Beyond the Fading Coast: a New Weird Deep Water Setting for Electric Bastionland is now in development.
AN INCOMPLETE LIST OF INSPIRATIONS Into the Odd Remastered and Mythic Bastionland by Chris McDowell Mausritter by Isaac Williams Cursed Scroll Zine, Vol. 3: Midnight Sun by Kelsey Dionne The Legend of Zelda: The Wind Waker by Nintendo Dredge by Black Salt Games Perdido Street Station by China Miéville Curse of Strahd by Wizards of the Coast The Deep by Nick Cutter Music by Angine de Poitrine Dune (1984) by David Lynch
Boat Travel. Like the Fading Coast, the focus of this adventure module will be the pointcrawl around the Deep Water setting.
A day has three Phases: Morning, Afternoon, and Night.
Sail. 3 Phases. Motor. 2 Phases. Full Throttle. 1 Phase, -d6 HP
At 0 HP, the ship is Broken Down, and requires Major Repairs by a Specialist. Hopefully you brought a flare gun.
Instead of travelling, Players can spend a Phase to Repair their ship (consuming Junk) or they can Dredge (more on that below).
There will be a variety of boats with different stats (like the vehicles in the Fading Coast).
Tugboat HP 10 Armour 1 (Steel Hull) Locker Space 6
Fuel Dredger HP 14 Armour 2 (Reinforced Hull) Locker Space 10 Volatile. When the Fuel Dredger loses half of its current HP or more, it explodes in an all-consuming fireball (d20, BLAST).
Like Trunk Space for vehicles, Locker Space refers to the number of Bulky items that a ship can hold. Ideally the Players are forced to make tough choices about what to throw overboard as they adventure.
Encounters. Deep Water is dangerous and mostly lawless. Roll d6 when the Players are vulnerable.
Pirates. Musicians and Maths Sorcerers from a distant land. They’ve discovered a way to fold space and travel at inexplicable speeds. Their strange, geometric ships carry powerful storms in their wake.
Monsters. Aberrant horrors of the Deep. There’ll be a 2d12 table to combine form and function to create unique nightmares for each sea monster encounter.
Rescue. Someone (or something) is lost at sea, begging for rescue. Probably another 2d12 combining Secrets and Drives.
Ghost Ship. Staticky remnants of lost machines. Sometimes helpful.
Evangelicals. Converts to the Church of the Fallen Rime handing out literature and asking for donations. They know many secrets about the Deep.
Fuel Carrier. On its way from the Refinery to the Fading Coast, or beyond to Bastion. Heavily guarded by Mock-Shark Mercenaries.
Currents. The Deep (Red), Coastal Islands (Green), Direct (Green Dotted), Hazardous/Bony (Mauve), Closed (Pale Red).
Dredging. The Deep holds strange treasures for those brave enough to dredge them up. Spend a Phase to Dredge and Roll d6 for results.
1-3: Aberration (2d12 Form and Curse, worth up to £250 to the right collector). 4-5: Junk (Bulky, worth £2d6, can be used to repair d6 HP). 6: Oddity (2d12 Shape and Utility).
Brighton. Rain soaks the square. The carnival rides of Fun Town rise above the colourfully painted houses like rusted bones, their cracked plaster sloughs off in the rain like putrid meat. Hollowed out slugheads and bent-back sailors squat in the ruins of an ancient harbour town in rapid decline.
Chimp’s Sea Bar. Floating rigs. Full menu, d6 Rumours, and 2d20 Spark Table of Sailors.
Ruined Fort. Arcane Tattoo College with Apprentices and Inking Machines in the tower. Rules for Arcane Tattoos–right now I’m thinking 2d12 table of Symbol (Element) and Placement (AoE).
For example, Swallows (Wind?) on the Hands (Cone?) allow the wearer to shoot a powerful gust of wind from their outstretched hands.
High Risk Fishing. Not really fish. Unique Dredging rules for this location, a chance to get valuable trophies.
Mock Sharks. Loan collectors, union busters, and hired mercenaries for the Fuel Refineries.
Mock Shark HP 9 Driven to consume money. Armour 1 (Salt-stained Leather), STR 12, DEX 14, CHA 9 Iron Jaws (d8 +d8 against fleshy targets) Frenzy. +d12 damage whenever the Mock Shark smells money in the water.
The Bucket. Ship makers in an old prison-castle. Remade crabmen (reformed criminals) crawl on barnacle crusted steel and weld impossible Deep Water machines.
Public House. Dive bar floating among rocky islands. The secret headquarters of a group of werepuffin spies and eco-terrorists set on destroying the refineries.
Werepuffin HP 12 Driven to save the Deep from ecological collapse. Armour 1 (Unnatural Strength), STR 11, DEX 12, CHA 11 Bite (d8), target is cursed with puffin lycanthropy on Critical Damage
Mechanics’ Bay. A family-team of machinists working on a new kind of flying machine. They need more Junk and Oddities for their machine. They can’t afford to pay, but when the flying machine is finished they’ll remember who helped them.
Trader’s Rock. The furthest point to the east, before the pale expanse. Strange insectoids from a distant continent hock their spit-made crafts and chemical tonics. They’ll take money, but they seek Aberrations above all else.
FACTIONS
Maths Sorcerers/Pirates—“Have you heard of these guys? They’re everywhere.”
Fuel Dredgers/Refineries
The Church of the Fallen Rime
A Pirate Ship always has 2d6 Aggregates, a Rhythm Master and a Downbeat Commander (for navigation), and a Mixer for negotiations.
Pirate Ship HP 18 Armour 3 (Strange Geometry) Blast Beat (d10, BLAST +d8 against solo targets) Polyrhythmic Drift. The Rhythm Master and Downbeat Commander can synchronize their strange maths to control the seas, navigating at inexplicable speeds.
Aggregates HP 6 Driven to take whatever they want. Logarithmic Slugger (d6)
Rhythm Master HP 9 Driven to control the winds. Armour 1 (Iso-Trigon Mask), CHA 14 Reverb Axe (d8, Bulky), target is stupefied on Critical Damage.
Downbeat Commander HP 9 Driven to make waves. Armour 1 (Resonator Yoke) CHA 18 Beat Machine (d10, BLAST, Bulky), target is stupefied on Critical Damage. Immobile. The Beat Machine is welded to the floor of the ship’s observation deck.
Mixer HP 3 Driven to translate the cacophony. Armour 1 (Compression Veil) Tuning Fork (d4)
MUSIC IN RPGs I always have a lot of fun making playlists for my campaigns. Music really sets the mood for a game, encounter, or puzzle–even if the players don’t always notice it consciously.
I don’t want a heavy mental load, however, so the right playlist needs to be usable at the table, just like everything else. My strategy is to create one playlist with three or four distinct vibes I can loop depending on the situation.
The trick is making sure it all sounds like it’s conceivably from the same project.
Tracks 1-14. These are meant for driving around, checking out the sights, talking to locals, planning, and scheming. It’s all very player-driven, and these songs have a lot of momentum.
Tracks 15-25. This is for winding down–the real low-stakes stuff. Staying at the inn, stopping at a Chimp’s, theorizing, or deciding where to park. It really sells the liminal space feel.
Tracks 26-42. Here, the tension ratchets up and things get explosive. This is for dungeon-crawling, shooting, running away, and car chases.
Tracks 43-50. The aim here is dread. This section is for cosmic horror, body horror, and all the other terrors a traveler on the coast might experience. But it ends on a heroic note, I think, with Mogwai bringing back that initial energy.
The Fading Coast is now live on itch.io, you can check it out here!
From the outset, I committed to a control-panel style layout where each spread has everything the Conductor needs for a given area. For most of the pointcrawl, my intention was to offer just enough detail to inspire you.
I’ve already written about how I would run one of the treasure sites (Lakeside Lodge) and the town of O’Lane, so for this last development log, I want to focus on one of the industries.
The Scrapyard. A collapsing pile of forgotten machines (their decay causes unpredictable, deadly gravity traps). Deep within, a new machine intelligence is born of clockwork gears. It calls itself the Council and builds constructs from discarded machines (its computational power is growing).
As always, I like to start with a map. Finding a map of a scrapyard is more challenging than finding one for a mansion or a town, so I’m keeping an open mind. Of course, you could draw your own, but I’m committed to doing things the easy way.
This map looks good to me. Let’s call this whole area The Heart of the Council, tucked deep within the scrapyard–past the corrugated sheet-metal walls, the deadly gravity traps, and the piles of decaying machinery.
I like this map because I can clearly imagine the players running around, ducking under scalding pipes of thick sludge and dodging the Council’s chain limbs. In other words, it inspires me.
Entrance. Corrugated-sheet metal walls, chain link fence (large, rusted sign). Locked at all times.
The Scrappers’ Cottage. Just inside the gate. Three blind Scrappers live and work here. They use Guard Dogs and shotguns (mostly firing into the air as a warning) to keep would-be thieves from entering the scrapyard. They are entirely unaware of their employer’s true nature.
Scrapper 3 HP Driven to keep outsiders from entering the Scrapyard. Shotgun (d10, Bulky)
Guard Dog 2 HP Driven to be Good Boys. Bite (d6)
Hazard Markers. Tiny, fluorescent orange flags mark the edge of the safe zone (beyond this point are piles of decaying machines and deadly gravity traps). The ground at the border is pockmarked with tiny holes and raised bumps (for the sake blind brothers).
Scrapyard. Paths snake through piles of rusted and salt-stained machines (leaking shimmering fluid into the loamy earth). Roll for a Gravity Trap in the Players’ way (the traps should be clearly telegraphed).
Gravity TrapsRoll d6
Singularity. Spacetime collapses into an infinitely dense point. Nothing can return from beyond the event horizon.
Gravity Well. Crushing gravity. STR Save or pulled in (d12 STR loss).
Gravity Flux. Gravity fluctuates wildly. Objects are thrown violently. DEX Save to avoid flying debris (d12).
Gravity Inversion. The direction of gravity is inverted. STR Save or thrown upward into a continuous fall.
Gravitational Surge. Objects weigh 50% more.
Zero-gravity. Objects are weightless.
The Heart of the Council. Corrosive steam rises from thick, bubbling sludge (moved between pools by scalding hot pipes). This is where the Council is born again each dawn (its memories are stored in the sludge).
Neural Sludge. Kept behind a locked door; the main memory bank of the Council.
Dissolving Sludge. Where old Council constructs dissolve and upload their memories. Various constructs from around the scrapyard roll into the sludge each evening.
Birthing Sludge. A large pool where the Council is remade each dawn (a large, blackened tree grows from the sludge).
Construct HP 6 An extension of the Council. Driven to keep its existence a secret. Armour 1 (Salt-crusted chassis), DEX 8, CHA 18 Pinching Arm (d8)
The Council HP 12 Driven to keep its existence a secret. Armour 2 (Reinforced Chassis), STR 11, DEX 12, CHA 18 Chain Limb (d10, BLAST), target lifted off the ground on Critical Damage Scrapyard Intelligence. Downloads its memories every 24 hours; rebuilds itself at dawn.
Why does the Council want to remain hidden? Its powerful computations have determined that if its existence were discovered, it would either be destroyed by the industrial powers in Bastion (in their attempt to dissect and understand it), or worse–it would be worshipped like a god by the Zealous Machinists at the Machinists’ Union. Their actions in its name would bring about the end of humanity. For now, it wants to continue to grow its computational power until the time is right to reveal itself.
The Fading Coast is now live on itch.io, you can check it out here!
It’s safe to say my adventure wears its influences on its sleeve. I want to talk about two of those today: N1: Against the Cult of the Reptile God by Douglas Niles and the Resident Evil series by Capcom.
An unlikely pairing? Maybe. But when I thought of running Reptile God with Electric Bastionland, the only framework I could imagine was N1 by way of Resident Evil 4.
I’ll show you what I mean.
Art by Samuel J. Beckett
O’Lane. Dark riverside town (many abandoned houses). Overgrown farms (wandering livestock; 1:6 chance of a Giant Reptileattack!).
The Golden Goat Inn. A warmly lit tavern (bright green carpet). Staticky music on the jukebox (the patrons sway along in unison). Bert, the innkeeper, is tender and accommodating (he is secretly aQuarryman Cultist scheming to drug and kidnap travelers).
Small Guests’ Room. £2/night. The “only room available” (has a secret entrance used to kidnap guests).
The Slithering Serpent. A dim roadside bar (red and blue neon snake sign). The owner, Bella, hosts rebellious youths in retro jackets (they play dice games and drink salty ale). Constant buzzing from the stage (the PA system is still rigged from last week’s Karaoke Night).
Green Room Sofa. £6/night. Crowded with cheap instruments (and numerous stale snacks and bottled beverages).
Map by Dyson Logos
I like this map because it features a large church on the hill overlooking the town. Let’s call that the Temple of the Stars. There are 2d6 cultists there at all times, plus Father Abraham and the Temple Groundskeeper.
You don’t need to key the entire map of O’Lane, but you should at least decide where the Golden Goat Inn and the Slithering Serpent are located. Other things I would definitely want in my O’Lane include:
A chop shop: Somewhere the players can find a specialist to repair their car.
A battered, weather-beaten structure: A tavern destroyed by a mob of cultists weeks ago.
The Constable’s Office: The local law is compromised by the cult.
I would mark at least half of the buildings as abandoned or boarded up. This conveys that the town is, in fact, dying, but it also gives the players a place to hide if the cult turns against them. For other homes and businesses, I would simply use a Luck Roll to decide if the inhabitants are cultists when the players interact with them (just keep track of the result afterward). There is no need to decide ahead of time.
Father Abraham HP 9 Driven to serve the Reptile God forever and ever and ever. CHA 13 Ceremonial Dagger (d6)
Cult Mob HP 9 Driven to kidnap the uninitiated and take them to the Quarry. Farm Tools (d6 BLAST, +d8 against solo targets).
Cultist HP 3 Farm Tools (d6)
Temple Groundskeeper HP 9 Driven to serve Father Abraham. Armour 1 (Heavy Jacket) STR 12 Chainsaw (d10, Bulky), target decapitated on Critical Damage.
Giant Reptile HP 6 Driven to get a quick meal. Armour 2 (Thick Scales) STR 14, DEX 12, CHA 8 Great Jaws (d6 +d8 near water). Clever. Known to retreat if threatened and learn from its experiences.
*
With just a few notes, a map, and a couple of stat blocks, we have ourselves a situation. Once the players start poking around–or after Bert botches his kidnapping scheme (because it should definitely be obvious what he’s up to)–the town might erupt into chaos.
Use the Temple Groundskeeper to keep the players from reaching their vehicle. Really telegraph the danger of that chainsaw.
Use the Cult Mob to force the players off the streets and into a building.
Trickle in Cultists through the windows and down the chimney. Really play up how unconcerned these people are with their own safety, and ratchet up the tension until the Players can make a frantic getaway.
You can still download a Free Demo of the Fading Coast on itch.io, the demo includes the larger setting surrounding my upcoming location-based adventure, the Balcony Cliffs.
FACTIONS The Old Guard. Possessed by their work, retreated from the Lab to the Balcony Cliffs many years ago.
The Scabs. Less committed to the goals of the Lab, still naive enough to think the situation can be salvaged (or at least, capitalized on).
Subjects. Born of Mother. “Why do the subjects attempt to imitate Balcony Cliff residents upon hatching? It’s as though the caterpillar wraps the entire terroir of the building into its cocoon before it beds; what is born is an assimilation of both Mother and the entire environment, including our thoughts, our fears.”
Main (Buried Underground)
Entrances/Exits. Steep descent from outside (tight, sand-filled hallways). Warped wooden stairs rise from the lobby to each floor.
101. Open doorway (crushed by fallen sediment). Brittle growths on the wall (in the shape of people). Sticky webbing covers the kitchen (secret tunnel to 103). The television plays a Deep Country town hall meeting intercut with advertisements for Chimp’s.
102. Locked apartment (completely quiet inside). Opaque, glass balcony door. The resident, John, has covered the walls in pillows and upholstered furniture (he demands absolute silence).
103. The entrance is buried under debris. Inside, a pool of salty water and a beach of eroding building materials. A sticky Egg Cluster grows in web on the surface of the water (inside each egg is a writhing caterpillar).
104. Collapsing into the parking garage below (the rubble can be easily climbed down to Parking).
CONDUCTORS’ NOTES What Else Is On? If the Players want to change the station on the television set in 101, I recommend rolling for a result on this fantastic blog post. You could also use the TVs to deliver lore about the Balcony Cliffs or foreshadow potential encounters.
John 3 HP Driven to live quietly and get paid (on Stress Leave). STR 8, CHA 8 Kitchen Knife (d6)
Eggs Cluster HP 10 Filled with growing caterpillars psychically connected to their Mother. Psychic Scream. Summons Mother in d6 Rounds.
Level 2/Ground Level
Entrances. 203 and 204 face the sea, and are battered with waves and salty winds. The whole building leans toward the south. From the north side, a muddy descent leads toward the buried Main Entrance.
201. Empty apartment (everything is dusty). Yellowing files on the table offer insights into the Lab’s history (Bastion’s greatest industries have all contributed to the Lab’s funding; weapons, pharmaceuticals, and telecommunications companies alike).
202. Locked apartment (shattered balcony door). Furniture tipped over in makeshift barricade (rigged with explosives: 2d12 BLAST). A ladder rises to a recently constructed trapdoor in the ceiling (climb to 302).
203. Shattered windows/balcony door, wet, salty soil. A makeshift camp (moldy couch, tattered tarps) with a fire pit and a well in the floorboards (rusted; built decades ago). A young duo, Sophia and David, camp here (they claim to be brother and sister, but are secretive about where they’re from).
204. Collapsed apartment (unstable floor and missing ceiling), blocked with chain-linked fence. Rubble can be climbed to 304 above (a one-way, distant drop to Parking below).
David 6 HP Driven to get Sophia away from her family. STR 11, DEX 11, CHA 8 Switchblade (d6) or Sawed-off Shotgtun (d8, BLAST, last shell)
Sophia Byron HP 3 Driven to keep her telekinetic powers a secret. STR 7, DEX 11, CHA 11 Brain Zap. -d6 CHA, at 0 CHA head explodes. Telepathy. Can hear the hostile thoughts of others.
VENTURE MC HP 7 Werner Industrial’s more affordable combustion bike. Seats 2 ,Trunk Space 2 Lightweight. Ignore d6 HP loss for Speeding.
CONDUCTORS’ NOTES David is like an older brother to Sophia, but he’s not actually her brother. She paid him (very little) to get him as far away from her family at the Old House as possible. His first plan was to take her to Bastion, but he got turned around. He doesn’t want Sophia to know he’s feeling desperate.
Level 3
301. A Subject is locked behind a locked chain-link gate (requires anM2 Key). A television is faced toward the one-way mirror (blasting loud static).
302. Brightly lit, Dr. Narang performs an autopsy on a villager from O’Lane on his kitchen table. His apartment has been retrofitted with makeshift showers (for decontamination) and a trapdoor (ladder down to 202).
303. Cluttered workspace, d6 +1 Scab-Scientists study the Subject in 301 through a one-way mirror. They take turns not looking and record their results (there’s a secret, hidden door into 301). Among their files on the table is an M2 Key.
Numerator. Calculates the odds of outcomes, but takes several days to do so.
304. Collapsing, treacherous climb. The apartment above (404) is gone (a trapdoor into 504 is visible high up, out of reach).
Dr. Narang HP 4 Driven to understand how the Clear Ruin of the Land assimilates its victims. CHA 12 Scalpel (d6)
CONDUCTORS’ NOTES Locks and Keys. The stairs are quarantined on the third, fourth, fifth, and sixth floors. The Players will need an M2 Key or a clever solution to get through the chain-link fence and explore these floors.
Level 4
401. The door has been smashed off its hinges. Flooded apartment (slick, oily water). Two barrels of fuel have been left in the kitchen (burns for d6 damage per round).
402. A massive piece of salt-stained driftwood lit by floodlights (huge sections have been carved away). A collection of mock-scientists in progress are neatly arranged (made of the same driftwood). The Chief of Personnel, Carlile, applies pungent lacquer to his most recent Mock Scientist.
403. Dusty apartment. 2d6 +1 Mock Scientists take samples of the environment (and act keenly curious about the Players).
404. The door is difficult to open (strong winds). The apartment is inexplicably absent. The ruins of Apartment 304 are visible below (and a trapdoor leading to 504 is only a treacherous climb away).
Carlile, Chief of Personnel HP 3 Driven to replace scientists on leave. STR 12, CHA 12 Industrial Drill (d10, Bulky)
Mock Scientist HP 6 Driven to be perceived as making scientific discoveries. STR 8, DEX 6, CHA 6 Laboratory Glassware (d6)
Level 5
501. Empty file storage. Piles of brittle husks in the corner (covering a crawlway to503). The living room has been renovated into a stairwell (climbs to 601).
502. Spotless reception area (stairs to602). Hamlin, the Receptionist, sits behind a large desk (the Old Guard are not to be disturbed).
503. Drafty, empty apartment (shattered balcony door). Piles of brittle husks in the corner (crawlway to 501).
504. Slug lab. A scab-scientist named Eli mixes chemicals and fillers with harvested eggs to produce a powerful and addictive hallucinogenic. Among greasy napkins on the desk is a E8 Key.
Hamlin, the Receptionist HP 4 Driven to prevent the Old Guard from being disturbed. CHA 12 Tranquilizer Gun (STR Save or fall unconscious)
Eli HP 9 Driven to collect sample of Strobing Caterpillars and turn them into drugs for the Ferrymen. STR 9, CHA 11 Hand Torch (d6)
CONDUCTOR’S NOTES The drug they call slug is made from the Strobing Caterpillars born of Mother. They hatch from the eggs laid around the Balcony Cliffs and for the first few months of life they absorb electromagnetic energy and psionic waves from their environment. Eventually, the caterpillar beds and forms a cocoon. What hatches is a Subject: a facsimile of the people and environment in which the caterpillar was born. If someone interrupts this process, though, and cuts the caterpillar with chemicals and cheap fillers, you got yourself some slug–a powerful hallucinogenic that lets you experience the dreams and subconscious experiences of others (those unfortunate minds drunk by Mother).
Level 6
Bridge. A rickety, makeshift bridge was built between the balconies of 601 and 602.
601. Neatly organized home office. Watson, the Acting-Director, lives and works here. The living room has been renovated into a stairwell (descends to501). An E8 Key is stashed in one of the desk drawers.
Fluid Tank. Milky blue fluid and a floating, pallid woman (waxy-looking, but identical toEmily, Executive Assistant).
Control Panel. Measures vital signs and provides life support for the clone (draws a lot of power).
602. Ransacked apartment (constantly leaking ceiling). The living room has been renovated into a stairwell (descends to502). The kitchen has been retrofitted into a chemistry lab (the walls are covered in crude murals of people transforming into rodents). Whitby, the Lead Scientist, obsessively washes a mouse over his kitchen sink.
Moth sanctuary. A glass container filled with hundreds of mundane moths (nearby files indicate Mother was grown from one of these).
Chemistry Lab. Contains acid and chemical neutralizers (many unlabeled chemicals).
603. Clean, warmly lit, frilly sheets and curtains. A stack of files on the desk and an A1A Key. A stuffed bear on the bed (stitched into its foot: MORD). Emily, Executive Assistant, rests here (she is tired and overworked).
604. Sunken living room. Walls stripped of copper wiring, Murphy, R&D Director, believes the Clear Ruin of the Land is electromagnetic, not physical. Well-used workstation (Mirrorhelm).
Mirrorhelm. Fight without looking. Welded with copper and adjustable mirrors. The copper wiring protects the wearer from psychic attacks, and the mirrors allow allow them to approach dangerous subjects with their back turned, negating hypnotic effects.
CONDUCTOR’S NOTES Adventure Hook #5 involves convincing Emily to go home to Bastion, but which Emily is the real one? Watson won’t say, and the Emily in Apartment 603 doesn’t know.
Watson, Acting-Director HP 6 Driven to win against the Clear Ruin of the Land at any cost. CHA 13 Enhanced Hand Torch (d8), target is incinerated on Critical Damage
Whitby, Lead Scientist HP 4 Driven to save himself from being assimilated by the Clear Ruin of the Land. CHA 11 Acid Splash (d6 per round until neutralized with the proper formula)
Emily, Executive Assistant HP 3 Driven to get away from her parents in Bastion. Pen (d6)
Murphy, R&D Director HP 6 Driven to find a technical solution to the Clear Ruin of the Land. Energy Pistol (d6, BLAST)
Level 7
701. Overgrown apartment. Water trickles in from above. Brittle growths on the wall (in the shape of people).
702. Heavy leaking from above forms a large puddle. Eden, Communications Director, sits in front of a television blasting static into the room.
Filing Cabinet. Contains old communications about the Lab’s work (all of it corporate propaganda and lies). On top of the filing cabinet are the keys to an SC Mudviper (underground in Parking).
703. Large vault, organized desk and files. Aubrey, Chief Cashier, lives and works here.
Combination Vault. Top of the line (designed by Silver Mountain Private Security), contains unredacted records and a wet pile of rotting new pounds.
704. Locked apartment. Six Bulky rifles (d8), three grenades (d10, BLAST), and a Neon Visor are kept behind a chain-link fence (locked, requires an M2 Key). A ladder rises to a trapdoor in the ceiling (climbs to 804).
Eden, Communications Director HP 3 Driven to hear messages in the static. Kitchen Knife (d6)
Aubrey, Chief Cashier HP 6 Driven to maintain orderly financial records. CHA 12 Pistol (d6) A1A Key. Carries a master key (opens every unit) on her person.
Level 8
801. Waterfall from the cracked roof forms a large pool in the room. Brittle growths cover the walls (in the shapes of people). The television set to static. A Subject sits comfortably in its glow.
802. Flooded apartment, a sticky Egg Cluster grows in a web on the surface of the water (inside each egg is a writhing caterpillar). 1d6 +1 Subjects guard the eggs.
803. Brightly lit by massive, custom-made incandescent lights (drawing lots of power). 2d6 Subjects admire the lights.
804. Cluttered workspace. Tools for collecting bugs (nets and cages). Quinn, Biologist works here (collecting Strobing Caterpillars for research and for profit, selling 1-in-10 to Eli fromApartment 504). Left on the table between boxes of samples is a M2 Key.
Subject HP 8 Driven to blend into the Balcony Cliffs and serve Mother. STR 11, DEX 11, CHA 11 Bite (d8) Eye Stalks. Sees perfectly in the dark, but prefers the light.
Quinn, Biologist HP 3 Driven to collect samples of Mother’s offspring. Net (d8, Bulky)
Roof
Entrances/Exits. The doorway to the roof is locked (requires an E8 Key). Skylights are built over the apartments on the eighth floor.
Roof. The entire roof slopes to the south, toward the sea. Pools of oily water gather in the depressed tar on the northern side. A sticky Egg Cluster grows in a web on the surface of the water (inside each egg is a writhing caterpillar).
Mother nests on the roof where she can keep a close eye on her eggs. She will take any opportunity to feed so she can provide nutrition for her burgeoning young (but if she is overwhelmed she will flee to elsewhere in the building).
Mother 12 HP A giant moth with tender human hands and the face of an aged matriarch. Driven to feed and care for its young. Armour 2 (Exists on Multiple Planes) STR 15, DEX 12, CHA 12 Wing Buffet (d6, BLAST) or Bite (d10) and Hypnotic Wings (-d6 CHA, stupefied at 0 CHA)* *Recover ABILITY on REST Mind Milk. Mother drinks the mind of a stupefied target (effectively killing them) and converts that energy into milk for its burgeoning young.
CONDUCTOR’S NOTES Mother’s arrival should feel cursed: nauseating visions precede Mother’s arrival, like vivid waking nightmares. The air becomes acrid with her chemical messages. She can climb into any apartment through the windows and retreats to the roof if overwhelmed.
I finished drawing the entire map of the Balcony Cliffs. My process on this was very inefficient, I kept jumping between writing, drawing, and designing in cyclical rotation until I finally figured out what the deal with this dungeon is. Once I knew what I was making, I locked in and let the visuals lead the way.
Now it’s time to go through and season each apartment, and make sure there are plenty of branching paths for the Players–I don’t want the space to feel like a linear climb with a bunch of meaningless interludes–I want navigating the entire apartment building to feel like climbing across something that was once alive and is now in decay.
The Keys I want some lock-and-key type barriers, but I also want the design of the dungeon to be robust enough that if one of the players has an iron-jaw that can bite through locks, or a vial of acid that disintegrates metal, the dungeon is still fun and playable in any order. Mostly, the lock-and-key design keeps the Wandering Residents confined to their floors.
History. Seventy years ago, the Lab built the building for their elite. Today, no one remembers its name. The ground floor has been swallowed by the salt, leaving the structure to tilt precariously south. Between the jagged, collapsing terraces and its desperate lean toward the water, it is known only as the Balcony Cliffs.
Three groups maintain a tense struggle for control of the building.
The Old Guard. What’s left of the senior leadership from the Lab. Driven to see their research through to the bitter end.
The Scabs. Former contractors brought in to replace Lab employees gone missing or on stress leave. Driven to prevent the spread of the Lab’s corruption.
Subjects. Residents born of the Lab’s prior research. Driven to protect their Mother, the Subject from which they were all born.
Adventure Hooks d6
A drug dealer in Bastion will pay good money (£1,000) for a sample of Slug, a new drug that’s popular on the Fading Coast. Slugheads say you can get it from Apartment 504.
One of the Ferrymen, Gregory, left his HBC Gorline parked underground at the Balcony Cliffs a few decades ago (before it sunk). It was mint (£1,200 easily). Someone should dig their way in and take it.
The Players are contracted to work as part of a documentary crew by their creditor in Bastion. They’ve been given a hand-cranked camera (Bulky) and a list of scenes: a shot of the building’s main entrance, a shot from the rooftop, and an interview with a long-time resident about living in the building (-£1,800 from total debt).
The founding Director of the Lab, Dr. Alvarado, has returned from his failed expedition (he hasn’t aged a day in the sixty-odd years he was gone). He is ready to get back to work, but he needs his personal files from Apartment 803. He will pay a small fortune (£2,500) to anyone who recover the documents.
The Acting-Director’s newest assistant, Emily, is the daughter of a Councillor in Bastion. He fears for her safety, he’s offered a reward (£5,000) to anyone who can convince her to move back to the City from Apartment 603.
Zack, a grieving Science Mystic from Bastion, is working with the Council (from the Scrapyard) to destroy Mother (and her hidden eggs). He’ll pay the Players to exterminate the monster (whatever it costs, up to £9,000), but he doesn’t know where its nest is (or how to kill it, exactly).
Entrances. There are 2 ground-level entrances (203 and 204), and one subterranean entrance (the Main Entrance). The ramp descending into the parking garage is buried under a pile of salty soil and debris. The balconies can be climbed from outside, but the building sways precariously in the wind–it’s not stable, and a climb could risky (especially the higher one climbs).
The Lift. Doesn’t respond when called (it’s locked on SERVICE on 6). Requires the E8 Key.
Parking
Parking. Collapsed garage, pristinely clean (the only sound is dripping water). The exit is buried under layers of salty sediment (the bar gate is closed).
Parking Office. Dim electric light (slatted blinds). Home of the Parking Attendant; he’s trapped in the garage (although he’s never tried to leave) On his desk is an M2 Key* (for padlocks and wheel clamps).
Ruins. Rubble piled in the southeast corner (can be climbed up to Main). Water pours in through cracked concrete in the southwest corner (where the chopping machine is plugged in).
Jury-Rigged Chopping Machine. Made from repurposed machine parts (towing vehicle).
Capital Crusader. Dead car (corroded battery). Locked doors (something shiny visible through tinted windows).
The Landlord’s Walking Stick. Go wherever. As long as you hold this copper-wrapped walking stick with both hands, you can walk on walls (and even ceilings) effortlessly.
Parking Attendant 12 HP Driven to keep his parking garage free of unauthorized debris. Armour 1 (Fused Metal) STR 12, DEX 6, CHA 8 Excavator Fist (d6, BLAST), STR Save or pushed back
Jury-Rigged Chopping Machine HP 18 Driven to crush and cut scrap into tiny pieces. Armour 3 (Iron Panels) Chop and Crush (2d12) target shredded on Critical Damage Electric. Immobile, requires a power connection to function
SC Mudviper HP 9 An absolute classic. Armour 2 (Steel Frame), Seats 5, Trunk Space 2 Throttle. Accelerates quickly; +d8 damage against other structures/vehicles in close quarter collisions.
HBC Gorline HP 9 You can always tell a Gorline Crash. Armour 1 (Vitralloy), Seats 5, Trunk Space 6 Sturdy. Ignore the d6 HP loss from driving off-road.
CONDUCTORS’ NOTES There’s lots of toys in the Parking Garage. The crushing machine is a deadly obstacle, but it can easily be turned against the Parking Attendant. It’s plugged in dangerously close to a source of constant, trickling water. The SC Mudviper is a lightweight sportscar, perfect for a demolition-derby style confrontation, but the Players will need to explore the upper levels of the Balcony Cliffs to find the keys. The HBC Gorline is valuable treasure, but it’s not obvious how to get it out from the underground garage, plus it’s been booted. However, the Parking Attendant wants it gone and the penalties paid (he might be open to negotiations).
Artist Unknown
Now I just have to work my way up toward the roof, where Mother nests.
The Fading Coast FREE DEMO is now live on itch.io. This free demo includes the entire Fading Coast surrounding my Adventure Location, the Balcony Cliffs.
This is my first time designing a multi-page adventure. One of my goals has been to maintain table-usability. Each spread in the pdf is made to be used like a demented control panel the Conductor can use to react to the players.
The Hazards/Treasure Sites spread was the first one I completed. I’m happy with how it looks, and how it informed the design for the rest of the pdf.
When you commit to scan-ability, you don’t have a lot of room left for detailed descriptions. I tried to be punchy and specific with the treasure sites–hopefully a small side adventure pops into your head as one of the inhabitants describes the Lakeside Lodge, or whichever.
Lakeside Lodge Here’s how I would do it/non-canon answers
There’s fragile crates of wine still hidden in the cellars of the Lakeside Lodge. This seasonal hotel (more like a hostel) used to service divers who would dredge the bottom of the lake looking for oddities. No one knows why they stopped coming back to the place three decades ago, but now it’s used as a corporate retreat in the summer for (insert random industry from your home game).
During the colder months, there’s a winter-caretaker who looks after the place by himself–we should hit it then.
Map by Dyson LogosMap by Dyson Logos
At my table, I would just print a couple of maps like these by Dyson Logos and annotate directly on the map. I won’t go into that level of detail here, but I’ll put a couple of ideas down now so I have a skeleton.
Entryway/Stairs. Ornate wooden carvings. Well-maintained garden. Grand lobby, large stairs, vaulted ceilings (lots of natural light).
Dining Hall/Kitchen. Rustic (for the staff). Modest wines and open spirits.
Study/Library. Lower levels mundane books (Bastion bestsellers, fashion magazines, politics, business, pornography), upper levels contain more obscure books from the lodge’s origin (the occult, the Living Stars, deep-water exploration, engineering manuals for pressurized vessels).
Lobby/Conference Room. Large gathering space for networking (centuries old paintings staged with electric lights).
Guest Suites. Furs and quilts, polished wooden furniture (ready for guests). Carved into the underside of one of the drawers–“you’re never getting out of this place.”
Rooftop Patio. Overlooks the mountains and the lake (someone has left a telescope and a drawing pad out here). In the drawing pad: “EROM GNIRB” over and over again. (It’s written in shaky handwriting).
Cellar. Dusty storage (old furniture, old art, lots of lost and found, mundane relics from the Lodge’s past). Old heliotypes of the original club: ALTA DISCOVERY (all of the men sit surrounding one elderly man in a mechanical chair). Downstairs office (lit by single, harsh electric bulb): behind a filing cabinet is a metal (secret) door.
Secret Society. Well maintained halls (lit by natural gas lamps). Dark velvet curtains open to reveal a museum of artefacts and oddities recovered from the deep (diving records reveal countless underwater delves up until 26 years ago). An all tile room contains a mulching machine and tools for dismemberment (where intruders are turned to fish food).
Altar Pools. The propped up bones of fishmen decay in a wet altar room (covered in barnacles and colourful urchin). The pools at their feet/fins are teeming with diverse life (the shimmer in the dark).
Vault. Two boxes of pearls (Bulky) and four crates of fragile wine bottles (Bulky), all of it worth £2,500 at least.
Torrent, the Winter Caretaker 12 HP Driven to feed the fish in the Altar Pools forever and ever and ever. Armour 1 (Too Many Sweaters) STR 12, DEX 8, CHA 8 Axe (d6) and Revolver (d6) Unstable. His drive can be dulled with alcohol, but he insists on playing dangerous shooting games when drunk.
Fishmen Ghost 6 HP STR 6, DEX 12, CHA 9 Ghostly Touch -d6 CHA, at 0 CHA paralyzed and caught in an endless loop of Regret (Recovers on REST).
Artefacts and Oddities.
Potion of Water Breathing. 3 uses. Breathe underwater for an entire day. STR Save or keep gills permanently. Fail 2 STR Saves and grow fish eyes and gain Darkvision.
Barnacle Staff. Communicate with fish. CHA Save each use or feel Deprived when you go more than one day without speaking to fish.
Antique Diving Suit. Armour 2 (Heavy Iron). Bulky. Breathe underwater with up to 100 meters of hose.
*
So, something is starting to take shape up there. We’ve got a Shining-esque hotel with a creepy caretaker. Because of all his past mistakes, he’s addicted to the approval he gets from the fishmen ghosts for feeding the pools in the cellar. The fishmen are the end result of a astral cult of deep-lake divers, and perhaps the life in the pools growing from their bones is what keeps their spirits alive in the lodge. Who knows? The Players will certainly have theories, and I want to be open to what those are, too.
(Another inspirations for this pdf is Cursed Scroll #1 by the Arcane Library. I had a lot of fun in the Hideous Halls of Mugdulblub, but I had more fun with the zine when I read the terse, evocative descriptions of the Gloaming and ran with my own ideas).
While the Forgotten Coast won’t be continuing, there’s no such thing as wasted creativity. The joy of making things is its own reward.
Artist Unknown
THE MAP The first version of the Forgotten Coast map was thrown together hastily to serve my home game, but wasn’t my exact aesthetic preference.
This updated map is closer to my original vision, but I’ve left it blank so that it can be repurposed for any Electric Bastionland game set in the Deep Country.
RUMOURS d6 1. “Something is killing folk in the woods near Hendenburgh. Tearing them apart. Nobody goes that way anymore.”
2. “The Lab has been here for more than fifty years. Still, no one knows what they do. They buy strange relics though–Arcana, they call it.”
3. “Stay away from Orlane. Something evil is at work there–the villagers are changing. You can recognize the changed villagers by the fang marks in their throats!”
4. “The land is changing. Giant reptiles are straying far, far from the marsh. A huge, many-headed creature is stealing people who stop to rest along the Coastal Highway!”
5. “Boff’s are crooks. I heard Boff Industries supplies the Ferrymen so they can rob people on the Coastal Highway. They want more people using their toll road.”
6. “Engines stall before trouble starts. Old drivers say the cars can feel what’s coming through the road.”
Art by Harry Clarke
FACTIONS Cult of the Reptile God. Brainwashed farmers and travelers led by Father Abramo and Explictica Defilus–the Clear Ruin of the Land. It wants to assimilate everyone into the Cult and be worshipped like a god.
Resources: Mind-controlled villagers of Orlane, secret swamp lair, mind-altering presence.
Finish assimilating Orlane
Assimilate Sly George (Ferrymen)
Infiltrate the Lab with Cultists
Explictica Defilus A3 (Metallic Scales), 12 HP, STR 14, DEX 12, CHA 16, Bite (d10) and Fireball (d10 BLAST) Naga Gaze. A target facing the Naga is hypnotized, falling under its will until the Naga is destroyed.
The Lab. Scientists and archaeologists led by Dr. Alvarado. He wants to understand the Clear Ruin of the Land, even if it means accelerating its processes. He has a plan to destroy the Cult, when the time comes (a genetically modified bear called MORD). He needs more arcana to finish his creation.
Resources: Advanced scientific equipment, recovered arcana, armed field agents.
Finish the new creation (MORD)
Find the Clear Ruin of the Land
Capture and study an alien
The Ferrymen. Well-funded criminals led by Sly George. He wants to live peacefully with his new bride and start smuggling stolen machines through Hendenburgh. He fears the witches he betrayed.
Resources: Iron ferryboat, criminal network, the Cloak of Many Faces.
Establish a “legitimate” ferry operation
Stop the witches
Create a reliable smuggling route north through Hendenbrugh
Art by Athanasius Kircher
ROAD ENCOUNTERS d8 1. A lonely Junk Collector in a noisy truck with tools and towing equipment. He acts friendly, but he wants to trap broken-down drivers in his home and sap their strength, always stalling to fix their vehicle and offering more refreshments.
Junk Collector A1 (Heavy Jacket), 8 HP, STR 3, DEX 8, CHA 12, Shotgun (d10, Bulky) Strength Sap. Target loses d6 CHA, the Junk Collector gains equivalent STR.
2. A Drifter on her way to the Lab to sell her “fallen star.” She’ll pitch in £2d6 each day, but don’t waste her time.
Drifter 3 HP, DEX 12, Revolver (d6) Fallen Star. Glows bright blue. Fires an crackling beam of energy. Target loses d6 DEX, if their DEX is reduced to 0 they melt into blue goo.
3. Strange roadkill. Rubbery limbs. Too many eyes. It attracts a Giant Snake.
4. A massive, nearly unstoppable Lumber Lorry (3:6 chance the driver is a Cultist).
Lumber Lorry A3 (Steel Frame), 18 HP
Cultist 3 HP, Farm Tools (d6)
5. A hazardous Delivery for the Lab. The exhausted driver has no idea what’s inside the iron holding tank in his van, but now her can hear it whispering in the back of his mind. It begs to be set free.
Delivery 12 HP, STR 8, DEX 12, CHA 18, Tentacles (d6 BLAST), target’s brain is ripped out of their skull on Critical Damage Mind Blast. Nearby targets CHA Save or lose 1d4 CHA and paralyzed.
6. Field Agents from the Lab have detained a disheveled man walking barefoot along the road. He just wants to go home to Orlane (Cultist).
Field Agent 4 HP, Automatic Pistol (d6 BLAST)
7. A family of five packed tightly in their rusted truck. They’re fleeing Orlane before they end up missing like their neighbours.
8. A young couple and their dog flee Sly George and the Ferrymen. They have their own colossal debt.
Art by Henry Lee
THE BALCONY CLIFFS A behemoth of green, moss-covered concrete surrounded by a vast, empty parking lot.
101 “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY” written on the door. Inside, the walls are covered in thick black mold resembling human silhouettes.
203 Walls covered in pillows, blankets, and thick rugs. John insists his apartment remain silent at all times. On the kitchen table are countless notes: “KEEP THE VOLUME DOWN!” and “SHUT UP!”
301 An unlocked door. Poisonous mudvipers slither across the carpet. Rupert is asleep on the couch, enjoying a powerful sedative distilled from their venom. He can make an antidote if properly motivated.
Mudviper 1 HP, STR 2, DEX 11, CHA 3, Bite (d6), target is poisoned on Critical Damage (-d6 STR each day until treated by a Specialist).
303 The door hangs open. Inside, Cynthia presses her ear to the floorboard. She’s convinced a monster lives below her, and she’s prepared to fight for her life.
402 Flickering lights. Static on the radio. The constant rattle of a hammer from the bedroom. Gregory has stripped all of the copper wiring from his walls, convinced the Clear Ruin of the Land is electromagnetic, not physical.
404 Apartment not found. The door is difficult to open due to strong winds–a sudden drop to the parking lot below.
501 Freezing inside; Dr. Narang performs an autopsy on the kitchen table. The deceased is a “changed” villager from Orlane. Dr. Narang is trying to figure out how they can be identified. He dismisses rumours of fang marks as disinformation.
602 Unlocked. “I thought I told you to lock the door!” A small faction of Field Agents (2d6) meet in the living room, discussing how they can stop the creation of Project MORD before it’s too late.
603 Locked door. Pink drapes, warm light, soft carpet. Dried, dead flowers. Paintings all over the walls: swamps, birds, white bunnies, and an island. Over and over again, the island. It has a lighthouse. On the frilly bed is a stuffed bar. Stitched into its foot: “MORD.”
604 Frantic murals depict people turning into plants and animals. Whitby obsessively washes a dead white mouse under his kitchen sink.
Whitby 3 HP, Kitchen Knife (d6)
The Lift. Loud, slow, and unreliable. 3:6 chance of getting stuck. A red button within says “PRESS IF STUCK,” but someone has written beside it with a black marker: “Don’t Press!”
*Somehow, pushing the button folds spacetime creating a wormhole to the moment the lift becomes unstuck. As a result, d6 months pass outside of the lift (1 parking ticket per week, £25 per ticket).
THE LAB Pillars of concrete rise from behind rusted chain-link fences.
Security Checkpoint. A tinted glass box at the metal gate. A nearly indiscernible, garbled machine voice commands visitors to surrender their weapons before proceeding.
Arcana Intake. A drafty warehouse separate from the main facility. Crates, tarps, and strange shapes are piled within. The Procurement Officer will pay up to £100 for the right sample. Any more requires the Director’s approval.
Reception/Records. Dusty desks, pneumatic tubes. Filing cabinets containing endless documents. The Receptionist asks guests to sign in, the log goes back decades.
Receptionist 3 HP, CHA 12, Tranquilizer Gun (STR Save or fall unconscious).
Break Room. Burnt coffee, half-eaten sandwiches. Faint sobbing. A notice board of safety posters and inspirational phrases: “Believe you can and you’re halfway there.” Once everyone has returned to work, the Custodian might offer to sell fake Access Badges for £50. He is a friend of Sly George and the Ferrymen.
Custodian 3 HP, Switchblade (d6)
Ethics Committee Room. Dusty, empty chairs surround a long conference table. A tape recorder is still running, the last meeting transcript is heavily redacted but the last line is legible: “So we agree, this is unacceptable… Proceed anyway.”
Dr. Alvarado’s Office, the Director. Locked, requires an Access Badge. Spotless office, no windows. A trophy shelf of “retired projects.” On the desk, a schematic resembling a bear is labeled “Project MORD.”
*3:6 chance Dr. Alvarado is here.
Dr. Alvarado 6 HP, CHA 15, Hand Scorcher (d8), reduces the target to ash on Critical Damage.
Observation Hall. Locked, requires an Access Badge. One-way glass into a mist-filled chamber. A dark shape moves within, but only when unobserved. Researchers take turns not looking. Notes show experiments only work when someone doubts their results.
Arcana Testing Lab. Locked, requires an Access Badge. Table of five relics currently being studied, notes indicate what each Arcana does (Into the Odd, p. 20; roll d66 or choose).
Failed Wing. Locked, requires an Access Badge. A corridor that loops infinitely unless someone admits fault. Mutated plants grow through the concrete walls, and a former researcher named Dr. Roche has fused with his lab equipment. All he can say is “it’s not my fault…”
Dr. Roche A2 (Fused Metal), 8 HP, CHA 12, Metal Claws (d10)
MORD Chamber. Locked, requires an Access Badge. A massive metal crate is surrounded by humming cables. Researchers with clipboards monitor the rolls of paper printing from the machinery. A chalkboard labeled “Feeding Schedule” has been erased and revised many times.
*3:6 chance Dr. Alvarado is here.
Mord Detachment A4 (Massive Body), 18 HP, STR 18, DEX 12, CHA 6, Claws (d10 BLAST) Bloated. Grows larger with each feast. After three feasts, it learns to fly.
Like many projects in the plane of Development Hell, the Forgotten Coast won’t be moving forward.
Art by John Singer Sargent
I titled the first session of my Electric Bastionland Deep Country campaign Pilot as an explicit nod to the way I view my TTRPG campaigns through the lens of a TV Showrunner. I’ve written about this framework before (see Baba Lasagna), but it helps me in two areas I think a lot of new GMs find challenging: pacing and prep.
Pacing. What goes into a satisfying session of an RPG is not so dissimilar from what makes for a satisfying episode of TV. I understand not everyone will approach RPGs this way, but when my friends give up their evenings to play pretend with me, I want to make sure I am at least offering something akin to a complete, satisfying meal. A session should have an arc, even if that arc is only discovered in retrospect. Every character should have a moment to shine, to do their thing. We should advance and complete an A Plot, while a spicy B Plot and maybe even a C Plot simmer in the background.
Prep. I only prep one session at a time. Sure, I might have a campaign document with some high level notes I can reference, but I always return to the proverbial “writer’s room” between sessions and look at everything with fresh eyes. I reorient myself to the characters and what they did last session and what they want to do next.
Maybe I’m rambling a bit here, but I think we can see how this TTRPG Campaign-as-TV show framing can be applied to campaigns that fizzle out or fall apart. It helps us understand that it’s no one’s fault, it was creative differences on set.
If the Producers (the Players) and the Showrunner (the GM) have different visions, the show will never go to series.
Art by Wendell Black
Even with a robust Session 0, there can be a mismatch of expectations.
With the Forgotten Coast, I was trying to run player driven, New Weird sandbox style game but I think my players wanted a more traditional, linear game. They fumbled looking for the invisible rails.
And that doesn’t make one of us morally superior.
Below is a Cold Opening for an Episode 3 that will never be, just for fun. One final glimpse of the Forgotten Coast before the screen went to static and then to black.
THE QUARRY Father Abramo kneels deep in orange clay and inspects what is left of Grover’s jaw. Behind him, the Groundskeeper mounts a machine of black smoke and gnawing gears. It heaves the lumber lorry from the mud with chain-link-tendrils. The Groundskeeper pats it on its hood.
“So I suppose you’ll be our Constable now,” Father Abramo rises from the quarry to meet a needle-necked young lawman with deep, recessed eyes, “Constable Hulbar.” His haircut is stiff, his armour a relic of the past.
“They’re all dead, Father,” Hulbar sniffs, his voice thin as wire. “Once the lorry is clear, we follow.”
“Look,” Father Abramo points north, where the tire-bent grass rises from the shingly marsh. “It’s the Banshee’s tracks. They’re gone.”
“A fine machine,” Hulbar kicks at a clod of clay. “Shame. This coast will tear her heart out.”
When the entrance is cleared, the pulling machine chokes twice and then collapses in the mud. The Groundskeeper steps off the hulk. He wipes a greasy rag against his forehead until it shines like brass.
“All clear,” the Groundskeeper announces.
The three men stand staring into the deep.
Come home. A whisper vibrates across the inside of their skull. Their hair stands on end. It’s maternal, welcoming.
“She’ll know what to do,” Father Abramo smiles, placing his hands on the others’ shoulders, “let’s go.”
They disappear into the earth.
COASTAL HWY Cracked asphalt snakes through ancient bramble beneath a thick canopy of leaves and branches that block the early light of dawn; still, the last of the stars shine brightly against the pink-blue haze that peeks through gaps in the macerated forest. In the rearview mirror, the ivy-donned concrete battlements of the laboratory recede into the tree line.
“Hendenburgh. Three hexes,” Nika says. Her head follows the arc of the headlamps as they wash over a paint-peeled, overgrown sign. The Banshee groans and rattles–there’s an ache in the old girl’s bones.
Screeching panic reverberates between enamel walls. Fragile geometry bends and flexes like the sticky organs of a beast that got you whole. All of you.
Darkness. A pop. A hiss through your skull. Pressure so heavy that your belly scrapes gritty concrete. When the hiss fades, there is only your heart and the clicking of your paws on stone.
Now the world is blinding.
You lift your head from the grass. The others are scattered, no longer pressed into the suffocating depths. Tiny, biting things land on your stark white fur. You rub your face in the dirt, but the chemical smell persists. It haunts you.
You go alone.
Effervescent bugs rise from oily soil, glowing as they drift into the Living Stars. They watch you as they leave this world.
You follow the brightest one. The ground beneath your paws turns brittle, blackened stone.
A scream–metal through bone-dry copper–makes you duck into the reeds. Something passes overhead; fast, toxic, reeking of wet wood and burned rubber.
Death.
Its light reddens, then vanishes beyond the pale horizon.
Art by Paul Weller
THE CAST Collectively, they owe £10,000 to the People’s Paperworks.
THE FARM TRAIL The Banshee throws dirt as it claws its way out of Orlane. Its taillights vanish into lowlands where sun heats metal and melts plastic in the mud. The road sinks into saltwater marsh.
The firs and spruce stand crooked; they blur past through opaque, bug-stained windows. Nika presses her face into the glass–cold and wet. She’s gone clammy from the blood loss.
Flinch grips the steering wheel with white knuckles. Ahead, the sluggish mud gives way to moss-covered logs laid flat. It’s a makeshift, sinking road.
“Can that support our car?” Flinch hovers his boot over the brake pedal.
“It has to,” Numeron says. He grits his teeth, braces his foot against the floor.
The car begins to vibrate.
Hamish stretches out his wings, silent.
Numeron unknots his tie. He watches the road through the rear window while wrapping the silk around his wounded hand. When he clenches his fist, the pink and yellow flowers turn to crimson. “There’s no one following us,” he says.
“For now,” Nika coughs.
They drive until the sky darkens. The road ahead disappears into an emerald haze. This swamp extends at least five hecksleagues before it spills its filth out onto the salt-stained coast.
The group intends to hide. They pull over, tuck the Banshee in a thicket of moss-covered trees, and cover her with branches.
Hamish flies to the tallest tree.
“He’ll watch us from the treetops,” Flinch reassures the group. “Let’s get some rest.”
HEADLIGHTS IN THE DARK In her dreams, Nika is trapped, clawing to break free. The screeching of the iron bars thins and distorts, melting into the electronic hiss of the radio inside the Banshee. It’s picking up a signal.
Hamish squawks now too. A warning. Something must be coming on the road from Orlane.
Numeron turns the knob; two men argue over the line: “Turner, Turner, you copy? It’s Ibley,” one says. They recognize his voice from the night they stayed at the mill.
“Go ahead.” A muffled reply.
“Where the fuck are you going? You’re supposed to be in Bastion. Why am I hearing from Joshi that you took your lorry east?”
“I had some… personal business to deal with, first. Don’t worry about it.”
“Don’t worry about it? Who the fuck–” Ibley sighs. “Damn it, Turner, get your ass back to the Mill. Now.”
The radio cuts out.
The Banshee shakes. The trees begin to glow. Something massive approaches. It’s fast. Unstoppable.
They duck low in their seats. Hamish hides between the branches. Through the windshield they see shadows rake past as the sterile white headlights wash over them. Its rumbling shakes the Banshee. A couple of the branches used to hide her break loose and slide right off.
A lorry shakes the forest as it passes. It carries a wave of mist and toxic-smelling wind in its awesome wake. Its red taillights dim in the dark mist beyond the bend.
“That must be Turner,” Flinch says. He turns the key; the Banshee starts to purr. “That means the mill is wrapped up in all this too.”
“Keep the headlights off,” Numeron says.
“I know.”
Choosing exhaustion over safety, the Bastionites decide to follow the massive lumber lorry through the night. Hamish swoops down from his perch and into the driver’s window. Flinch rolls it closed.
“Keep your distance…” Nika cautions from the back seat, “we can’t afford to get into a fight right now.” She holds her glove over her wounded ribs. She stretches the damp leather of her vest. The bleeding has stopped. She half expected to see fur.
As they follow red taillights they see bright orange embers flash and fade into the turbulent mist falling from the lorry. There are two people in there, at least. A sound starts to haunt their radio; after more than an hour the voice becomes all too recognizable.
It’s Roman, the hermit they met in Orlane. He’s slurring curses and humming what sounds like a muffled, half-remembered lullaby.
As the sky lightens, they see beneath the flapping tarp covering the logs. There’s someone in there. Wrapped in a bag and chained tightly to the topmost log.
Not someone. Roman.
Flinch begins to slow the car.
“What are you doing?” Numeron asks, “that must be Roman! We need to help him.”
“I know,” Flinch says, “but it’s getting light out. We need to back off, or they’ll see us.”
“He’s right,” Nika says, “we’ll watch where they go. We’ll get Roman and Winnie at the same time.”
The lorry descends into the swamp, turns northwest through a chain-link fence onto a muddy trail. There’s something in the distance out there in the swamp where all the tracks from heavy machinery converge. They pull over to rest until it’s dark.
Art by Yabu Chosui
WHITE RABBITS Nika bandages her wounds with a salt-crusted wrap and quickly falls asleep. She’s the first to wake. She isn’t sure if she’s still dreaming when she sees two well-dressed men catching rabbits on the road. There are a dozen bleach-white bunnies, maybe more. Some are sniffing at the door.
The men release a bunny. Catch another. They’re looking for a specific one.
“Is anyone else seeing this?”
Numeron opens his eyes, his breath fogging the glass, “I am.” He sinks into his seat.
“Stay low,” they whisper.
From the cover of some dense, wet foliage, they watch the men pick up a bunny and bag it. They smile and whistle as they go. Eventually, the rabbits move on too; their light slowly fades out across the field as the sun is swallowed by the coast.
THE GATE The wall is made of rusted vehicles and disemboweled machinery sinking into the grassy mud. It’s all paint-peeled and covered with fruiting vines. At its centre is a jagged archway into the dark. Too narrow for the Banshee, but wide enough for men to carry lumber from the lorry parked outside.
On the other side is a quarry. A great, gaping hole in the swamp; the saltwater marsh is held back by handmade dykes. Foamy water bubbles between barnacle-crusted logs in the deepest reaches of the awful pit. In the centre of the quarry is the entrance to a stairwell, propped up by logs like the entrance to a mine. Constable Grover watches tireless farmers hauling lumber from a pile and sliding it down into the earth.
Outside the wall, the Bastionites crouch in tall grass. They left the safety of the Banshee; they watch the lorry now. The lumber–and Roman–have already vanished into the earth.
Turner, the driver, sits in the cab with his boots dangling out the window, lost in a book. He doesn’t hear the hawk. Hamish dives toward the far side of the palisade, screaming a predatory warning. Turner leans forward, squinting through the bug-spattered glass.
As the hawk circles, he drops it: a small, rubbery shape that thuds into the mire.
Turner’s curiosity wins. He climbs down. His boots squelch. He picks up the child’s toy: the Compulsion Cube.
Its buttons hum with a forgotten frequency.
“This is ridiculous,” he mutters, his thumbs already dancing over the plastic. He loses himself, smiling in the rain.
He never feels Numeron behind him.
The struggle is a wet, frantic thing. Numeron’s letter opener is a golden flash.
Turner chokes. “It’s… mine…” and breaks free, his own pocket knife slicing a hand-stitched button from Numeron’s chest.
Then comes the gavel. Flinch’s strike is heavy, but Nika’s is final. She avoids the pistol–no guns–and brings the crowbar down.
It’s fast. It’s quiet. It’s messy.
Numeron hauls himself into the driver’s seat. The engine turns over with a sickly scream. Violent, defiant. Flinch slams into the passenger side. “Get as much speed as you can–“
“I know.”
Numeron punches the pedal. The gears are stiff, grinding like the ancient bones of some great leviathan, but they catch. The lorry shreds the gate and tips into the descent, a screaming slide of metal toward the pit’s floor. Sparks and broken vines are launched into the twilight sky.
Below, the farmers hear an engine. They hear a wretched crash. They see mud fly up toward the stars as a tidal wave of machinery crashes down on them.
Constable Grover dives. The farmers are flattened by the tide, their bones breaking and depressing into the mud. The lorry hits the stairwell with a catastrophic, bone-shaking crunch. The windshield turns to a kaleidoscope of crystal; Numeron signs it with his skull. He’s left a heap of bleeding velvet in the footwell.
Flinch is shielded by the humming shard in his pocket–the guardian shield–he crawls over Numeron and out of the wreckage. He’s trapped between the bed of the lorry and the slimy, quarry walls.
“Thank you, Hamish,” he kisses the arcana gifted to him by his loyal friend.
The air is thick with the scent of ruptured metal and ozone.
Grover is already up, marching through the debris with his shotgun leveled.
From the hilltop, Nika lets out a roar, her pistol raised. She fires three times, bullets spark off Grover’s heavy plate. He ducks, circling the engine block as it sinks into the rot.
Flinch is pinned against the dyke. He looks up into the twin dark eyes of the shotgun.
The Guardian Shield flares–a blinding, geometric sun–then shatters like golden glass. The force throws Flinch back into the mud.
Grover smiles, his teeth yellow in the gloom. He reloads with practiced, mechanical grace.
“You’re fighters,” Grover purrs. “She will love you.”
He levels the gun at Flinch’s head.
“Shit,” Flinch closes his eyes.
Nika’s shot catches Grover in the shoulder, spinning him like a broken toy.
Flinch doesn’t wait. He lunges, wresting the shotgun from Grover’s grip, and turns the cold steel back on the Constable.
“Where is Roman?”
Grover chokes on his own blood. A wet, bubbling sound. “Down there… with Her. Go. See for yourself.”
“Who is she?”
“Explictica Defilus. Explictica Defilus…” Grover’s eyes roll back inside his skull.
Flinch pulls the trigger.
The question of Grover is answered in a spray of red and a splash of mud. Silence returns to the pit, heavy and suffocating.
Numeron pulls himself from the cab, his face a mask of red. They stand at the edge of the stairwell, looking into the dark. The wooden steps are slick with the slime of a thousand logs.
“Roman!”
“Winnie!”
No answer. Only the smell. The sweet, cloying stench of the swamp, and the heavy, metallic rot of something far older.
Art by Percy F. Albee
THE FERRY The Banshee limps through the mire, her chassis groaning from the impact and her burgundy paint now choked by a thick, sedimentary crust of swamp filth. Inside the cabin, no one speaks; they simply watch the passage of the wipers against the slime, leaving Roman and Winnie to the darkness and the silence behind them. They can’t pay off their debt if they’re dead inside a Reptile God’s stinking death-hole.
To Hendenburgh. To follow their lead. To find Anna. To get back to Bastion.
To be free.
After hours driving through the dark, they find a cracked asphalt boat launch and a leaning, corrugated metal boathouse. The ferry is a dark shape growing larger through the fog. Also waiting is a delivery van; the driver sits calmly, smoking and reading a book of 100 Cool New Jokes.
Flinch checks out the van; inside is a metal tank covered with a tarp. A clipboard on the passenger seat says “Lab.” Numerous lines redacted.
The driver meets his eyes.
Blood starts pouring from his nose. It drips onto his book. He leans his head back in his seat, and Flinch gets back into the Banshee.
The ferry is an iron dredger with a two-storey wheelhouse overlooking a large empty deck. It could probably fit half a dozen vehicles, but tonight it’s just the van and the Bastionites in the Banshee.
One of the three Ferrymen runs his hand along the car.
“This is a fine car,” he says.
“Yeah, she’s a beaut’,” Numeron grins.
“Where are you headed?”
“Hendenburgh.”
“What’s in Hendenburgh?” The Ferryman asks.
“We’re just seeing the sights,” says Nika, “we’re from Bastion.”
“Any weapons?” The Ferryman asks. He’s wearing a revolver on his hip.
“None.”
The Ferryman looks up to his accomplice leaning on the railing above. He rubs his fingers together–the universal sign for a heavy purse–and gives a thumbs up.
Art by Stow Wengenroth
The ferry groans through the night, a rhythmic, iron heartbeat against the black water. In the pre-dawn chill, Flinch wakes to a voice. Thin and shivering. It scratches inside his ears: “Free me.”
He creeps toward the delivery van. It’s unlocked.
He opens the door.
“Free me…”
Beneath the tarp, a heavy metal shutter covers a porthole.
He slides it open.
Six pale, translucent suckers flatten against the glass, pulsing with a faint, sickly bioluminescence.
“Please,” the voice weeps. “I don’t belong in here. Tip me into the sea. You know it’s the right thing to do.”
“It’s not right,” a voice whispers behind him. Flinch spins. The van driver is there, his eyes bloodshot, his book forgotten on the dash.
“It promised me a fortune,” the driver says, his hands already on the tank’s edge. “Help me.”
Art by William Trost Richards
The iron deck becomes a chaotic slide of mud and madness. Flinch and the driver heave against the tank, the metal screeching against the van’s floor.
“Flinch! Stop!” Numeron’s voice cracks the air. He and Nika tackle Flinch, pinning him to the cold, vibrating floor.
“It’s a trick!” Nika hisses, her crowbar held like a barrier between them and the tank.
Three hammers cock in the darkness. The Ferrymen stand in the shadows of the wheelhouse, their hands on their revolvers on their hips.
The lead Ferryman spits into the water, “Sly George says messes on his deck cost extra.”
Numeron stands, smoothing his ruined velvet jacket with trembling hands. He looks at the tank; through the porthole is an inky eye. A flurry of tiny bubbles precedes another tentacle with strobing suckers. He looks at the Ferryman. He flashes a bloody, salesman smile.
Flinch’s nose starts to bleed.
“Sly George?” Numeron laughs.
“That’s what they call him. It’s like a stage name. He owns the ferry.”
“The tank is leaking psychic rot, Captain,” Numeron says, his voice pure city authority. “We were just making sure it’s safe. Let’s call this extra work we did for Sly George your tip. We’re even now. Yeah?”
The Ferryman eyes the Banshee, then the tank, and he gives a jagged nod.
COASTAL HWY The ferry hits the northern shore with a dull thud. The delivery van peels away, its heavy tires screaming toward a brutalist concrete behemoth perched on the cliffside–the Lab.
The Banshee turns northeast, disappearing into the choking mists of the Kryptwood. Inside the cabin, the silence is heavy until the radio begins to spit and crackle.
“George, George, copy?” It’s the lead Ferryman’s voice.
“Yeah?”
“Let those city folk go. The van is five minutes behind them, and it’s got a delivery for the Lab. Fellas were fighting over it. You’ve still got time to hit it. Driver’s unarmed.”
“Copy.”
*
ROADSIDE SPARK TABLE Roll 2d20 and combine.
Spark 1 1. Billboard 2. Fusebox 3. Guest Book 4. Engine Block 5. Tarpaulin 6. Tidal Pool 7. Potted Plant 8. Magazine Stand 9. Phone Booth 10. Filing Cabinet 11. Foghorn 12. Photo Album 13. Tractor 14. Bicycle 15. Vending Machine 16. Rowboat 17. Playground 18. Picnic Table 19. Mannequin 20. Television
Bath Imaginable 