepared for the farming of this resource and so harvesting proceeded apace. 190 bushels were gathered over the course of the year, stockpiled away. For those products not raised in the main dome a much smaller harvest was gained. Only enough food to see 150 people through the next year was harvested and medicine was the same. It was good that this was harvested for over winter nearly 130 persons across three households developed what is being called, the Winter Infection.
At years end tragedy struck. Perhaps inspired by their leader or foreseeing the difficulty of feeding so many mouths the remnants of Powerlad’s Gogamogic cult made a suicide pact. All 48 members suspended themselves from the rafters by their legs and cut their own throats draining their blood into buckets. The necromancers were aware of this plan and assisted in the execution, capturing their last breaths also. This morbid scene tainted the winter, but the apocalypse has made us pragmatic. Their offering of blood and flesh has been stored away as food for the future it is expected that as many as 250 people could survive a year off the dense food stock, if they can overcome their aversion to flesh.
At years end we have 1450 people in residence. Our stockpiles include 190 bushels of filterplants, 400py of grain and meat and 150 doses of medication.

Year 2 - The Year of Mushroom Mondays
Over the course of the year the shield has steadily weakened, causing great anxiety among the people. Despite the shield of Powerlad, more filter plants have been required than in the first year. They decay at twice the rate of the year before but our stockpiles keep us safe. Some have reported seeing holes appear in the shield though such voices are quickly silenced. Whether this is out of respect for the founder or wishing to avoid a panic who can say.
Production this year was focused on building up our stockpiles of food as the majority of the populace was on hard rations. One house from each of the homesteads was allowed full rations to ensure production was maintained through till harvest but there was a great deal of grumbling at those chosen. This was exacerbated by most of that ration coming from the bodies of the Gogamogic sacrificers. Fights broke out but order was maintained until harvest.
The harvest was fruitful, creating food enough for 750 peoples over a year. Filter plants experienced a moderate yield of 40 bushels and medical stockpiles experienced a build-up of 200 persons.
As autumn concluded, just after the harvest had been collected, we were visited with a miracle. From the heavens a storm of epic proportions blew for three straight weeks. People thought we had displeased Powerlad as the thunder of his might rolled over the hills but at the end, where the rain had fallen, clouds of mushrooms, pale blue and turquoise sprouted and covered the hills. In his kindness Lord Lad has blessed us with food for 100 more people. The mushroom is of an unknown breed to our resident herbologists but seems safe for consumption. I was given a sample as one of the testers and the fungus fizzes on the tongue and has a texture similar to that of umami.
In the wake of this blessing our stockpiles sit at food enough for 950 people for a year, with 110 bushels of filter plants and medication for 350 persons. Our population still sits at approximately 1450 although the goblins and spiders seem secretive about their numbers.
Looking at those around me I note that the number of people saved from the apocalypse most certainly exceeds the numbers of our provisions. Moreover, several of the ExDrakencultists have been displaying signs of pregnancy. Several more have caught the Winter Infections

Year 3 – The Year of Suck
The shield of Lad appears to have stabilised. Toxicity remains an issue but there has been no increase in the demand for filtration plants this year. At the beginning of the year stockpiles dwindled and consequently it was determined that it would be necessary to utilise the main dome for Filtration Plants this year. It was also determined that the Winter Infection (notable for whooping cough and runny noses) could no longer be abided for risk of epidemic and so the Spider-priests and the Honey Healers spent time away from building up their stockpiles to administer them healing the ill.
It was also a year of feeding. Those who were well fed the previous year were put on hard rations as those that went hungry got well-fed. However, there was insufficient food stored away that everyone could be fed. Through the mercy of the gods and deep scrounging we were able to pull together food for one hundred more but in the end we were still forced to slaughter our flock of alpacas and oxen, graciously donated by the Honey Healers and Drakencultists. The spider-priest made repeated calls to sacrifice more survivors as food but they were (thankfully) ignored by the other clans.
Sadly, in the winter of this year there was a period of great darkness and people claimed to hear haunting cackles outside our domes. A dense corpse fog rose over a moonless night in the winter, thick enough that visibility was impossible and no one dared step out. In the night we heard a great deal of screaming from the animal enclosures and when inspected the next day all our beasts were dead. Investigation found them drained of blood and with two puncture marks in the neck, although some had been bitten multiple times. We salvaged what we could of them but between the lack of blood and them having been left in the dirt only half as much was salvaged as could have been slaughtered.
As a consequence of this incursion, the Fated Army has begun building a fortified structure from the remains of the already collapsed building in town. Less sturdy than our domes of stone it boasts more offensive capabilities suitable for repelling foes. I am impressed with the amount of stone scavenged for the foundations and first floor and though the next floor is composite it certainly feels intimidating.
Over the course of the year, with filter plants as our primary crop we gathered 130 bushels of filter plants, mixed meat and grain for 750 people and medicine enough for 200.
At year’s end our stockpiles contain, 650 person-years of food, 130 bushels of filter plants, 300 doses of medication. We have had our first births of the new age (discounting goblins who don’t really count), a sweet girl named Andromeda. This may not matter much in the grand scheme of things but I find it encouraging that even in these dark times life finds a way.

Year 4 – The Year of Everlasting Sorrows
The toxicity this year remained consistent. In the distance we still see the vent of the tentacle pumping poison into the air. It is with a mixed sense of pride and dread that I acknowledge our part in causing our present circumstances.
The cycle of feeding and hunger continues with the various houses feeding those that hungered last year and rationing the other group. Those who developed the Winter Infections were treated as soon as symptoms showed. The numbers are significantly lower than the year before leading me to think we were right in purging it before it became epidemic.
The fortified structure began last year has been completed although with no animals to contain and no filter plants to spare it presently sits empty. Occasionally those of the fated army will scrub it clean and reseal it. There have been discussions of it being turned into a bar as soon as conditions improve. I personally would not object to such a mild extravagance.
Stockpiles at years start were low, barely enough to cover filter-plants and food for the year and with the certain knowledge that there would not be enough of either the next. It was decided that each house must prepare to have their numbers reduced although it was for the households themselves to determine who would be lost and how. We have one year to prepare ourselves for the loss.
I consider myself lucky that I was not selected as one to be allowed to pass but when I think of my friends and neighbours I feel guilt, and then concern for the knife shaped shadow in the corner of my eye.
It was determined that we must prepare crops for feeding people next year and hope that the filter plants can restrain the poisonous zone to those whose loss is accepted.
Production of food was disappointing. The main dome produced only enough for 200person-years and the prepper and fate army factions produced only 250 more. It seems certain that despite our best efforts many more will starve next year. The medical teams produced enough medicine for 200 more treatments and filter plants without access to the main dome produced only 150 bushels.
In the Summer of this year a group of preppers exploring the boundary stumbled upon a volcanic vent. This vent sent a surprise spray of superheated air and poison particles into these adventurers. Mortally wounded and scarred they managed to hold on until rescuers arrived. Carried back to the town they rolled in agony crying for healing. Honey Healing and the Spider-Priesthood both inspected the wounded and came to the same inexorable conclusion. To save these men would cost the town it’s entire medical stockpile and even then they would never be the same, crippled and blinded in many cases. In trepidation talks were held. The Preppers obviously wanted their people (dubbed the Creeps) saved but the council decision was to ease their suffering. The spider-priests tried to make them useful by feeding on them but the poison particles they had been embedded with made this impossible. They were buried beneath the north western plains by the Prepper household. As they did so they started levelling and marking out fields for future farms. Perhaps that is why their yield for this year was so low.
At year’s end we had only 700 person-years of food, 550 doses of medicine and 40 filter plants.

Year 5 – The Year of High as Fuck.
The start of this year was fearful and quite rightly so.
This year was one of unprecedented toxicity. Some believe the vent that claimed the CreepPrepper faction last year allowed more poison into the shell. Others say our decision not to save them displeased Powerlad. Either way it seems that we would suffer for it. The shield burned purple for the whole year as outside storms blew what powder had built up into whirling vortexes that crashed against the barrier. Within the shell, people who walked outside had their skin crack and scab.
Already it was known that this would be a hard year. Filter-plants were in short supply and only the Drakencultists who were already short in number were given a full complement of filter plants. The other houses had known they would not be able to save everyone and so came the first round of grand sacrifices. By spring, 250 had died to the poison smog, their remains swept away as quickly as possible.
Some had been prepared for their fate and these proud souls worked till they dropped dead. Others broke and had to be put down. In the end it was predominantly the hungry and the sick who succumbed to the poison mists. Sadly this was not the end of our trials. A full further 200 people and 20% of the goblins died from hunger. Those who had been rationed the previous year could not continue on such small portions. 
Filter plants were the primary production of the year, seeing as many observed their friends and loved ones coughing their last near the wilting plants of the doorway. And with the shell failing it is not known if we will survive the next year without them, 90 bushels of filter plants were gathered. Crops gave us 300 person years and medicine stockpiles grew by 150.
Julgoor, having observed the increased toxicity, invented a weed based filter to try and help those working outside the domes. On Saturnalia, Christmas or Winters Crest, depending on your denomination he revealed his invention. People were ecstatic. Sadly, this combined with the already open stores for a moderate feast caused a feeding frenzy amongst the populace through “the munchies” and food stockpiles were ransacked bringing the numbers in stockpile down to 50 person-years.
At years end Medical stockpiles were at 650 persons, Filter Plants were at 100 bushels and crops sat at 50 person years. Presently the population sits somewhere around 900 although no-one wants to count. With the numbers lost this year and food stores already so low morale is at rock bottom. The first child born within the shell, Andromeda, passed away with her mother and the others are displaying signs of illness. I personally doubt I shall be writing next year’s report and only pray that there will be somebody left to read them.

Year 6 – The Year of Collaboration
Surprisingly I continue to persevere. With hard rationing we have pulled through once more but not without heavy losses.
This year was thankfully less toxic although not as pure as the first year. However, after the losses of the Munchy Incident there were no stockpiles of food available. The decision was made to sacrifice two of the homesteads.
The Spider-priest cultists (those of the Black Window guild) consolidated themselves into the household of the Honey Healers. Those who could not fit within worked themselves to death preparing a temple from the last of their webs and carapaces. A dome in the centre of the river they constructed bridges and platforms to a stone orb that had crashed into the river.
The remains of the Fated Army consolidated into the house of the ExDrakencultists leaving their starving to be harvested by the necromancers. They took this turn of events with remarkable stoicism although having spoken to some of them they revealed they may already have been resurrected in Fate. A strange relationship between life and death appears to affect all those who have had contact with Styx. Both his army and his goblins are perfectly willing to sacrifice themselves to some greater cause.
Despite these steps still more people succumbed to starvation. No house was spared and once more the fields the Preppers have been preparing are turned as more dead must be buried.
Given the rampant starvation over both this and the previous year it was decided to grow crops in the main dome. 1000 people-years worth of food was grown and gathered to much celebration. 300 units of medicine were produced by the medical establishment and 30 bushels of filter plants.
At the end of the year our population sat at approximately 550 and we had stockpiled 1100person-years of food. Medicine stockpiles continue to grow, sitting at 950 doses and filter plants were sadly short with only 30 bushels filter plant. For the first time since my records began our stockpiles exceed our population though sadly, given what it took to get us there and the pitiful quantity of that population compared to where we first started, I can not celebrate with my compatriots.

Year 7 – The Year of Relative Plenty
This was the cleanest year since the dome was first established. Clearly our continued sacrifice and toil has been rewarded. The sun shone for the longest periods we could recall and the moon could be spied on many nights. Some even claim to have seen Fate moving in the distance although sadly I am not one who can claim to have done so. My old eyes are not so clear anymore.
Despite our growth this year it was decided that the last of the preppers should move into the medical facility but everyone was given full rations. With the consolidation and the clean air the few filter plants we had stockpiled proved sufficient. Given the shortages though it was decided that filter plants were to be grown in the main chamber. A full 160 bushels were harvested this year. Medicine stockpiles developed by another 150 doses and crops were moderately successful with 200 person-years grown.
Given such a peaceful year several projects have been put into motion and remarkably no catastrophic cataclysms have befallen us.
The ExDrakencultists have rebranded themselves the Hyper-Church of the PowerDragon and started to build a combined gym and place of worship. They train there to make the pilgrimage (of about 4 miles) to the bones of the Powerdragon.
The Honey Healers have started to build hives behind the old town church in what used to be the graveyard. I would comment on the disrespect to the dead but cannot fault the results.
The preppers continue to build their fields to the North East but reports have come back of a strange structure with a solitary occupant that way.
At years end our population remains at 550 head. Our stockpiles of food could support 750 people for a year, we have 190 bushels of filter-plant and 1100 medical doses. It has reached the point that some of the priests of the Spider-cult use what could be medicine for their rituals as the storehouse can almost hold no more.

Year 8 – The Year of Golden Bees
The toxicity rose again but not as badly as in the Year of High as F. Despite this rise the Honey Healers proved successful in creating their hives of non-addictive bees. They’ve proved so successful that they’ve started providing mead to the Fated Army who have opened their fortified building as a pub. I believe it has been christened “In Times of Mead.”
With such high stockpiles the medical establishment suggests that despite the dire circumstances we should break with the cycle of starvation and binging, eating our fill every year. Despite naysayers in the colony the motion passes and all are fed. The fear that an event might empty our stockpiles is too thick for saving and personally I am too old to go without my small comforts.
Yield wise it was exceptional. Not only was 550person-years of food produced, the medical store house has been completely filled. Production of filter plants lagged a bit with only 20 bushels but stockpiles remain high. The honey healers had another bout of whooping cough to deal with but our enormous stockpiles crushed the illness.
For the second year in a row the population remained stable at 550 persons. Our stockpiles of food are solid at 550 person-years and filter plants sit at 150 bushels. The medical store-house is filled to bursting with a theoretical 1250doses stored away.

Year 9 – The Year of Complacency
Toxicity rose again this year but our stockpiles are holding.
For reasons unknown to myself or anyone I can communicate with the goblins insisted on half rations for themselves. They yelled something about building up the stockpiles but no one believes they could be that selfless and there was plenty of food to go around. Perhaps it is simply that they are foolish creatures and if they wish to starve themselves so be it.
Given the rising toxicity levels it was determined that we should grow filter plants in the main dome this year and it was a bumper harvest of 190 bushel. Some 300 person-years of food was grown although there was some difference in the end of year audit. The medical house remains full to bursting
Once again, this year was peaceful and comfortable but people fear the horizon. As a consequence, this remarkably pleasant year has been dubbed the Year of Complacency. I bet it was the goblins who insisted. Bloody pessimists.
For another year the population has remained stable at 550 persons. Our stockpiles of food sit at 350 person-years and filter plants sit at 230 bushels. The medical store-house is filled to bursting still.

Year 10 – The Year of Downs and Ups
At the start of the year there was considerations from the Prepper quarter as to whether they should take advantage of the goblins weakened state to starve them all and wipe them out. They were eventually dissuaded from this plan although they appear to still be extremely bitter about the loss of their Creeps in the Year of Everlasting Sorrows.
The toxicity was moderate in that it was neither the best nor worst it has been. Almost everyone was fully fed but 200 people went on short rations. With the stockpile exhausted it was deemed that food would be the critical resource of the year and thus, once again the main dome was replanted.
Towards the end of summer the summer just kept going. It was called a blessing, as in the Year of Mushroom Mondays. Fields of wheat prepared by the Preppers in the Year of High as F. started to bloom under the sun and rain growing enough food for 100 more people.
550person-years of food was gathered along with 30 bushels of filter plants. Medicine was developed and used, some for it’s intended purpose, most recreationally.
For the fourth year in a row our new births have matched our losses. Some 160 children now call the dome home. Our stockpiles of food sit at 600 person-years and filter plants sit at 200 bushels. The medical store-house is giving away anaesthesia packets and still it remains full.

Year 11 – The Year of Quiet Perseverance
This was a continuing year of moderate toxicity.
Everyone was fully fed after it was found that numbers had fallen low enough to support such a system
The harvest was moderate this year. The families in charge of growing crops were distracted with their own projects and so it as that only 350person-years of food were harvested. Medicine production fell but we couldn’t store all that we had so it was of no major concern. The Filter planters performed adequately with 40 new bushels stored in the nursery.
Many of the goblins fell sick during this year. All of them suffered the “Barking” and needing treatment by the spiders. It seemed a painful affliction with skin growing hard and needing forcible removable but being part plant perhaps it is not so bad. As though taking all the sickness upon themselves no human fell ill during this year so otherwise it has been a wonderful year.

Year 12 – The Year of Strife
Despite being a year of high toxicity it is believed that the clouds of poison may part soon. Those with observation skills better than myself note that the clouds of powder are losing colour and seems to not rise as high into the sky.
Everyone was fed in celebration that our trials may soon be over and this year’s harvest was rich and plentiful. A full 800 person-years of food was gathered along with 20 bushels of filter plants. However, it was during this celebration of a rich harvest that trouble struck.
Despite the good feeding the interminable weather caused tempers to flare and riots broke out. The remnants of the Fated Army have gone mad but there is violence from all houses as no one knows who to trust. After weeks of fighting peace was restored but the filter plant nursery was damaged costing us some 50 bushels. In consequence the Wraith van Hells group of the Fated Army were wiped out. The other half still remaining claim complete innocence and ignorance of their counter-parts plan but have retreated to their fortified bar for the rest of the winter. It is this old man’s hope that this is true as he would dearly like to be able to drink some mead again after he has finished the summary for this year.
With the space freed by this conflict consolidation took place once more and the Goblins moved into the house of the ExDrakencultists. I am told they played a key part in putting an end to the riots and defeating the Wraith van Hells but reports on the precise actions taken during these riots are sparse from all sides. Almost as though no one had considered the poor historian in the middle of the fighting.
Addendum: The Jerky Farmers, the last of the Fated Army, apparently got sick from wounds they got facing the Wraiths and so required medical treatment. Their retreat to the fortified public house was apparently an emergency field hospital so whilst there is peace there is sadly no mead this day.

Year 13 – The Year of Raining Blood
At the start of the year 500 people of the 1500 original survivors still lived. But balance has been met. Our stocks grow faster than they are depleted and the toxicity has dropped considerably to the point where one can walk outside unprotected for short periods. On many days the sun can be seen clearly and more and more stars are becoming visible.
Once again, everyone has been on full rations and though only food for 250 people was harvested this year stockpiles remain high. Filter plants were grown in the main dome and nearly 110 bushels were harvested. Medical production rose again in response to the unfortunate incident this spring but was used nearly as quickly.
Instead of a typical spring storm there were rains of blood for a solid week. The blood passed through the stone shells like sand and though the fields were certainly well fertilised and watered there is something very disturbing to see all your friends and neighbours dripping ichor. The cause of the blood storm is attributed to a troop of skeletons that passed through town on the 5th day of the rains. Unnoticed in the rain they ran through town shrieking “Smoke”. They weren’t attacking anyone but before the necromancers could try and seize control of them they broke into the medical store-house and seized everything they could carry. What could not be carried was left to burn in a thick, heady smoke. Those who got too close were down for a period of several hours although no-one succumbed to overdose.
At years end our stockpiles sit at 150 bushels of filter plants, 550 person-years of plants and a mere 10 doses of medication.

Wednesday 27 March 2019

Retrospective 21.5 - Beyond the Apocalypse

They did it it! They stopped it! They saved the world!
My campaign's going to reformat now for a post-apocalyptic survival hexcrawl, which means it's time for a very special retrospective about a real climactic final war.




Power Levels:

Boy, for a game that's supposed to be set in a gritty low level world that sure got out of hand didn't it?
Dragon-Gods, walking cities, angels and demons, what a blast!

The thing I like the most out of this whole experience is how it didn't come from the standard epic-scale paradigm where heroes get to level 30 and stab God in the throat with their vorpal sword.
For the most part, the individual Player Characters weren't particularly strong.
Like POWERLAD himself was only level 8, and that took a couple of years of playing every week - he had like 38HP.

In every case the character's true power wasn't in their class abilities. It wasn't an intrinsic ability they'd gained on leveling up, tons of hit points or a fat BAB.
Their power was in the external, extrinsic, and in-world. They gained their power through play - allies, friends, and trickery.
I like it a lot.


Finality:

It really felt like a climax.
I think that's the first time it's happened in however many years this game's been going now.
If we had just ended the campaign here and started a new one in a completely new world, I think everyone would have been satisfied with that.
We'd had character arcs, and story arcs, that all somehow rounded off and felt complete.
The stakes had risen higher than they'd ever been. Stakes don't get much higher than the actual potential destruction of the planet!
It was epic, it was calamitous, it was triumphant. Good end.


Intent:

On story arcs, something I really dig is how the story seemed to have a life of its own.
My hands weren't on the steering wheel at all and yet we found ourselves with a proper story, told in retrospect, that was complete.
Sometimes you see people who say a sandbox game means nothing really happens and players just kind of aimlessly wander around with no real objective. Hopefully this campaign puts the lie to that!


Timelines:

Something that was pretty funny was as a result of a new player - George (or alternatively Jorje, Jawj or J'jj) -  reading my Apocalypse Timeline. He'd come in from Discord and had seen the sheet when I'd linked it there at some point.
As a result he became a sort of mad prophet who kept telling everyone about the terrible fates that would befall them when the world ended.

The Apocalypse Timeline was a great idea though.
It was my projected timeline of events if nothing (ie. the PCs) got in the way, and so I had to keep updating it as the players did stuff.
For instance, the projected religious revolution in Fate was forestalled by Styx taking over the city, and Ninhursag's rise got brought forward by several months due to POWERLAD's actions.
This meant that the mad prophet didn't exactly have an up-to-date prophetic vision, but since when has that stopped doomsayers?


The Future:

Considering the cataclysmic finality of this arc of the campaign, it's time to shift the flavour of the gameplay. Just going back to the rhythm of dungeon-town-dungeon-town would be lovely, but perhaps too comfy and familiar.
Instead we're going to be hexcrawling the post-apocalypse, and I'm pretty excited! The campaign has always taken place in a settled and civilised land with roads and villages dotted across the landscape.
Now it's all dead, and the last survivors are protected in a mere 6 mile hex.

A fun part is that players have been living in this world for years and years now.
They've got the old maps. They remember what's out there.
They've got exactly as much knowledge as their characters would have, a unique situation for a game's post-apocalypse! I don't have to explain how the world used to work, and how the world works now, because they already know it.

Expect a lot of bodged-together hexcrawl rules in the coming months. I know I'm pumped!






Tuesday 5 March 2019

Session 215 - The End of the World

Session 215 - The End of the World



Events:

--- A Sword Day
- The End-War is nigh.
- Ninhursag strides towards the Prime Tentacle, armoured in bone. The party stand proud atop its great green head.
- From here, it’s easy to see the forces in the battle to come. The Prime Tentacle itself - gross, cancerous and flailing - writhes horribly. Maggots pour down its pitted flesh like drops of water. Occasionally, with a great self-gripping spasm, it throws chunks of itself into the sky.
- Far to the north, the shining mobile city of Fate begins to charge its Macrocannon. The Guber-mounted army of Fate is coming in fast - noble and free. All know that if they die they shall be reborn.
- In the sky, the black silhouette of Ereshkigal is surrounded by a gathering of its drakencult, swooping around the gravity well like moths to a lamp. The moon is large and close, pale and terrible. It is perhaps days away from impact with the Earth.
- The shambling army of the Dead swarms around Ninhursag’s feet, prepared in case of an attack by parasite grubs. They march in unison, united by the power of the Ossuary of All Bones.
- Ninhursag’s green Drakencult cling to the Apocalypse Dragon’s titanic flanks, ready to dive and defend their draconic patron. Among them are leaders encased in cores of stone, magma, crystal and greenery - holding their apotheosis until the perfect moment.

--- A Red Day
- Atop Ninhursag’s head, the party’s commanders give orders and watch the battle begin to unfold. There is one goal and one goal only - protect Ninhursag until it reaches the Prime Tentacle, tear a hole, and allow the dragon to deliver the Omnipoison to the beast in the core of the world.
- Abhor Global, unaccountably here, begins to interview the people present. A last record, perhaps, of the end of all things.
- As the Dragon closes in, a whole swarm of Tentacultists can be seen rallying to defend the Prime Tentacle from all comers. They swirl in concentric circles, a thousands-strong ritual.
- The Fated Army steers towards the Tentacultists, flowing across the land in their floating war-gubers. They aim to harry and distract, force the hand of the Tentacultists before they get too strong. Their rune-lances fire over and over as they close in.
- Ereshkigal’s cult swoop around in great flocks, opening up wormholes through space-time and warping across the landscape. They watch, for now, allegiances unknown.
- Tentacle parasite maggots emerge from the ground all over, attracted by the large concentrations of flesh. They form great waves and begin swarming towards meaty targets… most especially the last bastions of mankind - Fortress-City Fate and New Moondin.
- Snels has a plan. He requisitions a Drakencultist and leaves, hoping that he can pull together a support crew of preppers from the ruined town of Salisburgh.
- A great tide of maggots is flowing towards New Moondin. POWERLAD commands Ninhursag to breathe a cloud of poison to defend it, and the maggots are destroyed by a great wave of poisonous yellow-green gas. All life hit by its breath dies, the roiling gas sweeping past and rotting all it touches.
- Fate’s great Macrocannon fires! The blinding beam of pure white blasts one of the Prime Tentacle’s malformed ancillary appendages in half. The severed bulk of it is drawn up towards Ereshkigal’s gravity well and messily torn apart.
- More tides of maggots approach Fate, swarming around its legs, climbing over each other to reach the biomass within. If they get into the city, it’s doomed.

--- Ere the Sun Rises
- Over in Salisburgh, Snels and the Drakencultist land amongst the ruins. Child of a long line of apocalypse preppers, he follows the scratched signs to find a hidden group of survivors living in the dead city.
- He knocks on a door with the secret knock, and the door opens… it’s his Auntie Mab!
- Snels uses his family connections to rally an army of preppers! Armed with guns and with repurposed farming tools, Snels marches out at the head of a scrappy new army!
- Above, the sky begins to glow orange-red. A daytime sunrise. An omen. There is a vast and distant roar.
- The grinding maw on the base of Fate begins to turn. For long ages it feasted upon the taut flesh of the Prime Tentacle. Today it shall eat more delicate meat. Fate lowers itself onto the grub-swarms, crushing and grinding them into biomass.
- On the horizon, at the front of a bow-wave of blossoming darkness, a new challenger approaches. An enormous demon skittering and slithering towards Fate, crowned with the Black Sun between its curving horns.



--- Ride Now, Ride Now, Ride!
- The Army of Fate slams into the Tentacult, rune-lances and guns blazing. It’s a terrible battle, flailing whip-tentacles throw Gubers aside and soldiers into the air, the Army leaping from their Gubers to take down Tentacultists with rune-powered weaponry.
- Styx calls upon the Gods and Minerva answers. She tells him that the Gods are busy and cannot help directly, there is destruction all across the world. The wave of demonic darkness is full of flying locust-grubs, and the discordant singing of the Locusts disrupts angel communications.
- She offers to send down some of their last available angels, but Styx declines. Angels will be useful for the rebuild.
- Fate begins to turn to face the giant demon… and the shadow of Shamash - Bolide Dragon - blasts past overhead! Its passage lights the sky ablaze, cocooning the planet in flame! The chunks of tentacle-flesh flung into the sky burn to cinders as they impact the fiery roof of the world.
- Styx, wavering, stops Fate from turning and raises the Macrocannon towards the sky. He begins charging the city's beam weapon… aiming it to shoot down Shamash! The Black Sun Demon can wait!
- The Macrocannon fires! There is a distant roar and an explosion as it strikes Shamash under the wing. There are a few moments of silence, then the horizon explodes into piercing white. A mushroom cloud rises somewhere over Norway as Shamash crash-lands into the fjords.
- A wave of maggots has erupted behind Ninhursag and begun surging towards its great legs! The Dead and Drakencult split off to defend the rear, while Ninhursag itself continues marching onwards towards the Prime Tentacle.
- It strides over the desperate battle between the Fated Army and the Tentacult, barely noticing the Fated Army withdrawing in their Gubers. To the surprise of the Army, the Tentacult don’t pursue them...
- Instead, the Tentacultists ramp up their strange ritual. They swirl in circles, and in the centre of the group a great and writhing tendril thrusts its way from the ground! A massive macro-scale tentacle erupts to stop Ninhursag in its tracks! The tendril wraps around Ninhursag’s head, squeezing tight, cracking the bone-armour skull.
- Cyrus-RJ, holding the monstrance that allows him command the Dead, feels its power sputter and fail. The Ossuary of All Bones in the skull is damaged, his control over the Dead has been broken.
- Ninhursag breathes another gout of deadly poison that rots the tentacle from the inside out. It falls to pieces, sloughing across the farmlands below, crushing unheeding Tentacultists who continue to swirl in their summoning dance..

--- Ride for Ruin!
- The Tentacult must be stopped! Styx coordinates a god-beam barrage from the gods above on the Tentacultists while Dumbledorris runs alongside POWERLAD, steals his form, and dives off of the dragon’s head. Her borrowed wings spread wide, her muscled clone-body tenses taut and powerful.
- Falling beside her, following her down to the centre of the Tentacult’s summoning circle, is the high priestess Krystal Shattersby. Before impact, the crystal drakencultist triggers her apotheosis and lands in a cloud of crystal shards, drawing up into a crystal dragon!
- The elemental dragon roars, breathing shards of living crystal that whirl and spin into the cultists! With them distracted, Dumbledorris flies towards the gold-robed summoner at the centre. Just before impact, she copies his form!
- Now that she is a Tentacultist, Dumbledorris can understand their burbling language. The leader shouts, “Join us! Become one with Shub-Niggurath and ride it to other worlds! Abandon this cocoon and ascend with us!”
- “NEVER!!!” yells Dumbledorris, and leaps for him! Her smooth tentacle-face suddenly splits wide, revealing vampire fangs!
- She crashes into the leader of the Tentacult and those below can’t tell one from the other! She sinks her fangs into the gold-robed leader… and the whole Tentacult are stalled! The line of command is broken!
- And then, as if this scene wasn’t chaotic enough, a flying saucer whooshes into the scene! A great fan spins beneath it, the light scattering off its silver curves. A door opens, revealing the buff alien Titanium Johnson! He yells, “come to me my amorphid queen! I, Titanium Johnson, demand your hand in space marriage!”
- With the Tentacult in disarray, their gold-cloaked leader defrocked by vampiric magics, Dumbledorris sends herself skyward via controlled tentacle and takes Titanium Johnson’s hand, pulling herself into the starship. They’ve got some catching up to do…

--- And the World’s Ending!
- The Black Sun Demon gallops towards Fortress-City Fate, getting closer and closer, stygian blackness blossoming behind it. Styx zooms in on its head as he targets it with the Macrocannon, target reticule tracking the black sun, and sees its mouth moving - is it trying to say something?
- Styx also becomes aware of a new force moving in - from the wastes, a flock of Drakencultists is flying in! Their azure wings crackle with electricity - the forces of Marduk!
- Distantly, climbing onto the poison canister around Ninhursag’s neck, the blind prophet Snels laments that Marduk intends to somehow shoot through the planet to fry Shub-Niggurath’s core. His grim prophecy is unheeded in the chaos.
- Fate’s Macrocannon is charged! The great Demon is close enough now that Styx can hear what it’s saying - “Let! Us! In! Let! Us! In!”.
- The cannon fires and a searing beam of pure white light blasts towards the Black Sun Demon! It tries to dodge, and the beam slices into its chest! It cries “Nooooooooo!” and stumbles, the blossoming darkness overtaking it, as if it had been outrunning the darkness itself!
- Within Battlefortress Fate, Sir Robyn, wizard-lawyer extraordinaire, stands atop the barrel of the Macrocannon and outstretches an arm. He’s hopped up on as much moonwater as he could swallow, energy crackles around his fingers, and his eyes glow with cold light.
- He summons the illusion of another great angel dropship in the sky with one hand, and conjures a macro-scale Force of Forbidment with the other. A drop of blood trickles from his nose, the raccoon familiars Scamps and Snuggles on his shoulders outstretch their paws and assist him in taking the strain.
- The Black Sun Demon has got out in front of the darkness again, all in the city can hear it now, “Let! Us! In! Let! Us! In!”. The Macrocannon begins to cycle again… and stops?
- The demon struggles against Sir Robyn’s Force of Forbidment to the edge of the city’s shield, placing its huge and elongated hands against the bubble. The blackness is almost here. “Let! Us! In! Let! Us! In! Let! Us! In! Let! Us! In!”
- To Sir Robyn’s shock, the shield drops to allow the demon in. Styx has let it into the city. Sir Robyn drops the spells and watches as the huge demon in the sky pulls the shields open like a curtain. One of the great hands reaches up to the Black Sun on its crown, grabs it, and thrusts it down into the city towards the Macrocannon - “Take this! Please!”




- Sir Robyn jumps off and Flies to a safe distance. He sees the Black Sun thrust onto the Macrocannon, black energy crackling over it, mingling with the white light within. Then the enormous demon seems to disintegrate - flowing into the city as a tide of Obols which scatter and clatter across the buildings like rain.


Death!
- Ninhursag is almost in range of the Prime Tentacle. POWERLAD, Cryus-RJ, Snels, the elf-child Sophia, and Abhor Global’s press corp stand atop its head. The high priests of the Drakencult are long gone, apotheosised and fighting in the Drakencult’s army.
- Cyrus-RJ, holding the Monstrance aloft, commands the bone armour of Ninhursag to reconfigure - using the tail armour to reinforce the head and moving the Ossuary-skull itself towards Ninhursag’s back to protect it.
- On the ground, the Dead continue to fight a rearguard against the grub swarms while the Drakencultists withdraw to protect Ninhursag from the confused Tentacult roiling around its feet.
- Ninhursag smashes into the Prime Tentacle like a juggernaut, a gout of fumes boils away on ancillary tentacle on impact. In return, the Tentacles strike back, smashing into Ninhursag’s head, wing, and foreleg and destroying the bone-armour there. Thousands of shattered bones rain across the battlefield.

- POWERLAD takes a deep breath, runs his fingers through his yellow hair and says, “It’s time.”

Death!
- POWERLAD runs and leaps off of Ninhursag’s snout. His wings stretch wide, then tuck in as he plummets towards the base of the Prime Tentacle.
- Through the whipping wing he yells, “Ave Ninhursag! Ave Hyper-Jesus!” and a corona of scintillating electricity bursts around him!
- He falls, a lightning comet, and as he falls he changes!
- There is an earth-shattering boom and an explosion of earth. Dust swirls, lightning crackles, and from the impact point rears the ultimate being!

Ultimate Godhead Power-Dragon!

- An enormous green-scaled dragon body that crackles with electricity, a shock of bright yellow quills on His head. He is crowned with a halo of lightning and electricity arcs between His claws. The force of His primal roar sends shockwaves rippling through the Earth. The tentacles shake and spasm, even Shub-Niggurath trembles at His arrival!
- He stands tall on muscular legs and holds a great clawed hand aloft. Lightning crackles as he pulls his giant weapon from a breach in the sky! He holds aloft the Storm-Hammer - the Deus Malleus - Hammer of the Gods!



- There is a great explosion of thunder and lightning and the ancillary tentacles are blasted into dust! The God-Dragon blasts upwards with a great surge of His wings, takes the hammer in both hands, and falls in an incredible burst of blazing white.
- Impact! The Prime Tentacle explodes, splitting it into four massive strands which slowly fall away around the glowing God-Dragon. Angels sing a glorious chorus as the miles-long ropes of the destroyed tentacle smash down into the ground with earth-shaking thuds.
- With Ninhursag’s way cleared, Power-Dragon turns His great head skywards towards the last extant threat to the world - Ereshkigal! The Dragon who would pull down the Moon!
- He leaps skyward, using the pull of the Singularity Dragon’s gravity well to slingshot himself straight into Ereshkigal! He smashes into it, taking it around the chest and bearing it down into the blood-soaked sea.
- The gravity well shuts off.
- The air is suddenly still.
- They plunge into the red ocean and their immense tidal wave devastates the abandoned shore. - There is a moment of strange calm, and a flicker of light from beneath the waves.
- And then, rising from the red depths, the Power-Dragon stands tall! The bloody water washes around His waist, and He reaches down into the water to grasp something massive in His huge hands!
- He pulls it to the surface - it’s the tail of Ereshkigal! He turns in the steaming ocean water, pulling the Apocalypse Dragon with him, spinning faster and faster, and finally lets got to fling the Black Dragon into the sky!





- The survivors of the Apocalypse see the dark shape of Ereshkigal breach through the fiery barrier in the sky, blowing open a hole in the heavens! Pale lunar light shines through, a pale spotlight on the Power-Dragon’s powerful form.
- They see Ereshkigal breach the atmosphere. They see the hole in the sky expand as the flame-shell dissipates. - They see Ereshkigal shatter the face of the moon!
- The Moon is blasted away from the Earth by the force of the blow! Fragments of burning lunar rock hiss into the sea, raining down on the around the Dragon-Deity that was once POWERLAD

Deeeaaath!
- With the hollow cancerous interior of the Prime Tentacle exposed, Ninhursag roars as it strides forward towards the great pit! It leaps in, wings pinned back, diving down towards the Earth’s core!
- At the Apocalypse Dragon’s throat, riding the poison canister down, is Oliver Snels! He holds his sword aloft, his statue-brother ditched overboard on the way, whooping as he rides the canister down and down, to ensure the apocalypse he foresaw comes to pass!
- They plummet down and down, the heat would be unbearable to someone without Snels’ barbarian constitution. He lets go of the canister, letting himself fall behind the great dragon.
- Ahead, below, the protoplasmic form of Shub-Niggurath squirms and bubbles. It’s close now. Snels engages the RAGE!
- Covered in crucifix tattoos, screaming prayers, Snels plummets towards the canister with his sword outstretched!




- He hits, strikes through, shatters the poison canister! His last sensation is of Ninhursag breathing in the Omnipoison, combining and assimilating and accelerating the poison with its own internal toxicity, exploding into a glorious miasma.
- He falls into the ever-growing cloud and dissipates into toxic mist. A glorious, painless end to the story of the blind doom-prophet.
- The whole of Shub-Niggurath’s cancerous mass is converted, quickly and completely, into Omnipoison. Everything the gas touches is converted into more of the gas, over and over, running upwards along the great tentacles from the core, faster than it can react.
- Shub-Niggurath dies.
- The survivors on the surface, at the scene of the End War, see a vast plume of the thick greenish miasma gout from the pit that once housed the Prime Tentacle.
- All over the world, plumes of impossibly deadly poison erupt from the earth. Flesh evaporates from bone in an instant, converted to yet more of the all-conquering gas, spreading across the globe.




- The parasite Maggots are vapourised, as are their winged Locust forms. Snels’ prepper army, on the way back to their homes, are vapourised too. The world is scoured of all life by the oncoming wave of toxic death.
- Ultimate Godhead Power-Dragon sees Fortress-City Fate, distantly, raise its void shields. He sees the wave of death spouting into the air and falling upon the devastated lands of Loegria. Most importantly, He sees the wave sweeping in towards New Moondin.
- He erupts from the blood-ocean on thunderous wings and flies, swift as lightning, to New Moondin.
- He sees the people fleeing into their sealed stone domes, sees the wave of all-consuming poison coming in, and the last fragments of POWERLAD’s mind pledge to save them all.
- He stands in the path of the gas and breathes it into Himself, saving New Moondin from the wrath of the poison!




- In future ages it will be said that when POWERLAD’s body dissipated into poison, He remained standing. As His bones rained down onto the broken earth, those who bore witness saw a spark, a figure, descending to the earth on wings of lightning.
- They will say that He was seen standing on the hilltop, stretching His arms wide, calling down the storm. His body outlined in energy - growing and growing to become a rippling electrical corona that spread to cradle New Moondin in His arms.




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Epilogue - Somewhere in Outer Space



- Elsewhere, The Brothers Johnson finally head home to Planet Johnson. It has been a long and strange road, and Galaxy Johnson is some sort of smoke entity from beyond the stars, but they made it out alive.
- Dumbledorris, to Titanium Johnson's sadness, decided to stay on Earth. He has a picture of her hidden in one of the many first edition paperback POWERLAD novels, a memory of what could have been.
- The aliens return to the stars, leaving the barren wasteland that was the Earth behind. Perhaps, one day, they shall return.