DIMENSIONAL FISHER

DIMENSIONAL FISHER, fishing for condiments: Armour 14 (as leather), Move 0’ (at least in our reality), 6* Hit Dice, 27hp, spiky leg (1d8) x3 plus grab, Morale 7, Number Appearing 1. Only half there, good at surprising, almost-instant kill.

The DIMENSIONAL FISHER is something like a crab or spider; it’s not clear because people have only ever seen the legs. If they are legs. The DIMENSIONAL FISHER lives in lower dimensions but hunts in ours, grabbing prey and pulling it into Dimension F -- not the actual name -- where the local conditions turn the victim into a tasty nutrient jelly, ready for eating. It manifests as a set of three fuzzy, indistinct let’s-call-them-legs, emerging from overhead, sometimes from an object or surface, sometimes from thin air!

The DIMENSIONAL FISHER makes three leg attacks and if all three hit a single target, it is grabbed; the next Round the victim is dragged to Dimension F, where they are killed by the hostile conditions.

The DIMENSIONAL FISHER is only half-present in our reality, so surprises victims on 1-3 on 1d6, and odd attack rolls always miss as the strikes pass through the creature. If the DIMENSIONAL FISHER is forced to make a save, it is unaffected on an odd roll, even if the result would be a failure. Generous Referees may allow weapons with phasing qualities to hit as normal.

Opponents can target the DIMENSIONAL FISHER in general or can attack the individual legs. Each limb has a quarter -- round up -- of the DIMENSIONAL FISHER’s total Hit Points; it is presumed that the body has the remaining quarter, but no one has seen that and lived so (shrugs). If one of the legs is crippled or severed, the DIMENSIONAL FISHER must make a Morale roll or retreats to Dimension F. If it stays, it can only grab immobile or unresisting prey with its remaining limb(s). The DIMENSIONAL FISHER’s legs can heal and even grow back, at a rate of 2 Hit Points per day, and once all three are at least at 50% of their total, the DIMENSIONAL FISHER can hunt lively prey once more.

DIMENSIONAL FISHERS ignore constructs and other unfleshy beings, and have a particular taste for halfling meat.

Fantastic, Yes?

To celebrate the Death's Head cameo on the cover of Fantastic Four #700 -- although he's probably in fact on the cover of the following issue, but it's a two-in-one connecting thing, so whatever -- the birthday of Simon Furman, and of course #DrawDeathsHeadDay, the most wonderful day of the year, here's DH trying on a new costume.

Death's Head is wearing the Fantastic Four costume from circa 1989 to 1990, when the freelance peace-keeping agent bumped into Marvel's first family a handful of times.

Dungeon23: 052-082

I'm trying something different with this #Dungeon23 update, fewer but more meaty entries, so I'm not spamming you with a handful of rooms. I'm not sure if it's better.

Anyway, here's the first half(ish) of Level Two!

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52. This was some sort of dressing room for cult priests. A pair of BLUEROBES noodle around in here and may try to hide among the rags if they hear the characters approaching, getting their full 1-3 surprise chance. Three of the cultist outfits are in much better repair than the rest, made of some sort of special material that resists decay; each is worth 300sp.

53. Cultists would wash here before donning their sacred robes. Stone basins contain nothing but cobwebs and dust.

54. One GREENROBE and two YELLOWROBES pootle around between here and 63.

55. The door is locked and fortified with metal bars, so it takes two very noisy Turns to bash down. Inside are two chests, one containing 408sp and one containing 40gp.

56. Three chests contain the cult's real treasures, and four ARISEN TEMPLE GUARDIANS that attempt to prevent any entry to the room. One chest contains 676sp, one contains 304gp, and the last contains five gems of varying size and value; a ruby worth 500sp, a pearl worth 100sp, and an amber, amethyst, and opal, each worth 50sp.

The thumb-sized ruby has a vague hint of magic about it, although it seems to have no specific enchanted properties. It is one of the missing gems from the CROWN OF ETLUZ PEQZUS.

57. What looks like a ball of multicoloured cloth, about 3' in diameter, spins and wobbles in the centre of the room, about 4' from the ground. Every sunset, it spurts out a random *ROBE, complete with weapon.

The sphere has the equivalent of 126 Hit Points, takes half damage from bludgeoning or crushing weapons and double damage from fire, and saves as a Level 14 Fighter. If destroyed, no more *ROBES will appear in the dungeon.

Interfering with the ball draws the attention of the *ROBES from 52, 58, and 74.

58. Four REDROBES and two BROWNROBES pay zero attention to the faded murals of serpents and trees that decorate the walls.

59. Three ARISEN TEMPLE GUARDIANS stand here, motionless. They attack if an attempt is made to open the door to 55.

60. A very confused ARISEN PRIEST shambles about in here, bumping off the walls and muttering in its extinct language about "whippersnappers". It is easily surprised on a roll of 1-3 on 1d6. The wretched old thing is naked aside from a bejewelled silver holy symbol -- a tree with a serpent entwined in its branches -- worth 510sp.

61. This room is empty and featureless. Searching always reveals the southern secret door first, unless a deliberate effort is made to search the north wall.

62. A DIMENSIONAL FISHER lurks in the ceiling here, waiting to pounce. It ignores *ROBES because they are not meaty enough to eat.

63. This room is empty aside from dust and debris. Tiny whirlwinds of dust form now and then from the breeze coming via locations 66 and 73.

64. The first time a character steps off the spiral staircase from 18 a deep voice booms "BEWARE!" Characters feel the voice in their minds, rather than hear it, and each understands it in their mother tongue. Henchmen and retainers should make a Morale test to avoid fleeing.

65. The north wall is decorated with a life-size carving of a humanoid with a serpent head. Searching reveals a lever inside the serpent's mouth; the lever opens the secret door, but also triggers the jaws to clamp shut and trap the hand of the, er, manipulator? Releasing the lever releases the hand, but also closes the door. There is no way to open the door from the other side.

66. A YELLOWROBE, a GREENROBE, a BROWNROBE, and a BLUEROBE stand guard here, watching the bridge. Five small decorative alcoves line the top of the north wall, about 8' up. In the fourth alcove, concealed by centuries of spider webs, is a metal box containing 1000sp.

67. Two BROWNROBES lurk here, ready to chuck fireballs across the chasm.

68. A 3' statue of a six-armed holy warrior is propped in the south-east corner; the base and three of the arms are broken and the statue seems to have been dragged here from elsewhere. It is super heavy, counting as two Oversized items. This is because it is made of silver and is studded with gems, all of which is covered with a layer of plaster. Anyone with Architecture 2+ recognises that there's something fishy about the statue. It is worth 470gp.

69. An old meditation room, with small wooden benches, the dusty remains of pillows, and fragile, ragged strips that once were curtains.

70. Another old meditation room, in similar condition to 69. A hidden space under a flagstone contains a jewelled collar worth 10000sp. Another space under another flagstone conceals a pendant worth 12000sp. Wow!

71. A dusty but grand secondary temple, with statues of figures recognisable as versions of those in location 02, except their features have a hint of the... reptilian to them. A stone altar at the western end of the room has been split in two by some great force.

72. Three small -- about 2' square -- windows look out over the dark chasm. The wall around the central window has become weak with age, clear to anyone searching for a Turn or succeeding on an Architecture roll. Anyone peering out should save versus Paralysation to avoid the structure collapsing; on an even failure they are pummelled by falling blocks, taking 1d10 damage; on an odd failure they fall into the chasm, for which see XX.

73. This stone bridge has collapsed. Lit torches can be seen at the other end.

74. The remains of some sort of office or study. A BLACKROBE chills out in here, accompanied by a GREENROBE. Scattered amongst the wreckage are eight fancy scroll cases; the contents are long gone, but the cases are worth 100sp each. The BLACKROBE has a +2 two-handed sword callled EYEKILLER.

75. A 2' deep depression in the floor may have been some sort of baptismal pool at some point, but is now full of dust and spiders.

76. Underneath a small pile of rubble, worryingly close to the edge, is a Bluestone Key.

77. A glowing blue circle carved into the floor radiates teleportation magic. A character entering the circle is zapped to room 78.

78. A glowing blue circle carved into the floor radiates teleportation magic. A character entering the circle is zapped to room 77 and perhaps develops a feeling of deja vu.

79. The lower level of the library (location 35). The books and scrolls here are all rotten and useless, and there is a thick layer of damp moss over the floor and what's left of the furniture.

80. The secret library, accessed from locations 36 and 38. The door is locked, the key long missing. Four ARISEN TEMPLE GUARDIANS stand motionless around a stack of seven stone tablets; they attack only if an attempt is made to take the tablets, and are relentless in pursuit of thieves.

The tablets are the original texts of the cult that built the temple and although the content is more or less identical to that written in their holy books, the tablets are in the original language of the cult, and the entire text has survived the centuries, unlike the paper copies. Each tablet is worth 100sp to a historian, surviving member of the cult, or other weirdo with niche interests. The language is not spoken by anyone alive today.

81-82. A PINKROBE, two GREENROBES, and four REDROBES patrol between these two old and ruined store rooms.

Greater Spotted Beakie

Cyberdyne Warrior, Commodore 64, 1989.

Scale creep was always a problem, apparently, even back in 1989. Look at the size of that Beakie in comparison to the player sprite at the top!

See the game in action below, and perhaps note that the chunky marine isn't the only bit of IP borrowing going on...

That ending music sounds quite familiar too...

CLAWED BASTARD

CLAWED BASTARD, will **** you up: Armour 18 (as plate), Move 90’, 5* Hit Dice, 22hp, claw/claw/peck 2d4/2d4/2d4, Morale 10, Number Appearing 1, thank the gods. Difficult to surprise, infravision 60', immune to charm and similar effects, heals through necrophagy.

The CLAWED BASTARD is some sort of unholy mix of bird, reptile, and a box of butcher knives. No natural process could have led to the development of such a horror, and most sages agree that the CLAWED BASTARD must be the work of a wizard even more misanthropic than usual.

Excessively violent and aggressive, the CLAWED BASTARD attacks on sight and is relentless; it seems to enjoy killing for no other reason than the act itself, although it has been observed eating the corpses of the fallen. If the CLAWED BASTARD fails a Morale roll it does not flee, rather it stops to eat any nearby dead. Or wounded, it’s not a fussy eater.

The CLAWED BASTARD takes a single Turn to consume a body, and in doing so restores Hit Points up to a maximum of the body’s original Hit Points, or the CLAWED BASTARD’s original Hit Points, whichever limit is reached first. The CLAWED BASTARD does not like being interrupted during lunch and will immediately spring back into violent action. Wise dungeon delvers learn to run away as fast as possible while the CLAWED BASTARD is eating.

Culinary habits aside, the CLAWED BASTARD is not stupid and will retreat if in actual danger. It has infravision out to 60’ and despite only having a single eye, does not seem to have any problems with depth perception. The CLAWED BASTARD is difficult to surprise (1 on 1d6) but its aggression -- and its incessant screeching -- makes it easy to spot, so it never surprises opponents. The CLAWED BASTARD is so belligerent that it is immune to spells that calm or charm or otherwise reduce aggression.

No communities of CLAWED BASTARDS have ever been seen, so it is unknown how or even if they breed. Most scholars hope that they don’t.

Le Stat d'Dump

There seems to be some discussion going around about good old Charisma and its -- mostly unjustified -- reputation as a useless statistic in Dungeons & Dragons-likes. Here's a blog post by Richard about it, that I saw about two days after a Discord group was also discussing the matter. I assume there's some blog or video somewhere that kicked off people's interest, but I'm not hip enough to know where that is.

In the aforementioned Discord group I pondered for about 20 seconds, then blurted this nugget, or something like it:

Charisma represents your character's strength -- small s -- of personality, which among many other useful functions, also manifests as bloody-minded tenacity. When you reach 0 Hit Points, instead of collapsing into unconsciousness, you can fight on for a number of Rounds equal to your Charisma score before dying.

And there you have it!

EDIT: In hindsight, this is ridiculous, and not in the way I tend to like either. So maybe this is better:

Charisma represents your character's strength -- small s -- of personality, which among many other useful functions, also manifests as bloody-minded tenacity. When you reach 0 Hit Points, instead of collapsing into unconsciousness, you have temporary Hit Points equal to your Charisma score. Once these have run out you are properly dead.

That's a bit better. Charisma still has an effect, but doesn't make you invincible for 3-18 Rounds.

Dungeon23: 039-051

I started a new day job last week. That's my excuse for missing Megadungeon Monday. I'm not sure I'm convinced.

Still, here's some #dungeon23 content bringing us up to date, and (gasp) completing Level 1!

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39. A small room full of old candles, a single rotting wooden desk and an even more rotten stool. A bone scroll case has rolled under the desk, and contains a beautiful -- and well preserved -- illuminated text that finally resolves a centuries-long academic dispute between rival schools of historians. One group will pay 300sp for the scroll, but their rivals will offer 400sp to "lose" the scroll instead.

40. Single occupancy monastic cells.

41. This cell is packed floor to ceiling with TERROR MOULD. Somewhere in the middle of the fungal blooms is the corpse of a dwarf; good luck getting to it!
The unfortunate fellow was carrying a pair of rusty daggers, and a sack containing 456sp and a magical potion of healing. The problem is that the potion originated in the Opposite Universe and in fact does 1d6+1 points of damage to anyone drinking it, unless they also come from the Opposite Universe.

42. A locked brass gate -- itself an Oversized item worth around 150sp -- blocks access to the outside world. Or the inside world if you're coming the other way. Two 8' statues of generic holy warriors guard the room and pierce visitors with their stony gaze... but are just statues. One's shield features a tree motif, while the other's features a coiled serpent.

43. Through the bars of a heavy -- and locked -- iron gate can be seen a large metal wheel set into the floor. The mechanism is ancient and stiff and turning the wheel requires an Open Doors test, with a +1 bonus if anyone thinks to apply oil. The mechanism activates the watchemacallit in XX.

44. A large but simple dining hall, with huge tables for swashbuckling atop.

45. An old kitchen with all manner of improvised weaponry, and also a nest of seven SKULLBUGS, munching happily on the Terror Mould, to which they are immune.

46. The secret door is small, about 2' by 2', and at ground level. It is concealed from both sides.

47. Four very old wooden chests sit empty and in a state of rotten near-collapse.

48. A weird orange goo drips from the ceiling in this area; save versus Breath every 10' to avoid the drips. The goo is quite sticky and difficult to remove, but is otherwise harmless. It tastes both sweet and sour.

49. A pair of GREENROBES lurk, paying most attention to the corridor to 50.

50. A very fancy spiral staircase, decorated with an elaborate carving of a serpent, leads down to XX. If the carving could be somehow removed -- it is part of the staircase so good luck with that -- it would be worth 10000sp.

51. One YELLOWROBE and three REDROBES loiter here, looking for something interesting to do/kill. A secret panel in the north wall hides a rusted iron box containing 470sp.

GREENROBES

GREENROBES, so healthy: Armour 14 (as leather), Move 120', 2* Hit Dice, 9hp, two-handed sword 1d10, Morale 9, Number Appearing 1d3. Half damage from bludgeoning or crushing weapons.

GREENROBES are, guess what, malevolent -- possibly fey -- spirits that take the form of floating, ragged monk-like robes. Cruel and mischievous, they delight in capturing and murdering sentient beings. They favour large two-handed swords, as they think they look cool. They have no physical form beyond the robes themselves; as such they are very quiet -- they surprise unaware opponents on 1-3 -- except when they communicate with each other, which they do in howls and moans.

A GREENROBE can, instead of attacking, touch another being and heal 1d4 hit points. GREENROBES can, um, touch themselves.

GREENROBES are not undead, although they seem similar, and are intelligent and spiteful enough to pretend to be in order to trick, for example, clerics into wasting their turning abilities. Bastards.

GREENROBES obey the howling, moany, commands of higher-ranked *ROBES, and can order REDROBES and YELLOWROBES about.

Unboxed Terror

If you were curious about what's in the Big Terror in the Streets box, then ponder no longer as Martin of Daddy Rolled a 1 unboxes the, um, box here:



Martin plans to do a lot more video content, so why not give him a Like and a Subscribe, as the kids say.

The adventure is available in print in Europe here and in North America here; the fancy boxed set version from Martin's video is only available from the European shop, alas, but they will post to Not Europe. A pdf version is available here.

Cradlegrave

Well, it can't all be Dungeon23 content!

I got this book for Chrimble and have been thinking about it ever since. I think I'm ready to put those thoughts down in words. Maybe. Ish.

Published over 11 weeks in sci-fi-mostly anthology comic 2000AD in 2009, Cradlegrave looks very much like an entry in the "Hoodie Horror" genre, and it sort of is, but the cover is a bit misleading. I'll go into more spoilery discussion below, but if you want a brief non-spoilerific review: it's an effective and interesting modern(ish) horror story, with clever writing and excellent art, and it is much recommended.

And now, the meaty bits...

Aside; Hoodie Horror: Former Prime Minister and pig-botherer in chief David Cameron appealed to the middle-classes with his vision of "Broken Britain" in which THE POOR -- gasp! -- were waiting, with hoods and knives, to rape, stab, and steal from good honest hard working Britons and, of course, only a Conservative government could prevent this, mainly by freezing or starving the poor to death, a shameful policy that continues to this day.

This vision spawned a brief mini genre of horror film in which hooded youths became the faceless monsters in the dark, lurking on their estates, ready to pounce. These films were sometimes supernatural, more often not, but were almost always conservative in tone, disgusted and horrified by Britain's "underclass". Eden Lake (2008) is perhaps the most famous example, Harry Brown (2009) the most offensive, and Attack the Block (2011) is a notable inversion or retort, to which we will return.

For more on the genre, there are excellent brief introductions here and here.

So, Cradlegrave then. What we have here is a horror story set on a housing estate somewhere in sunny Lancashire. Ravenglade is the official name, but the locals call it "Cradlegrave" because no one ever escapes; you are born there, you live there, and you die there. Social mobility is a myth told by the rich. Our protagonist, Shane, returns from a stint in a Young Offender Institution intent on making a fresh start and not falling into old habits with old friends, only to find that there is something rotten at the heart of the estate. Something alien.

"Lovecraftian" is the obvious description, and it is superficially so, with a horrible gribbly thing spurting out "black milk" like Shub-Niggurath itself, and even a nascent cult forming around the creature, but I suspect old Howard would have recoiled from the portrayal of the youths as misunderstood rather than irredeemable scum. Like Attack the Block -- I said we'd return -- Shane and his friends are petty criminals who drink and smoke and take drugs, but -- crucially -- that doesn't make them bad people. Their lifestyle is very much presented as a response to the deprivation of their surroundings, almost an adaptation to things they cannot themselves control. There is no judgement; this is all bad, but it's the way it is, and it's not always their fault.

In fact, the real horror turns out to be the nice old couple down the road, Ted and Mary, who just wish for things to go back to the way they were in happier times, before the estate -- and, one suspects, the people -- sprang up around them. Literal "old ones", but perhaps not in the way Lovecraft would have intended. Mary is, or has been physically co-opted by, some sort of entity and begins corrupting the estate; Ted helps her at first, but when it becomes clear that the thing in the bedroom is no longer his wife, escapes in the only way he can. As the corruption spreads and what little social order there is breaks down, it is up to Shane to take action, which he does through a firebomb, reprising the crime that put him in prison in the first place.

It's a bleak, dark story. Edmund Bagwell's art is both mundane at depicting the realities of life on the estate and gruesome when presenting the alien body horror of Mary's transformation and how she, um, "interacts" with the locals. There is little sense of hope. You get the feeling that the estate falls under Mary's sway as much because it's something to do as any overt alien influence. Shane escapes and leaves the horror behind, but while he perhaps "wins", it's clear that not only does the horror continue in his absence, but his fresh start was a, um, non-starter. And of course the larger social issues remain unresolved; you can lob a Molotov at a monster, but you can't burn down decades of deprivation and lack of social support, you can't burn down a class system that is stacked against the poorest and most vulnerable.

(Unless you're French, probably.)

The only way to win is to burn everything down and run away. That's bare bleak, bruv.

Cradlegrave is a greasy, prickly, unpleasant little horror story, and I mean all of that as a compliment. It's deep and fascinating and I wish it was more well known. While Hoodie Horror is perhaps of its time, I think Cradlegrave still has things to say -- alas the poor are still demonised under the Tories -- and is still effective and relevant, like all the best horror stories.