Wednesday, April 17, 2019

OSE/BX: Cats of the Wildwood (1 of 2)

A patron requested type of cats, and as such I felt obliged to give cats a full treatment much like a very early article I wrote about Dogs for the Dolmenwood setting. I've recently found some of the hard copy items from my Wildwood Manuscripts project---which were lost when a previous computer caught fire---and so it felt only wise to begin building towards my own workings again. Pending no further calamity in my future, I do desire to get back into publishing; in this case periodical zines.

What follows are five breeds of cats for use in traditional occidental fantasy settings. They'd fit just fine in the Dolmenwood, the Midderlands, Great Lunden, or wherever forests, fields, and posh folk are abound. As cats are generally not assumed to be used as combat companions (unlike a dog might), they are intended to have the following statline:

AC 9, HD 1/2 (1hp), Att 1 x Natural Weapons (1d3-2), THAC0 19, MV 40' (25'), SV 16, ML 5, AL N, XP 5, NA Solitary or 1d3 (as Pets), 1d4+1 (as Feral Cats), 1d8+2 (as Alley Cats Pack).

Expect five more cats before the end of the week, as well as some additional visual randomizers and traits.

1. The Queensown cat is a menacing thing of plump chubby build, stubby legs, folded face, and a malicious desire to rip apart small beautiful things and impale their severed pieces upon any pointed edge it can find. Their mewing is said to sound cruel, like the jovial laughter of a powerful maiden who has just condemned a group of orphans to live out their lives inside an oven. Their fur coat is, however, exquisite, and the Queensown take joy in being festooned with ribbons or being carried about like a trophy. These kinder qualities make the Queensown the perfect cat for nobility, even though many would prefer the symbolism be lost to outside observers. 

They are generally of a nature to accept other, lesser, cats as part of their environment; as they tend to despise other Queensown cats. This complicates things as a Queensown will, generally, only ever seek to copulate with a Queensown; or rather they will only not prey upon the birthed litter that is born from union with another Queensown. They have a tendency to loudly meow when they sense the presence of the poor (how poor exactly, is comparative to the environment they dwell within), and to hiss when exposed to unpleasant smells. 

If left to its own devices, there is a 1-in-6 chance that the mangled impaled creature art created by a Queensown cat may contain a minor reagent, a minute faerie in grave agony, or be viewed as some sort of interesting objet d'art. 

2. The Digging Blathercat is an often feral, burrowing cat of scabrous naked hide, milky eyes, long legs, and radial ears which it folds over its face when engaged in digging. Though more common on the periphery of bogs, they have in recent years become more common in the filthy recesses of the urban sprawl; where they bury themselves in excrement and trash, feasting on the ample rats and vermin that might otherwise congregate therein. They are a talkative breed, honking and mewling to one another in what scholars to believe a relatively complex language used to determine the depth of pits and the stability of tunnels. Their paws have long, almost mole-like claws, with calloused webbing between their toes.

While not the most popular breed for keeping in ones home or around the farm (their burrows can ruin a field as badly as any marmot), they are held kindly by river-dwelling folk. Blathercats are reliable anglers, digging clever burrow traps on the edges of the water which inevitably trap many smell fish for their feeding pleasure; granting them a 2-in-6 chance of successfully hunting fish enough to feed their master when given time enough to dig and hunt. 

They take kindly to more rugged but caring individuals, namely those who can appreciate their often painful grooming rituals. Miners have attempted to make use of them to better sense gas deposits, but the cats do poorly in the cold dankness of a shaft. They disdain clothing for the most part, though can be made to wear outfits of baked clay and fronds, which are tolerable to their flesh.

3. Roosh Tabbies are a common sight on sailing ships, believed to bring good luck to sailors though primarily kept on due to their keen eyesight and playful violence when it comes to vermin. A Roosh Tabby is a long polydactl cat, able to sway with the turning of a boat, snake itself between the legs of sailors in cramped quarters, and using its extra fingers and toes to keep a firm grip on the deck of a ship. Their ears are small and floppy, often kept down to avoid the spray of sea water into their ears proper; one of the few things that seems to put them into a state of rage. They are reliably of calm nature when treated like another member of the crew and given the distance such a position allows for. They hate being held or grabbed, and they have no love for children; who more often than not, lack the proper respect for the cat.

Roosh Tabbies are skilled swimmers, though they only enjoy swimming in very specific situations. They have been observed leaping from high rocks or tree branches into warm, briny waters, swimming in circles and figure eights like a common otter, and then laying half-submerged on the beach. They don't seem to regard other cats as their peers, having much more in common with dogs; who they treat like lesser crewmen in need of a good thumping. 

In the event of someone falling overboard, a Roosh Tabby has been known to heroically leap and dive to save mortal man from the watery depths. In such a situation, a Roosh Tabby is able to move and swim at double speed, and to force itself to carry the drowning as though it were a STR 16 character. Rooshy Tabby are by no means suicidal in their heroics, and when they cannot save someone they tend to fall into deep depressing spells until next time they receive leave at a port.

4. Swaddled Wild Cats are cantankerous forest cats, more at home in the low taiga than they are in any civilized society. They are noted, primarily, for the long flaps of flesh between their forelimbs and rear limbs, which they use to ferment marking pheromones and to swaddle themselves and their young in the colder months. Their faces seem to be in near constant states of panic, their eyes are bugged out and wild, their mouth a mewling snarltoothed grump. They hunt small woodland rodents, birds, though they enjoy the taste of frog more than any other meat. They use a chewed paste of frog meat, left to ferment in their flaps, as a means of wooing mates in the wild; showing their talent as a hunter.

Swaddled Wild Cats can be trained and domesticated, but this will often lead to them putting other, fouler things, in their flaps to ferment. Though all versions possess a terrible stench, off-putting to most, but which can overwhelm nearly any other smell. Hunters have sometimes made use of these cats to help them travel through dangerous territories undetected; though none would call it a pleasant experience.

When domesticated, Swaddled Wild Cats enjoy the company of infants, who they will attempt to swaddle beneath their flaps and to attend to the grooming of. They tend to nestle in the smellier areas of barns or beneath a raised oven, clinging to corners so as to consolidate their heat.

5. Hobbleknobs, aka the Harlot's Knave Cat, aka the Goodie Guardian, is a thin cat with a peculiar knack for mangling the genitals of unshorn men. Depending on whoever is being asked, Hobbleknobs are either blessed servants of the True God who help defend the virtue of maidens; or they are familiars of the most cruel and bleak of witches. Physically they tend to be of greyish coloration, with smooth pelts and innocent childlike eyes. Their tails are short, and when they deign to, Hobbleknobs hobble about on two feet, bowing and lurching like a common drunk. Their forepaws possess two exceptionally sharp claws which come out to their fullest length when walking in this manner, and it is when these variables occur near a naked man with a bountiful pubic region, that it feels compelled to slash, claw, and carry off a penis.

Hobbleknobs universally, hate dwarfs. They seem to sense an innate desire all dwarfs possess to have beards, and this drives a Hobbleknob into a petty, screeching rage. They are kind, somehow, to all women regardless of demeanor or appearance; treating them as something to be assisted against the hirsute masculine. They are a popular pet among the owner of houses of ill repute as well as matron superiors; and there is reason to believe they may be part of the origin for "crazy cat ladies." Of course if a penis-haver does shave in that area, the Hobbleknob sees utterly uninterested in mutilation.

Hobbleknobs deal critical damage to hairy, unshorn men, on a range of 18-20; and they always leave behind a horrifying wound when attacking their favored area of attention. Despite all their violence, it should be noted they are perfectly fine with children and really only have an issue with men who aren't wearing trousers or some sort of covering.

I had to make one when I saw this picture. I had to.

Friday, April 12, 2019

OSE Weapons for Family Ties by Damage Dice for Dolmenwood

OSE Weapons for Family Ties by Damage Dice for Dolmenwood
In celebration of Necrotic Gnome’s gangbusters Old-School Essentials kickstarter, I’ve decided to put together a few listings of weapons or their equivalents from the tables found in the book. These items are spread out over damage dice, with a number of random items per category. These items can do well to compliment the results found in Wormskin 7, while also being more flavorful due to not having to worry about page space. Relatives are also important, as I’m all about that extra flavor; and a listing of which relative provided the item to you is at the bottom. Embrace the inanity of it all. This post will work best for making new characters and picking out their equipment. Also note, I do allow for a gun to be rolled up if you set your game in such a period; it is listed as a 12b, coming after a crossbow. 

Oddly enough, nothing is elfen listed below.

d4 Damage Weapons [d12]
1. Your [Relative]’s walking stick, from a time when walking holidays were common but equally arduous. [As club] 2. A fine cast-iron skillet, properly seasoned and damn near impossible to dent. Your [Relative] has used it to bash in a few skulls, though hopefully you won’t need it for that. [As club] 3. A dagger of curved longhorn ivory, allegedly won in some melee by your [Relative]. [As dagger] 4. A boar-sticking javelin that served your [Relative] well, never missed with it. Or so they said. [As javelin] 5. This gnarled oaken stave was given to your [Relative] by a hooded Watcher of the Wood, likely for some nefarious purpose. [As staff] 6. Your [Relative] claims this knife was almost plunged into their belly by pagan cultists, though that’s something of their catch-all excuse. [as dagger] 7. This long shaft of whalebone was sharpened and used for fishing when times were lean on the ship your [Relative] worked on some time ago. [As javelin] 8. This knotted, knobby, whorled piece of wood has served your [Relative] well; both in bashing knees and bashing heads. [As club.] 9. Your [Relative] stole this javelin from an athletic competition down past County Colm, back when they were competing in high-stakes hurling with High-Hankle. [As javelin.] 10. This dagger is all that’s left from your [Relative], as their compatriots claim they died stabbing and gutting some great beast with the blade; hateful and defiant to the end. [As dagger.] 11. Your [Relative] claims this crooked stave was blessed by a holy-man of “the Powers that Be” but it seems far more likely it was pilfered from some votive shrine. [As staff.] 12. Your [Relative] made this for you when you were very young, allegedly from the wood of a thunderstruck tree. You carved little emblems into it, and now you carry it with you to more violent means. [As staff.]

d6 Damage Weapons [d12]
1. Your [Relative]’s lucky hand axe from a few years spent working among the Woodcutter’s on the edge of the river. It an glide through wood like a knife through soft butter, if properly kept. [as hand axe] 2. This lance was discarded by a Knight of Brackenwold after a tournament bout they lost in disgrace. Your [Relative] picked it out of the mud as a souvenir. [As lance] 3. A fine yew longbow, well treated and kept-up from years of use, passed down to you now by your [Relative].[As long bow] 4. This shortbow was made from the precarious roots of an anklebrankle, and your [Relative] always loved to tell stories of tripping people before nocking an arrow to coerce them further. You took the bow primarily to shut them up. [As short bow] 5. Your [Relative] claims to have dug this old Goman short sword out of the muck of a river, hoping to sell it for a bit of coin. Nobody would buy it, everyone claims its haunted. You’ve never noticed anything ghastly about it. [As short sword.] 6. The Old Duke commissioned a number of swords for use against the rabblesome Goatlords who were, at the time, bucking their allegiance with the Brackenwolders. Your [Relative] came across it as a matter of service, though they never spoke further on that. [As short sword.] 7. Your [Relative] was for a time, an ally of the Lichwards of St. Faxis. This mace was a symbol of authority and service, a black polished truncheon with vague cruciform shape. [As mace.] 8. Dreams of a blue stone mace and endless laughter have long tormented your [Relative], and a week ago they were driven to madness. You heard laughter too, and it frightened you. You commissioned this mace to be plunged in molten salt to blue it; and in your hands it silences those whispering cackles in your head. [As mace.] 9. This spear was picked from a battlefield between the warring Goatlords by your [Relative], stained with gore and more than a few bodies impaled upon its length. Its point is of vicious barbed make. [As spear.] 10. Your [Relative], during a more dire time, worked as a resurrectionist. This great sledge has a claw on the back of its head, and it is allegedly a very useful tool for bashing apart wood and stone. [As warhammer.] 11. This hand axe has seen little use, both in war or in service to kindling. Your [Relative], layabout that they are, always kept it close enough to dissuade others from violence. They surely won’t miss it. [As hand axe.] 12a. A munitions grade crossbow, purchased off the back of a wagon from a quartermaster not entirely happy with his service to the Duke. Your [Relative] flayed the skin off their wrist and lost a finger once, having reloaded it improperly and suffering at the lash of the drawstring. [As crossbow] 12b. This arquebus from the gunnery works down past County Colm, made of banded iron and hard rosewood stock. A masterclass in efficient design, your [Relative] considers it to be a waste of money and hasn’t said a kind word about you since you bought it. [As crossbow]

d8 Damage Weapons [d12]
1. A battle axe from the armory of House Nodwick, offered as a dowry to your [Relative]. The relationship was spurned, and the weapon never returned. It is of superior, noble, make. [As battle axe.] 2. This flask of pungent oil was purchased by your [Relative] and left to obscurity in the cellar for several years. A painted label of red fruit and flames upon it speak to a perfidious purpose if properly used. [As oil flask, burning.] 3. This sword once belonged to an infamous hedge knight, their mark of service is marred into the pommel though your [Relative] took great efforts in clawing it into obscurity with a chisel. They’d rather you sell it for scrap, though it rouses the question as to why they hadn’t done that themselves? [As sword.] 4. A glass jar with an off-yellow liquid inside, floating within it are some sort of cultured mould. It is labelled “the Shantywood Special” and your [Relative] laughs, then feels great shame, when they’re asked what that’s supposed to mean. It is corrosive, like acid. [As holy water, but certainly not. If moved into a different flask the aeration makes it just moot, vinergary goop.] 5. Bottle of cultured truffle oil from the Pook’s Way Taphouse, it smells divine and greatly increases the flavor of anything it is added to. Highly flammable and sticky; an expensive flask of burning oil, but one which will smell lovely. A Saint’s Day gift from [Relative]. [As oil flask, burning.] 6. A clay cruciform canteen, blessed by the Bishop Sanguine upon a feasting day mass and passed down to you from your [Relative] who hopes to see you keep it safe and pass it down to your own children someday. 7. Your [Relative] was run through with this blade, delivered in agonizing cruelty by a brigand from the wood. They fled from your anger, and all that is left from that terrible night is memories of loss, a hastily dug grave, and this blade which must be returned in kind. [As sword.] 8. In a better life you could’ve been a proper blacksmith, an apprentice to your [Relative] who saw talent in you. Enough to enter a competition in blademaking. Enough to lose to Jorye, that lucky Lankshorn bastard. Enough for your [Relative] to fall heavily to the bottle in disgrace. You made this sword together, it should mean something more than humiliation. [As sword.] 9. Your [Relative] was an executioner, a shameful position that they were forced into after debts and losses to a noble house. They’ve recently managed to buy themselves out of this title, but that derelict axe still hungers. [As battle axe.] 10. As a child you and [Relative] would play fight with “swords” made from the brittle branches that fell in autumn; you always got the better of them, though they might’ve let you win. This blade you own was a gift from them, they hope you will cherish it, they fear it will lead to your death… [As sword] 11. This battle axe came from a time when your [Relative] thought they could be a proper kern and serve for sake of liberating their peers from foreign encroachment by the Mad Queen’s lineage. The way distant nobles were so quick to lick her boot and how it led to their masters doing so in spirit, disenfranchised your [Relative]. Use this axe for freedom, for chaos against bloody Havenland and its peoples. [As battle axe.] 12. This wicked sword was found by your [Relative] by one of the standing stones in the wood. It thrummed, almost calling to them, it whispered your name in a guttural tone. The blade is chalky to the touch, tarnished with a strange oil. It is swift when swung, but no mark of enchantment appears upon it. [As sword.]

d10 Damage Weapons [d6]
1. A wavy flamberge style sword, brought back by your [Relative] whilst they fought in foreign lands. They came back touched and distant, and you taking the sword away brought them a small, sad comfort. [As two-handed sword.] 2. A cruciform-hilted claymore, allegedly an ancestral artifact of early cooperation between your family and the Church of the One True God. Heavy is its weight, both in history and in the lopping of heads. [As two-handed sword.] 3. This sword has brought kinstrife between your family members for years, it was last seen in the hands of your [Relative] as they came for you, accusing you of crimes both real and imagined. It is in your hands now, and you feel no magical compulsion to kinstrife or kinslay; but you feel a fear that it might come upon you; or anyone else who might take up this blade. [As two-handed sword.] 4. A halbred brought from the Havenlands by one of the Queen’s beef fed royal guards. He was brought low by mercenaries gone gallowglass, and the fine weapon found itself in your possession by way of your [relative] to whom they owed back pay. [As polearm] 5. Your [Relative] killed one of Lord Ramius’s longhorn retainers in a duel of honor; how they found themselves in that is a matter of contention and debate. Equally so is how they won. This bec de corbin was looted from the corpse of the goatman knight, and its metal’s twilight violet gleam speak to its value. Surely someone will come for it, and as your [relative] is bedraggled with paranoia, it is now your burden. [As polearm.] 6. This glaive is poorly shaped, having been used by your [relative] as a gondola whilst they plied smuggler work on the Lac. Some parts of its rust will never come clean, and its certainly seen better days; but what matters is that it is yours now and you won’t treat it so poorly. [As pole-arm.]

Relative [d20]
1. Father
2. Mother
3. Uncle
4. Aunt
5. Grandfather
6. Grandmother
7. Great-Grandmother
8. Great-Grandfather
9. Cousin
10. Romantic Partner
11. Bastard Cousin
12. Elder Brother
13. Elder Sister
14. Great Aunt
15. Great Uncle
16. Bastard Sibling
17. Nana
18. Great-Grandparent's Nurse
19. Spouse
20. Ex-Spouse This post works well in tandem with this previous post: Names & Family Foundings.

Friday, April 5, 2019

Dolmenwood by the Dozen: Mooncalfe & The Cult of the Glorious Dreaming Moon

Hey look at that, a return to an old blogging thing. I still have all my old article notes saved in a Google Doc. What follows is a character from a bit down the line of articles I had ideas for, but I like the idea of her. 

I feel like, of all the things I've written but never finished, this was a series of articles with the most potential. Given that I've fallen in with really enjoying B/X material, I feel that it only behooves me to make stuff with it. 

Also two posts in one day, what treachery be this?


Mooncalfe, pale of complexion and of hair, touched by the strange voices of the night sky since a child; must appease them with blood. Called this by her mother because she is as sweet and caring as a calf to its cow with skin as pale as the luminous moon. A drunewife, she wears a hooded cowl of weasels, stitched together and not-quite-dead, as she scampers through the midnight woods of the Dwelmfurgh. She has taken to humming in mockery in the same tune of the weeping brides of Lord Malbleat, whose estate she enjoys stalking the periphery of. 

She knows well the secrets of the Drune, she attends the midnight meetings of lesser cultists in the form of an albino rabbit. She hastens to grow the anxieties between the folk of Lankshorn and the Drune Lodge. She herself has been bewitched since birth, she took her first breath at a moment when the godlet Ambule stirred from chalky slumber. She works, unwittingly, to the godlet’s ends.

She has killed, thus far, three pilgrims in the woods. The Drune are aware of these killings and grant tacit approval to the violence used to protect her family homestead. She has made kilnlings around their severed heads, and the clay she’s used are rich with chalk. Ambule can feel the movement of these kilnlings, like a stirring comfort to rouse the godlet from slumber.

AC 9, HD 3 (14hp), Att 1 × moonstone dagger (1d4+1), THAC0 19, MV 60’ (20’), SV D13 W14 P13 B16 S15 (M1), ML 9, AL C, XP 90, NA Unique. 
  • Nature Songs: If Mooncalfe sings for at least one minute, she may cast invisibility upon herself or assume the form of an albino rabbit as though polymorphed without need of reagents. 
  • Moonstone Dagger: Mooncalfe possesses a crude feldspar looking flint-cut knife, wrapped in a handle made of her own pale locks. It glows in moonlight and strikes with a +1 bonus to hit and to damage when used at night. Scratching out your own name from Prigmarinn Hill with this knife can allow the worshipper to reclaim part of their soul, enough to reincarnate. 
  • Coat of Weasels: Mooncalfe’s squirming coat of weasels which silently pull away from any source of danger. If the wearer, in a panicked voice commands them to “Flee!” the wearer will gain the benefit of a haste spell, doubling movement rate, when fleeing an enemy or threat.

Mooncalfe’s Plots
If Mooncalfe continues her plots, she will eventually come to control a small cult to Ambule (or as she will call the godlet, the Glorious Dreaming Moon). The members will mostly be made of foolhardy, desperate, and would-be occultists in Lankshorn and Dreg (stat as acolytes) and they will begin to make silent pilgrimages to the eastern edge of the Dwelmfurgh to pray at Prigmarinn Hill and carve their name into the column in chalk. She will have 1d4 followers within a month of starting the cult, gaining an additional 2d6 acolytes for each month that follows. They pray here on the night of the New Moon and the Full Moon. 

The Drune will notice her actions at a rate of 1-in-10, gaining an additional +1 to that roll every pilgrimage her cult takes to Prigmarinn Hill. There is always a 50% chance any Drune will misogynistically think this is just drunewife idiocy and reset this counter back to 1-in-10.

The authorities of Lankshorn and Dreg will notice her actions at a rate of 1-in-20, though if her followers begin to attack church-goers or priestly sorts (and they just might), she will then be noticed at a rate of 1-in-10. The authorities gain an additional +1 to this roll every moon cycle or whenever a prominent citizen returns from the Hill, baptized in chalk.

Members of the cult speak only of beautiful dreams, of dwelling in a palace in the clouds, hands affixed to pillars in garlands as they are fed by waifs and angels. This is when they can speak at all. Those who join the cult slowly lose the ability to sleep their mind is bewitched with pleasing images of dreams, but sleep itself is anathema to them such that a sleep spell will drive them into a fit of screaming (suffering 2d4 damage per turn they'd have slept). Mooncalfe kills the most far gone, using them to make new kilnlings (see Wormskin #7).

What are her followers like? [d12]
1. Unnatural pallor to their flesh, paler than an albino, paler than bone.
2. Collects only white dust as detritus and filth upon their person.
3. Coughs a wheezing cough, exhaling powder much like flour. 
4. Has begun carving names into their flesh, identical penmanship to those found at the Hill.
5. Wears an upside rabbit mask of rotted wood and whitewashed paint. 
6. Wears pumice and white stones, tied to their limbs with twine. Walks strangely.
7. Hums a strange melody, like weeping mourners. 
8. Wears a white woad upon their naked flesh, made from chalk powder and bird feces.
9. Has a zombified gait, as if in a drunken stupor or devoid of cognition.
10. Preaches loudly and insanely at night, running naked through the streets wearing a pumice mask shaped like the moon.
11. Hands are drenched in many coats of dried blood, speaks numbly, wants to feel "the ivory liquid" of the glowing chalken moon god.
12. Wears a wooden token of birch, carved to look like a weasel bent in the shape of a crescent moon.

Who has been converted? [d12]
1. Pilgrims, from far-and-off settlements.
2. Tax collectors from out of Castle Brackenwold.
3. Drunks and lechers out of Shantywood Manor.
4. Goatmen and half-goats from Lankshorn.
5. Rivermen and boatswain from Dreg.
6. A wandering friar and some woodland guides.
7. Students of Antiquated Cults & Developing Religions from the Royal College of Loom.
8. The least of the Drune, young men who can barely wear a hood let-alone cast a spell.
9. Wandering mercenaries who felt the need to find a new god.
10. Young teens from Lankshorn and Dreg, eager to be edgy and "pagan."
11. Moss dwarfs, now desiccated, dehydrated, and powdery.
12. An important local figure; a blacksmith, banker, or friend of the party. They were coerced. 

Bringing Mooncalfe to Justice
The Drune will not care about Mooncalfe or her mortal thralls for the most part, they will give her a stern talking-down-to if she brings too many woodsfolk too close to the Dwelmfurgh’s borders; but they will generally consider her just to be foolish and lonely. If they learn about her connection to Prigmarinn Hill, they will respond with a desire for violence against her---but they fear that any open attacks might bring reprisals from Lankshorn and Dreg; a threat they hardly desire to see attack them. Adventuring parties who are of friend to the Drune (as much as a friend can be to the Drune) will be granted access to one of her magical items upon her death; though they will demand the body be returned to them for proper evaluation.

Lankshorn will want Mooncalfe dead or "imprisoned." Lord Malbleat described her physique in blood-curdling terms after seeing her once from his manor’s window; he'd take her for a wife if imprisoned---and this would cause strife against the Drune, surely. The goats do not know of her magical equipment, and thus will have zero claim to it upon her death. Malbleat will pay in petty favors and a pittance of gold for her head, though he’ll offer petty titles additionally for her to be delivered to him in shackles.

The folk of Dreg want her dead, specifically they want her body to be burned at the stake like a witch. They want this to set a message, and the whole rogue’s gallery of a town will pay a “permanent” discount on goods and services, as well as the offering of a freshly dredged river vessel; large enough for travel along the Lake and cramped living quarters. It was an old fishing vessel, and if the party doesn’t want it, they’ll use the wood to further burn Mooncalfe. They also, do not know of her magical items, though local collectors will remark on her “gem-stone knife” and offer a fine price for it.

What if we ignore her?
Within a year, she’ll have several hundred soulless thralls under her command and Ambule will stir in its divine slumber, granting her visions of the world as a white-dusted wasteland of deathly chill and strange songs. She will begin to interpret any rumors of the Cold Prince as him being a herald of her god, and she will assist in those endeavors alongside her people at every turn. If, somehow, she survives to see the Cold Prince return; he will look at her for half a moment before cutting her to ribbons and remarking to a lieutenant about the strangeness of the newer Drunesfolk.

Dolmenwood: Names & Family Foundings

I'm to be starting up a new Dolmenwood campaign shortly, and as such I felt to add some material to my character generation documents. What follows are some listing of surnames and family foundings, for use with some of the generator content for Henchmen found in Wormskin #7. There's more content to come (I've been working on some Level 9 Stronghold/Gift stuff, but that's taking quite a bit of time), so here's some stuff in the mean time for making human characters for the setting.

Names & Families
Not all family lines are created equal, and even those of prominent means can fall into languid ruin. Use the following tables to determine your family name, common or vaunted.

Roll a d20, on a roll of 11+ your family was once vaunted and held power. On a roll of 10 or less, your family is common, but ambition only might change their stars.

If the roll was even, the founder of your family line was a woman, and her surname is what you carry. If the roll was odd, the founder was a man, and you bare his surname.

Only those knowing deeply of bloodlines and titles can tell the distinction, and seldom is there power to be gained in this.

Common Surnames [Man d20]
1. Slangbunke
2. Hoggswaddle
3. Falconkrief
4. Toppleman
5. Silver
6. Swift
7. Rumcraven
8. Doggersea
9. Alderlash
10. Redlock
11. Lobspound
12. Motherall
13. Blaggbook
14. Ginswain
15. Tumultide
16. Muckworm
17. Skegwit
18. Woodsmen
19. Culpit
20. Saints-Day

Common Surnames [Woman d20]
1. Nacky
2. Pittock
3. Owl-in-Ivy
4. Pannamloaf
5. Trantum
6. Clovers
7. Pensioner
8. Quipcove
9. Redletter
10. Lockbonder
11. Hearshill
12. Ragrattler
13. Sacheverel
14. All-a-Gog
15. Dugdropper
16. Mackelmace
17. Elmsown
18. Bridecrown
19. Switchgoggle
20. Wappenswhid

Vaunted Surnames [Man]
1. Dorian
2. Grimmcleu
3. Seldomsythe
4. Keyeslake
5. Magelfylte
6. Gravefend
7. Abbesser
8. Tosham
9. Bugaroch
10. Carvelring
11. Erlenger
12. Highpipple
13. Gorm
14. Skwilhammer
15. Yetch
16. Quartis
17. Blackwood
18. Aiderwine
19. Wolf-in-Womb
20. Salamie

Vaunted Surnames [Woman]
1. Pursons
2. Faustoon
3. Cromlechter
4. Silvershear
5. Wapperwash
6. Scratch
7. Woomblette
8. Garfengeld
9. Eench
10. Hardwater
11. Sternholm
12. Breunbrokkle
13. Xantippe
14. Yaffleneck
15. Zedland
16. Bowernock
17. Leddlemont
18. Pastor-Prudence
19. Toddy
20. Karnality

Common, Family Founding [d12]

1. Your ancestor took care of their spouse after a bandit raid on the settlement almost saw them dead. They held bitterness to those marauders, long after age and circumstance would’ve seen their enemies dead.

2. Your ancestors worked the same trade, they drank together, and soon enough were betrothed. They never really loved one another, but they respected none more than the other.

3. Your ancestor married the sibling of their true love, who was lost in a botched exorcism which saw the family line forever blighted in the books of witch-finders. Long has this whim of cruel fate tarnished the family line.

4. Your ancestors were hated enemies, forced to cooperate in the face of a greater threat, which lead to friendship and eventually to love. In their dying days, they laughed at the hate which once clouded their hearts.

5. Your ancestors met at the burial of a mutual friend, and though the weight of loss always seemed to bedraggle them, they wrote many a letter about their scant happy years. They seemed happy towards the end, as if appreciating a cessation of miseries.

6. Your ancestor was a brute, a vicious creature of rough hand and cold heart. How their spouse survived them all those years is a matter of family lore which changes depending on who is asked. The most common theory is the spouse murdered your ancestor, for their own survival.

7. Your ancestors were friends since childhood, raised on the same wet nurse some have said. They had a penchant for mischief and greed which followed them well into adulthood, and though they died penniless; their ambitions were always of note. Perhaps as a cautionary tale.

8. Your ancestor started their bloodline on a whim, because they could, because they wanted to forge something greater than themselves. It didn’t matter what anyone else wanted, or how they felt. Your ancestor took what they wanted, and your family line is still harangued by those actions.

9. Your ancestors served the Church, and their buggery was a breach of conduct which nearly saw them excommunicated. A sermon on the nature of mercy and hospitality towards the injured and tired was a controversial choice for your ancestor to preach, but it saved them from the lash.

10. Your ancestor was a nearly divine fool, often nude, often drunk, often freezing to death in the streets. They met their partner on a cold winter evening, shared a warm wassailing cup of cider and mint; and things felt less foolish soon after that.

11. Your ancestor stole their spouse from the Elflands, or so the family claims. It’s why your line is comely and beautiful to gaze upon, but also why the lot of you are sorrowful and prone to wanderlust. The Faeries have their own thoughts on this, most of which are mocking.

12. Your ancestors fought in a grand territorial dispute, Only after they’d claimed some degree of supremacy over all others would they marry and make merry. They were eventually undone by their many enemies, but the family line lives on.

Vaunted, Family Founding [d12]

1. Your ancestor was a bon vivant, powerful of word and aflush with coin. They had many suitors, and many more lovers. It is unknown if your branch of the family were the true born or the bastard born, but few in your family are as kind and carefree as its founder.

2. Your ancestors fell into diabolism and hedonism. They were debauched, sadistic, and felt that no righteous hand could ever stop them. One in your line was fierce enough to put the rest to the torch, to claim their filthy lucre, and to rebuild a more chatse and humble kindred.

3. Your ancestor held an estate of antiquated stone, and in isolation found only madness. They would marry, first their spouse, then the children produced by that spouse. They would create a brood, malformed and sick of mind. In recent years, things have been...cleaner.

4. Your ancestors were heroes, champions of the realm who waged blade against wicked foes. The family estate changed hands many times over the years, but you still bare a set of colors which any noble of worth can recognize from the stories of old.

5. Your ancestors wagered with coin and mercenaries at a time of great need. It earned them further coin and the force of arms to protect it, as well as the enmity of the ruling nobles. Even now they plot against your family for deeds done in ages long past. They call you an upstart.

6. Your ancestry can be traced to the upper echelons of the Church, to bastards born of bishops and cardinals, redeemed in the eyes of martyrs, and left to found a family with indulgent coin and unearned comfort. Many in your family find it hard to hold faith as easily as they hold a coin.

7. Your ancestors waged war against the heralds of Hell and all those who would bend the knee to infernal powers. They fell into paranoia and infighting, dark pacts with lesser fiends in exchange for the means to defeat greater beings. Your estate is in ruins, your family scattered or corrupt, and a dark hate clouds your heart at the worst of times.

8. Your ancestor was a fetch, a mock, a changeling; and you were born from its lines. It is a family secret, learned upon the passage into adulthood. You are a servant of an Elfland lord, a slave despite the wealth festooned about you. Your free will is your own, though it does not often feel that way.

9. Your ancestors were explorers, adventurers, and looters. Your family estate was built on the wealth pilfered from tombs raided and people’s plundered. You are in many ways devoid a sense of family identity that is not built upon conquest and the extortion of others.

10. Your ancestor was related to royalty, and though their claim was distant then and distant further still now, it saw them reason to hide among the common man. Your estates were never lavish, though they were comfortable. Your family line and colors appear more in ancient scholarly works than upon any banners.

11. Your ancestor was made to bed a progeny of the Goatlords, so as to secure an alliance of power between your factions. Every so often one in your line is born Goatish, and this is a mark of shame in these modern times. The Goatmen still acknowledge your house colors, for sake of hospitality between your people.

12. Your ancestors were scholars, aides to true nobility, and gained their name and power from noted discoveries at the start of now prominent crafts. They were skilled in their craft and skilled further in their studies. You know their penmanship, and those of their students, from countless hours spent reading their works as a child.

An Attempted Framework Conversion for: The Hole in the Oak set in Dolmenwood

The Hole in the Oak is a low level adventure about venturing into the Mythic Underworld for Old-School Essentials , and though it features s...