Mr. Dicker

Baron Von Munchhausen, the greatest [insert profession] in all of history.

Mr. Dicker

From the registry of the Royal Armory of Bastalia

Munchhausen’s Reality Distorting and Inhibiting Computational Kinetic Energy Rifle, commonly known as Mr. Dicker.

Pedigree -

This rifle was created by history's greatest: raconteur, tactician, artist, musician, explorer, lover, wine critic, brew master, gourmand, public speaker, bowler, marksman, swordsman, and so man other things, Baron Von Munchhausen. According to the documentation that was found with the piece, it was crafted in the year of our Lord 1791. It was purchased from a woman of ill repute for a fee of seventeen gold crowns.

This piece should not be confused with Munchhausen's previous creation: Munchhausen's Rifle of Distortion and Inhibition of Controllable Kinesthesis, or Mr. Dick; which had been previously owned by the Marquis De Sade before being lost during the reign of Napoleon. 

A swarthy soldier from the little travel country of Rhinoplasty.

 

Functionality -

The apparatus consists of two parts attached to one another with a thick cord of wound copper wire, insulated with tarred linen. The rifle portion consists of a musket, whose barrel has been wound with wires of differing composition; Gold, copper, bronze, tin, platinum, electrum, as well as a number metals that have yet to be identified. The flintlock mechanism has been replaced with a small crank, the type that can be found on music boxes and mechanical toys. A stone block, no larger than a man's palm has been imbedded into the butt stock of the rifle, the block is of a black hue and has been inscribed with inscrutable characters that are most likely eastern in nature. The entirety of the wooden stock of the musket appears to be inscribed with glyphs from the most ancient Egypt. 

A helm of similar make used to craft Mr. Dicker

 

The other part of the apparatus, attached with the aforementioned wire, is a helm typically worn by Spanish Conquistadors. The wire attaches to the top of the helm through a fitting that has been added to the helm's construction. The upper portion of the helm is festooned with wires of the same make and materials as those wrapped around the barrel of the musket. Glyphs similar to those etched on the black stone in the butt stock of the musket are also in prominence on the parts not covered with the previously mentioned wires. The helm is secured on the head through the use of leather straps.

When fired, the rifle alters the very fabric of reality to create a series of events where the target comes to injury. These events are created through the imaginative power of the marksman using it. It's greatest achievement being the slaying of the Tarrasque of Lyon by the Baron himself, through a series of events involving every citizen of Lyon and Paris as well as a number of famous institutions both within and without the boarders of France. The only limiting factor in Mr. Dicker's potency is that these events must involve real and true individuals as well as items in the world of man. Inventions of pure fancy do not manifest.

OSR and Into the Odd

Damage: *1+

Rate of Fire: 1 per round

Ammo: The crank on the side of the rifle must be wound each time before being fired, requiring the user to sacrifice their move action to 'load' the rifle.

Range: Line of Sight

Special: The damage is increased by +1 for every agent and object that is mentioned in the series of events that caused damage to the target. (e.g. The Seventeenth Earl of Cummerbund James Flatulence the 3^rd aims and fires Mr. Dicker at a near by orc who is being rather rude. The Earl of Cummerbund, being an unimaginative man, is only able to imagine an African Swallow dropping a coconut upon the orc's head resulting in a pittance of 2 damage. 1 damage for the laden European Swallow traveling at speed of 14 miles per hour, and the coconut. However, the Forty-Third Duchess of Cufflinks Gertrude Dyspepsia aims and fires Mr. Dicker at a kobold gyrating his hips in a suggestive manner at her prize winning daffodils. The Duchess of Cufflinks, being a very imaginative woman, does a hefty 11 damage to the lewd kobold through the following scenario:

Her gardener, a Mister Pennywhistle (+1), was walking to the estate gardens (+1) when he spied the shapely bottom of the duchess' chambermaid, Miss Cowbell (only +1 since her bottom is attached to her and the rifle considers them one and the same, which is rather rude of Mr. Dicker if you ask me). Mister Pennywhistle (+0 he's already been mentioned you buffoon!) decides to reach out and give said bottom (+0 once again this has been covered...) a gentle squeeze as a sign of his lecherous appreciation. Doing so, Miss Cowbell (+0 SHE'S ALREADY BEEN MENTIONED!) lets out a shrill cry that startles Mister Glue, the local miller's (+1) aged draft horse (+1 yes, now you get another point of damage...) pulling a cart (+1 yet another object, now you're on the trolley!) filled with barrels (+1) of the local tavern's (+1) finest ale (+1, Mr. Dicker considers the contents of a container to be separate from the container itself, which I think is rather unfair to Miss Cowbell and her shapely bottom). Being startled Mister Glue (+0 you already mentioned him addle brain!) goes galloping down the lane (+1 haven't mentioned this one yet) toward the estate (+0, have you been drinking again?) Upon reaching the estate (+0, dear sir, I believe you have some sort of mental deficiency), he goes crashing through the front gate (+1, your deficiency appears to be intermittent) sending it flying into the air. The gate (+0, I think you are doing this to annoy me) crashes into the Duchess' (+0, yes, you are toying with me, sir, and I do not like it!) prized gazebo (+1, yes, yes a new object, aren't you clever) which in collapses onto the naughty kobold (+0, mentioning the target does not actually get you extra points you cheating cad!). All of this resulting in the kobold's death from 11 points of crushing damage.

Did I mention that the damage type is dictated by the final actor in the series of events? Well, now I have. By the way, Mr. Dicker does not appreciate unimaginative series of events such as a beehive falling upon a target, and then the describing how each individual bee stings the intended victim. The events must be imaginative and involve as may objects and agents as possible to please Mr. Dicker to the fullest! )

The target's Armor Class (In the Case of OSR) still must be met or exceeded in order for the effect to work, even though Mr. Dicker does not fire a real projectile; Mr. Dicker is a stickler for the rules governing war and target practice. On a critical hit the damage is doubled. With the GM's or Mr. Dicker's permission, the user can describe a series of events using the previously mentioned rules, though each actor or object is worth +1/3 and has a maximum of the user's level (OSR) OR 1 for Novice, 2 for Professional, 3 for Expert, 4 for Veteran, 5 for Master, and 6 for Beyond (Into the Odd).

For GM's and Mr. Dickers

In the hand of imaginative players this weapon can be insanely powerful. So, here is a list of options that may be used in order to reign in the power of the weapon. The fun of the weapon is its gimmick, so limiting the damage won't reduce the amount of fun players can have with this thing.

• Allow a Save vs. Breath (OSR) OR Dex Save (Into the Odd) to take ½ damage.
• Limit the number of objects or actors that may be involved by the user's Intelligence or Charisma (OSR) OR WILL (Into the Odd)
• Limit the number of objects or actors the may be involved by ½ of the aforementioned statistics.
• Only allow a single actor or object to be used once in a description per battle.
• Roll 1D20 for the maximum number of actors or objects that may be used for that attack.

The Shadows of the Scream

They are the fossilized forms of oppression itself. Art by: Zdzislaw Beksinski

The Shadows of the Scream

They are heralded by sighs and shuffled footsteps, moving with the gate of a prisoner traveling to the gallows. Their form is vague, a man or woman, hunched shoulders and downturned face. Its edges are smoothed over like a weathered statue, possessing an indication of clothes over an emaciated and broken form. Colored gray, the hues of life had been washed from this form long ago. Around the humanoid figure reality boils in a haze of umber and vermilion. Sharply outlined shapes of weapons, fists, and sneering faces flash from the miasma in whip-crack succession. Yells of archetypal captors cascade out of the bloodied cloud to cry out, “Halt, prisoner.”

As the Grey Folk are the residue of uncaring and soulless bureaucracies, the Shadows of the Scream are the residue of their actions. They are silhouettes, outlines created on the surface of reality, shaped like victims. Each victim, encapsulated by the violence visited upon them, fades in an affirmation of their mortality, but the hollow space in the world left by their passing, continues in the wake of bureaucratic progress. These spaces are the spot in reality a victim took up as violence crashed upon them. Shadows of the Scream are not the victims themselves, they are merely islands of natural reality surrounded by a wasteland created through continued violence. The human shapes are not the monsters, they are merely the hollow core of a bruised reality moved about by the true substance of their exterior. Found in places where death was casual and ever present, they wander their spawning ground, perpetuating the very acts of their creation.

OSR

Type: Magical Creature (Not Undead, since undeath requires a previous life, for which they never had)

Activity Cycle: All times, the torment of injustice never ends.

Diet: The rust flaking from chains, and water from leaking prison cells.

Intelligence: Low, violence and subjugation contain little in the way of intelligence.

Treasure: None

Alignment: Neutral (Evil)

No. Appearing: 1D10 (Can be summoned by Grey Folk. Grey folk may summon instead of attacking, the next round 1D6+2 appear.)

Armor Class: 15 / 5 (They are the masses, easily broken under the boots of power.)

Movement: 30 ft.

Hit Dice: 2

To-Hit: +2

No. of Attacks: 1

Damage: 1D4 w/ Prisoner's Burden

Special Attacks:

Prisoner's Burden – Each time a character is struck, a character must make a save vs. Paralysis. A failed save results in a character's movement being reduced by ½ for 1 round. Multiple failed saves in a round increases the duration of the effect by 1 round per fail. (The effect is ended, or the rounds of effect reduced from multiple hits from different attackers, if the attacker creating the effect is destroyed)

Guard's Command – Instead of attacking, the miasma surrounding the Shadow of the Scream takes the form of numerous sneering faces that cry out 'HALT'. The effect may only target one character, that character must make a save vs. Paralysis. A failed save results in the character being unable to move for 1 round, though they may engage in any other action not associated with moving (attacking, spell casting, defense). Multiple failed saves in a round increase the duration by 1 round per failed save. (The effect is ended, or the rounds of effect reduced from multiple hits from different attackers, if the attacker creating the effect is destroyed)

Special Defenses: They are immune to suggestion, charm, command, or any other spell that gives authority over the monster. (Only the guards have such authority)

Magic Resistance: 10% (Magic use is forbidden by the guards.)

Size: Medium (5' to 6' tall)

All Saves: 15

Crimson Dragon Slayer

Activity Cycle: All times, the torment of injustice never ends.

Diet: The rust flaking from chains, and water from leaking prison cells.

Intelligence: Low, violence and subjugation contain little in the way of intelligence.

Treasure: None

Alignment: Neutral (Evil)

No. Appearing: 1D10 (Can be summoned by Grey Folk. Grey folk may summon instead of attacking, the next round 1D6+2 appear.)

Armor Class: 2 (They are the masses, easily broken under the boots of power.)

Movement: 50 ft.

Hit Dice: 2

Action-Dice: 1D6

No. of Attacks: 1 -

Damage: 1D4 (Exploding) w/ Prisoner's Burden

Special Attacks:

Prisoner's Burden – Each time a character is struck, a character must make a save. A failed save results in a character's movement being reduced by ½ for 1 round. Multiple failed saves in a round increases the duration of the effect by 1 round per fail. (The effect is ended, or the rounds of effect reduced from multiple hits from different attackers, if the attacker creating the effect is destroyed)

Guard's Command – Instead of attacking, the miasma surrounding the Shadow of the Scream takes the form of numerous sneering faces that cry out 'HALT'. The effect may only target one character, that character must make a save. A failed save results in the character being unable to move for 1 round, though they may engage in any other action not associated with moving (attacking, spell casting, defense). Multiple failed saves in a round increase the duration by 1 round per failed save. (The effect is ended, or the rounds of effect reduced from multiple hits from different attackers, if the attacker creating the effect is destroyed)

Special Defenses: They are immune to suggestion, charm, command, or any other spell that gives authority over the monster.

Magic Resistance: 10% (Magic use is forbidden by guards)

Size: Medium (5' to 6' tall)

Dungeon World

Grouping: Group or Single

Armor: 1

Hit-Points: 4

Damage: Unarmed - [1D4+2]

Prisoner's Burden – The aura of hopelessness the Shadows of the Scream exude seep into the souls of those around them. While close to the monster take a -1 ongoing to actions involving escape or avoidance.

Guards' Command – The miasma surrounding the Shadows forms into the sneering faces of guards shouting “HALT”. A person caught in the roiling shock-wave created by the shout are compelled to stand still, though they can engage in other actions such as physically attacking, parrying, spell casting, etc.

Instinct: To reenact the tortures that created them.

Moves: Add to their tortured population. Obey the commands of the Grey Folk. Alert the Grey Folk of intruders. Prisoner's Burden. Guards' Command.

Into the Odd

Str 6, Dex 6, Wil 6, 4 hp.

(May be summoned by the Grey Folk)

Driven to recreate the horrors that made them. Attacks with fists (1D4). Those hit by the unarmed attack must make a Will save. A failed save results in a character's movement being reduced by ½ for 1 round. Multiple failed saves in a round increases the duration of the effect by 1 round per fail. (The effect is ended, or the rounds of effect reduced from multiple hits from different attackers, if the attacker creating the effect is destroyed)

Also attacks with Guard's Commend. Instead of attacking, the miasma surrounding the Shadow of the Scream takes the form of numerous sneering faces that cry out 'HALT'. The effect may only target one character, that character must make a WILL save. A failed save results in the character being unable to move for 1 round, though they may engage in any other action not associated with moving (attacking, arcana use, defense). Multiple failed saves in a round increase the duration by 1 round per failed save. (The effect is ended, or the rounds of effect reduced from multiple hits from different attackers, if the attacker creating the effect is destroyed)

The Grey Folk (Dungeon World Super Remix)

Thank you to the kind Andrew Fish. I am keeping the other up as a learning tool to myself and others. This is now the official version for Dungeon World.

 

They are the dust of terrible progress. Art by Zdzislaw Beksinski

The Grey Folk

Movement marked by the shuffle and crinkle of paper, it walks with perfect posture. It's dressed in an old suit and unimaginative finery, stained from years of service in abandoned places. Skin, digits, and face are made from dust that wafts off of it in gentle breezes, leaving a floating trail wherever it passes. A humanoid face without expression or indicators of sex and age, its hair nothing more than a short dust haze. “Do you have an appointment?” its voice a sexless agglomeration of whispers from stale rumors and disingenuous apologies.

Formed in places where bored fascism and bureaucracy hold sway. Conglomerations of rote lies and pen-strokes that create misery for the sake of efficiency, these beings are formed from the byproducts that massive organizations leave behind. They start as whispers, floating through halls, repetitions of mottoes and denials for assistance. Growing, they gain physical form, bodies made from decades old documents and suits abandoned in offices. Never noticed, they wander the halls of these leviathan bureaucracies, melding so perfectly with the atmosphere, that they are perceived as just another cog in the machine, another drone in the hive. Even after the business or department has dissolved, the workers sent off to new sites of mediocrity, they still wander the halls. Filling out paperwork, filing folders onto water stained shelves, muttering pointless chatter to empty break rooms, they continue their service to the company despite there being no company to serve. Grey Folk dislike disorder and anyone who isn't willing to bow to the rules of their long extinct company. Mild annoyance and dislike are all the emotion they are capable of, though they act on such feelings to extinguish or reorient those they target. Without souls, and a dislike for those that have them, they burn out the talent of others, scrape out the passion of peoples' hearts, and lay waste to imagination. The Grey Folk are the whimper at the end of the world, having stolen all the energy for one last bang. 

Dungeon World – (Andrew Fish Remix)

Grouping: Single (Usually)

Armor: 2

Hit-Points: 8

Damage: Unarmed - [1D8+2 Forceful, Piercing 2,]

Ennui - When the Grey Folks' dull stare meets your eyes, their weary boredom soaks into your soul. Take -1 ongoing to any act disruptive to their plans while you remain within their presence. (As GM, you can share this move with the Players before using it. Then, as a Soft Move, have a Grey Folk seek to lock eyes with the Player, and ask "What do you do?" If their reaction leads to a hard move, use Ennui)

Choking Dust - When you are caught within the Grey Folks' choking dust, you cannot breathe (assuming you must) or see (assuming you normally can). You are blinded, and gasping for air until you escape the dust. Likely confusion and panic will set in as well.

Instincts: Keep their 'workplace' free of disorder.

Moves: Ensure discipline. Suppress Disorder. Summon Shadows of the Scream. Ennui. Choking Dust.

 

Two Monsters

So, I will put stats on them later, but I was looking to see what people thought of the descriptive text.

They are the hollow men. Art By: Zdzislaw Beksinski

The Shadows of the Scream

They are heralded by sighs and shuffled footsteps, moving with the gate of a prisoner traveling to a predetermined death. Their form is vague, a man or woman, hunched shoulders and downturned face. Its edges are smoothed over like a weathered statue, possessing an indication of clothes over an emaciated and broken form. Colored gray, the hues of life had been washed from this form long ago. Around the humanoid figure reality boils in a haze of umber and vermilion. Sharply outlined shapes of weapons, fists, and sneering faces flash from the miasma in whip-crack succession. Yells of archetypal captors cascade out of the bloodied cloud to cry out, “Halt, prisoner.”

 

As the Grey Folk are the residue of uncaring and soulless bureaucracies, the Shadows of the Scream are the residue of their actions. They are silhouettes, outlines created on the surface of reality, shaped like victims. Each victim, encapsulated by the violence visited upon them, fades in an affirmation of their mortality, but the hollow space in the world left by their passing, continues in the wake of bureaucratic progress. These spaces are the spot in reality a victim took up as violence crashed upon them. Shadows of the Scream are not the victims themselves, they are merely islands of natural reality surrounded by a wasteland created through continued violence. The human shapes are not the monsters, they are merely the hollow core of a bruised reality moved about by the true substance of their exterior. Found in places where death was casual and ever present, they wander their spawning ground, perpetuating the very acts of their creation. 

Healers without mercy.

 

Demiurgus

A sphere, its diameter as wide as an adult is tall, needle sharp spikes projecting from every portion of its surface. Colored a dark purple near its center, the hue fades to an almost pink-like lavender near the tips of its spiked projections. Its material is transparent, the color coming from within. At its center a fetal form bobs and shudders, always facing the object of attention. A speed beyond natural, its movement possessing a machine-like ability for economy. It doesn't speak, its purpose clear as it approaches without hesitation.

They are the fixers, the mechanics of reality, bringing balance to the wounds of discord in reality. Whether natural, or created through unknown artifice, is a matter of debate among theologians and philosophers. Demiurgus are drawn to tears in reality gone septic, mending that which can be saved, redacting the too far gone. Seen by thousands, recalled by few, they ease the hurts of reality and unmake memories of those who bore witness. Their minds are foreign, moved by purposes and methodologies that are vague to the most observant. They are not saviors, nor the healers of anything mortal, just as capable of erasing an entire village from memory and reality as sealing ruptures in space. Not creatures of order or chaos, they seek to bring reality back to a level state, just as often undoing residue of bureaucratic over-order as chaotic breaks. Complex actions and simple mindset, Demiurgus pursue their goals without regard for collateral damage. Communication is pointless, for the Demiurgus action is the only meaning.

The Grey Folk

So, I needed to get my creative juices flowing. I made this guy to get the old imagination engine going. I may use him for the Tower, or not.

Formed by the vague hate all bureaucracies have for creativity.  Art by Zdzislaw Beksinski.

The Grey Folk

Movement marked by the shuffle and crinkle of paper, it walks with perfect posture. It's dressed in an old suit and unimaginative finery, stained from years of service in abandoned places. Skin, digits, and face are made from dust that wafts off of it in gentle breezes, leaving a floating trail wherever it passes. A humanoid face without expression or indicators of sex and age, its hair nothing more than a short dust haze. “Do you have an appointment?” its voice a sexless agglomeration of whispers from stale rumors and disingenuous apologies.

Formed in places where bored fascism and bureaucracy hold sway. Conglomerations of rote lies and pen-strokes that create misery for the sake of efficiency, these beings are formed from the byproducts that massive organizations leave behind. They start as whispers, floating through halls, repetitions of mottoes and denials for assistance. Growing, they gain physical form, bodies made from decades old documents and suits abandoned in offices. Never noticed, they wander the halls of these leviathan bureaucracies, melding so perfectly with the atmosphere, that they are perceived as just another cog in the machine, another drone in the hive. Even after the business or department has dissolved, the workers sent off to new sites of mediocrity, they still wander the halls. Filling out paperwork, filing folders onto water stained shelves, muttering pointless chatter to empty break rooms, they continue their service to the company despite there being no company to serve. Grey Folk dislike disorder and anyone who isn't willing to bow to the rules of their long extinct company. Mild annoyance and dislike are all the emotion they are capable of, though they act on such feelings to extinguish or reorient those they target. Without souls, and a dislike for those that have them, they burn out the talent of others, scrape out the passion of peoples' hearts, and lay waste to imagination. The Grey Folk are the whimper at the end of the world, having stolen all the energy for the last bang.

OSR

Type: Magical Creature (Not Undead, since undeath requires a previous life, for which they never had)

Activity Cycle: All times, they exist to work.

Diet: Old paperwork and dust.

Intelligence: Very Intelligent, though without any imagination.

Treasure: None

Alignment: Lawful (Evil)

No. Appearing: 1D3

Armor Class: 19 / 1 (While made of old suits and paper, they possess the immovability of the organizations that formed them.)

Movement: 30 ft.

Hit Dice: 4

To-Hit: +4

No. of Attacks: 2 – Unarmed OR Choking Dust

Damage: 1D8 w/ Instill Ennui

Special Attacks: Instill Ennui – Each time a person is struck by the Grey Folk, they must make a save vs. Paralysis or take a cumulative -1 to all attacks, saves, skills, and damage rolls from a pervasive sense of boredom and pointlessness. Bards and other characters who use creativity to fuel their abilities get a +1 bonus to saves against this ability. Choking Dust – The Grey Folk emits a blast of dust 15 feet wide, and 15 feet long. Those caught in the blast take 1D6 and must make a save vs. Poison or be blinded for 1 round.

Special Defenses: They are completely immune to any magic that involves emotions (such as Fear). They are also immune to suggestion, charm, command, or any other spell that gives authority over the monster.

Magic Resistance: 25% (Magic breaks the rules of reality)

Size: Medium (5' to 6' tall)

All Saves: 13

Crimson Dragon Slayer

Activity Cycle: All times, they exist to work.

Diet: Old paperwork and dust.

Intelligence: Very Intelligent, though without any imagination.

Treasure: None

Alignment: Lawful (Evil)

No. Appearing: 1D3

Armor Class: 5

Movement: 50 ft.

Hit Dice: 4 HD

Action-Dice: 2D6

No. of Attacks: 2 – Unarmed OR Choking Dust

Damage: 2D4 (Exploding) w/ Instill Ennui

Special Attacks: Instill Ennui – Each time a person is struck by the Grey Folk, they must make a save or take a cumulative -1 to all attacks, saves, skills, and damage rolls from a pervasive sense of boredom and pointlessness. Bards and other characters who use creativity to fuel their abilities get a +1 bonus to saves against this ability. Choking Dust – The Grey Folk emits a blast of dust 15 feet wide, and 15 feet long. Those caught in the blast take 1D6 (exploding) and must make a save or be blinded for 1 round.

Special Defenses: They are completely immune to any magic that involves emotions (such as Fear). They are also immune to suggestion, charm, command, or any other spell that gives authority over the monster.

Magic Resistance: 25% (Magic breaks the rules of reality)

Size: Medium (5' to 6' tall)

Dungeon World

No. Appearing: 1D3

Armor: 3

Hit-Points: 16

Damage: Unarmed - [1D8+2 Forceful, Piercing 2, Ennui*] or Choking Dust – [1D4 Ignores Armor of Characters who need to breath, Blinding**]

*Ennui – Must defy danger through mental fortitude (Wis). 10+: No effect. 7-9: -1 to next roll. 6 or Less: -1 forward to all rolls for the rest of the encounter. +1 to defy danger if the character is particularly creative, like a bard.

** Blinding – Must defy danger through acting fast and closing/covering their eyes (Dex) or defy danger through enduring the dust (Con). 10+: No Effect. 7-9: Vision partially obscured, -1 to all rolls involving sight until they take time to clear the dust from their eyes. 6 or Less: Completely blind until they take time to clear the dust from their eyes.

Motivations / Tactics: Keep their 'workplace' free of disorder. Ensure rogue elements in their 'workplace' are neutralized. Focus attention on chaotic characters. Continue the goals of whatever bureaucracy they were formed from.

Into the Odd

Str 8, Dex 8, Wil 12, 10 hp.

Driven to neutralize disorder and further the goals of whatever bureaucracy they formed from. Attacks with fists (D6). Those hit by the unarmed attack must make a Will save or lose D4 Will. Also attacks with Choking Dust, Grey Folk releases a 15 ft x 15 ft cloud of dust. Those who are caught in the cloud take 1D4 damage that ignores armor, they must also make a Strength save or be blinded for 1 turn.

After our travels, an ending of sorts was found.

So, here we are folks, the final pieces for the Tower dungeon. I have neglected to include a few pieces to save some secrets. We aren't sure if we will be giving this whole deal away for free, or sell for a cheap price. Discussions need to be had with owners of systems. If we do end up selling this, we may just sell it with one or two systems attached, and give the others away for free.

 

Whatever is in here, I wouldn't drink it.

6 – In these Colors of Questionable Hue

Steel grating comprises the floor of this cube of a room, one hundred feet on a side. A line of three twenty foot wide vats line the left and right side of the cube and its center, all of which are evenly spaced. Made of stainless steel, their finish polished to a mirror shine, their tops nearly touching the ceiling. Along the back of the room is a basin, a stainless steel basin that takes up the entire back wall, its rim nearly touching the side walls. Bright white light cast down from wide fixtures on the ceiling is strangled by the prismatic radiance cast from the vats and the basin. Rainbow light climbs every surface of the place, bands of every hue and shade mark the room. Sounds of splashing and slopping come from the basin, while the dome topped vats shift perceptively as if filled with the restless movement of swimming beasts. A tall wave rises from the basin, never cresting, only growing until it presses against the top ceiling of the room. It is the truest rainbow given liquid form, every imaginable color crawling over it in lunatic patterns only imagined before by the mad. Suspended within this wave of color is an office desk, floating nearby are a rolling chair and a half dissolved corpse dressed in business formal.

[Insert battle with big rainbow blob, a larger form of the monster from room #2. Inside the blob is the body of Edsel Q. Forsythia, head of the whole crazy project as well as papers explaining the aftermath of the accident that brought the tower to its current state. The papers end with Edsel saying that he is being hunted by something and that its coming through the hall to get him.]

Warped words in warped containers.

8 – Files of Questionable Merit

Opposite the star-lit dome and the mechanical eye is metal room draped in dim light. A bulbous and rolling room that is more akin to a well lined with file drawers. A narrow room whose floor drops away from its entrance by 30 feet or more. Drawers of every size, all metal, all painted in the unimaginative shades found in offices of bureaucrats. While four sided, their proportions are uneven, the dimensions of the draws slanting at angles far too imaginative for their original purpose. A climb down to the floor is easy, the half extended drawers and their handles providing easy footholds. Within the walls, handles and extending rails on smooth bearings providing access, are innumerable papers and items. Thorough searching might reveal papers of note or items of use. Lighting the room, dimly, is a single bulb of light, dangling by a thin wire.

[I want to make two tables, one for interesting bits of info about the black candle, and one for useful items. Perhaps have limit the number of times a person may roll? Or create a setup where the longer they take, the greater likelihood of encountering a random monster?] 

A long, perhaps endless, staircase.

 

9a – Down and In

Warm to the touch, the handle twists easily, allowing the stained glass window to be pulled open on well greased hinges. Made of descending rows of pipes, each step of the staircase is comprised of three pipes creating the normal dimensions found on most stairs. Drifting to the left and right, the descent never keeps to a completely straight path, but it also avoids any true turns. After a short time into the downward journey, items begin to appear on the steps: shoes, clothing, crumpled bits of paper, coins, and bones that might belong to a human. Time drags, legs tire, and the journey never ends.

[Require some kind of save to break out of the infinitude of the stairs. Create negatives for failed saves, such as extra time required (perhaps a day between each save) as well as some kind of exhaustion penalty?]

[After a successful save.]

A glow, first hardly beyond a possibility or notion, that soon increases in intensity until the final few steps allow sight at the stairs' destination. A space, filled with machinery that could be found in a foundry, the light of the room orange and bright from a substance within the large vats dotting the room. 

Heat and light in liquid form.

 

9b – In Hell's Own Heart

A space, easily 25 yards wide and twice that in length, its ceiling, barely visible in the room's orange glow, just as tall as the room's width. Four evenly spaced vats sit to either side of a large engine, or perhaps furnace, at the room's center, wide pipes connecting the bulbous mechanism to the base of each vat. Each tub is twenty feet tall and nearly twice as wide, their sides caked with the ash from the heat of innumerable years. Illuminating the room, and driving its temperature beyond comfort, is the slowly churning liquid within the tanks. At the room's heart, is a heart of iron and steel set upon four struts and attached to each heat churning tub with wide pipes. Heat pulses from the furnace as well, along with a similar orange light that bursts from the grates set into its sides. It rises easily fifty feet into the air, with ten or more pipes emerging from its top to move down to the eight vats with the others rising to meet the ceiling. Spilling from a long, thin square opening in the heart's side are thick worm like creatures cast from what appears to be iron or steel, their sides matte black and segmented. Eight of these mechanical things writhe through the grated spaces between the vats and heart, tending to dials and valves on the blackened tubs. Watched long enough, it appears that after some period of time or completion of some task, a worm will slide its way back to the heart, then enter back into it through a small round hole at the heart's bottom. Once a worm enters a heart, a new one separates itself from the tangle emerging from the side of the furnace, and wiggles its way back to the previous worm's station. They appear to pay no attention to those standing on the stairs and observing, but they may take umbrage to those who decide to walk in the space of their work.

There appears to be two exits from the room of vats and furnaces. To the right, of those who enter the room, is a metal door nearly a foot thick. It is ajar, letting out a band of white light into the orange dimness of the room. To the left is a wide ladder, its rungs climbing to a ledge where a light that is both black and blue, spills out in a burst of anti-radiance, a true example of Stygian color.

[So, the idea is that there are a functionally infinite number of worms, which can be both a good and a bad thing for the party. Bad, because there will always be replacements for the one's that are killed. Good, because if they are using a per-monster-killed xp system, they could grind away at them to level up. The worms will attack anything that is in the vat area, but will no follow them once they begin climbing the ladder to area 10 or through the door to area 9]

A complete set of controls, but what do they control?

9 – And, Through These Doors, Answers to Unasked Questions

Ajar and spilling a bar of bright white light, the door swings open with little need of force, its hinges traveling without complaint from dry pins or rust. Its width is the same, though the room is half the length as the one adjoined. From floor to ceiling it is covered in square white tiles the width and breadth of a man's hand, a glossy glaze upon all of them. Bright light pours from something at the room's center, set upon a tall pedestal of a mechanical, or perhaps electrical, nature. It climbs up to nearly touch the ceiling, the angle making it impossible to see the source of the radiance. Constructed of layered pipes polished to a mirror finish, the pipes festooned with lights, dials, and valves, the pedestal is as much a mechanism as a work of art. Facing each of the four cardinal directions are the upper bodies of four golden men, made in the proportions of Greek perfection, emerging from the pedestal like the figureheads of some fantastic ship. Arms outstretched, hands cupped, the figureheads hold spinning rubies larger than a mans fist, teardrop shapes with curved fins at their top to give the illusion of being formed like fire. Arrayed around the pillar of pipes, figureheads, and light are curved banks of control panels. Two rows each, the double rows are each set to face one of the figureheads emerging from the pipe work of the pillar. Each control panel is comprised of three stations, all with similar controls and dials, a wheeled swivel chair is set before each station, the wooden seat well polished from numerous occupants. At the back of the room is a tiled platform, with a set of metal stairs attached to each side. Set atop the platform is a similar control panel attached to the back wall, three chairs marking its stations. Facing the machine at the center is a wide desk, made dark and well polished wood. Scattered and stacked on its top are papers, some in folders others scattered outside of them.

[So, in the papers will be at very least a partial history and explanation of the tower as well as instructions on its operation. The instructions can be used to shut down the machine, as well as what is shedding light at its top.]

The black and burning heart of the entire tower.

10 – Heart of the Abyss

Each rung of the ladder seems to stretch up farther than the next, each reach for the proceeding rung appears to stretch further without discomfort, the distance between rungs never changes. Time, measured through the journey, lengthens and compresses, but the body never weakens from the exertions during the varying period of work. Light becomes dark, yet just as accommodating to sight, tinging the environment blue as the end of the ladder draws closer. The top of the ledge spans miles in every direction. The top of the ledge is but a few yards across and deep. Black grass waves in a gentle heated wind, stars, colored the same dark-light as the illumination of the ledge, dot the black sky. Black tiles cover the floor, walls, and ceiling of the alcove atop the ledge, a light-bulb hangs by a wire from the low ceiling, the illumination it casts the same as that which pervades the space. At the center of the Stygian plain a black pyramid rises miles away from the ladder's top. At the center of the tiled ledge is a black pyramid, a quarter of the height of a man. Floating above the pyramid, an eye the its color a marriage of purple and moonless night, both a width of a hand and hundreds of yards wide, their irises a single black candle. In the center of the pyramid a handle is set, sized for the hand of a titan, sized for the hand of a child. Aligned vertically, the direction of the handle points up towards the word ON, placed perpendicular to the handles direction, the word OFF. Vision, and perhaps the body, is pushed towards the plain, to a miles long journey and to a handle impossible to grasp. Concentration and will keeps the journey but a few agonizing paces. Concentration and will keeps the handle small enough to grasp, and loose enough to turn.

[So, a number of will saves or stat checks are needed to approach the pyramid, and keep the traveler in the world where the pyramid is small enough to work with. Another set of checks is finally needed to turn the handle and grasp the candle. The effects of this and other situations will be described fully in the final product.]

Further we went, and deeper we dived...

Red stairs...

 

5 – A Party to Questionable Events

Cement steps climb through a stairwell filled with echoes of raucous laughter and dissonant music. Sounds float from the space beneath the door along with the flickering lights from shadows of movement. Tinged red, the light beneath the door is dim, it casts the unpainted stairwell maroon. Unlocked, the simple and unpainted wood door swings easily open on well oiled hinges. Moving, dancing, talking, eating, and drinking, anthropomorphic moths clothed in sheer dresses party with humanoid lizards in shiny suits and slick wigs. If they become aware of being watched, the music will stop with the hard rip of needle on vinyl. If they are unaware of interlopers in their midst, they will continue their party of dark drinks and mating rituals.

Never party with lizards

[I want to include an encounter that is can be resolved through talking or violence. Perhaps link it to Chad's idea of the Moon Maiden. Maybe one of the rewards she gives for the optional quest she gives is an object that will smooth over relations between the players and party-goers.]

A rusted hatch to deep places.

5a – A Hatch to Deep Places

Degraded with the passage of short ages, the hatch's black paint is blistered and broken by eruptions of rust. Its latch is fused by rust, requiring brute strength or ingenuity to open. [Require some kind of strength test or other means of popping it open] A choir of screaming hinges herald the opening of the hatch, the timbre to close to that to the cry of a child. Bright light spills from the opening, revealing the nature of the stairwell to be the one mundane site an insane maze. Two passages split away from each other, the first stacked upon the second. Once again, the down of the current position is in another direction than the down of the way forward. 

Watch your step.

 

6a – You Take the Low Road

Bucking and rolling like the sea, the lower passage undulates as if it were alive. Walls covered in wet paint the color of old linen, the scent of perfume wafting from the fresh coat. A freshly waxed floor of checkered black and white tiles give slightly with each wavering step. Bright light pulses brighter in a steady rhythm, the timing of a visual heartbeat. Each step risks unbalance and a fall, requiring a skilled grace to avoid a tumble. [Insert some kind of Dex check or other skill check to avoid falling]

[If they fail whatever check, this is what happens]

With a speed that exceeds normal thought and reflex, an arm forms from each tile surrounding the fallen. Humanoid in form, and pliable as supple flesh, the muscled arms of men and graceful arms of women embrace the prone individual. No matter the form, the arms' strength is hard to deny, requiring brawn from the victim of help from others. Echoing off the walls, a sigh without gender rolls through the hall along with a series of sudden shifts from the floor. [Another check is required for the other people in the group not to fall and suffer the same fate] After the sigh, the floor stills, now sated with it catch(es). Those embraced soon find a mind slipping into a soporific euphoria, as the body begins sinking onto a overly pliant floor. [Victim has to make some king of save vs. poison or magic not to zone out, friends and the victim have to make strength checks to pull the arms away].

[If and when the group succeeds at either not falling or escaping the floor's embrace]

Undulations roll down the hall, risking a fall at every step for the graceless. A long walk, made longer by the threat of hard embraces and euphoric suffocation, leading to a downward view of two new diverging paths. [If someone falls again during the 100 ft long hall, go through the embrace effects again. Wash, rinse, repeat until the group is out of the hallway]

A hallway smoothed with pearl.

7 – And I'll Take the High Road

The upper of the two paths has an obvious, but gradual, in the dip of its elevation. Its yellow walls, checkered floor, and off white ceiling with its fixtures all have a smooth opalescent sheen covering them. A myriad of subtle rainbows unveil themselves in the light cast upon the hall's surfaces. Corners and edges have been rounded by the substance covering them, as if it was poured over the entire hall in one thick coat. Perfectly smooth floors make movement difficult, though then entire hall is dry. After a hundred feet the floor begins to dip, spiraling down into themselves, though the direction of down still stays with the floor. Within a dozen feet the spiraling become tighter, making the curve of the floor more pronounce with the direction of down still staying with the floor. As the inevitable terminus approaches a gentle tick-tack can be heard in an arrhythmic tempo, interrupted by a tiny bell and then a long zip.

At the near terminus of the hall, a woman can be seen sitting at a desk, her slender long fingers tapping away at the mechanical source of the tick-tack, ding, and zzzzzzip noises. Behind her is a wooden door, a window framed in its upper portion, lettering stenciled in gold upon the glass' surface. Golden words read:

Edsel Q. Forsythia

Project Station Manager

[So, the 'secretary' is actually a strange crustacean with moveable armor plates that combine to make her look just like a lovely redhead in her twenties. When in place, the plates do not move, so she always appears to be bent over typing. Her voice would be 'normal' but having a hollow quality, as if she was speaking through a short pipe. The players should be given a chance to notice there are no legs or feet beneath the desk. She will bar entrance into Edsel's office, since the door is just another piece of moveable chitin. If pressed she will attack, casting aside the desk to reveal a lobster like body with hundreds of feeding appendages and swimmers below a vertically aligned mouth and two black eyes on stalks. The 'door' is actually just the upper parts of two HUGE pincers fitted together to appear like a door. The hall is just the interior of the secretary crab's shell] 

An all seeing eye.

 

6b – Eye Above, Floor Below

Same checkered floor, same yellow plaster walls, same white plaster ceiling and light fixtures, new direction for 'down'. Acrobatic skill is needed to land and cope with the new sense of 'down', otherwise a hard fall is the only other option. A few yards into the hall, its ceiling opens up into a wide dome painted a midnight blue, its surface dotted with light fixtures to simulate stars. Set upon a ledge opposite of the entrance is a large eye-ball. Attaching the eye to the ledge are movable silver struts, allowing it to pivot in any direction. Though it is painted to appear life-like, closer inspection reveals it to be mechanical, rounded rivet heads dotting the yard wide sphere. Lit green, the iris expands and contracts as it regards the new visitor(s). A pencil thin green beam of light is emitted from the pupil aimed at the floor directly beneath it. Juddering and sweeping, the light beam creates the illusion of green words flickering on the floor. Unsteady green words spell out:

Please do one of the following options, otherwise lethal force will be used.

1) Present Valid Process Company Identification.

2) Halt all forward progress.

3) Return by the way you entered into the area.

[So, I was thinking one of the things the Moon Maiden can give the party is a valid Process Company badge. This badge can be used to smooth things over with the Moth and Reptile party in room 5. Otherwise the party has to turn back or fight a laser shooting robo-eye.] 

A climb through a mechanical heart.

 

6c – Through the Works of Restive Machines

Beyond the mechanical gaze, the floor slants down to a larger, dimly lit space. Tapping, clicking, and humming pervades the air while the form of a large machine is resolved in scant light. Flush against the floor, the smooth black face of the machine looms over the floor. It blocks progress, requiring a climb of forty feet over the obstacle or some way through it. [So, I was thinking of having a very difficult climb check, or a easier check for secret doors]

[For a successful climb check]

Atop the smooth humming block, another machine can be seen before the slant of the floor levels into another room. Black and vibrating minutely, the surface is covered in small tessellated images of candles subtly lit in the shifting hues of flame. Below is a short area of slanted floor before the corkscrewing form of another machine.

[For a successful secret doors check]

A panel slides smoothly back and away into the machine, revealing a space the width of a human and half as tall. It is lit in the hues of flame, the colors shifting slower than any flame. Steel grating makes up the floor of the space, the same light follows the space beneath the floor down beyond the sight of a bottom. To either side of the path through the machine are rows of black cylinders filling back into an infinity that spreads beyond the boundaries of the machine. Each cylinder is topped with a teardrop curve of wire that gives off the colors of flame filling the room. A similar panel has slid away from the far end of the passage, allowing an exit through the machine.

Another small stretch of checkered floor, another machine rises up to block further progress. Rotating planes of bundled wire orbit a smooth black cylinder, the wire inwardly lit the color of fire. Spinning wire the color of fire creates the illusion of a flaming crown surrounding a black candle. It spreads to take up the entire width of the room, requiring a jump between the wire to get beyond the obstacle.

[So, some kind of dex or acrobatics check is needed to get beyond the obstacle, otherwise they get burned by heated coils of wire. Maybe allow a spot check and a to hit roll to notice a switch or machine box. To hit roll to hit the switch or destroy the box to make the wire stop moving. If they jump through then they will need a second roll to get back out.]

Beyond the coils, the floor continues to slant down until it levels out at the floor of a large room bathed in shifting hues of prismatic light.