Winnowing Wasps (GLoGtober 2024)

This is for the Some Spooky Halloween Monsters for GLoGtober 2024.

Also known as Flute Wasps, Winnowing Wasps get their name from the sounds their abandoned nests make. The territory of a family of Winnowing Wasps is marked by dozens of discarded nests that create eerie discordant melodies when the wind is blowing. 

Matvey Smirnov

Adult Winnowers can grow as large as a human forearm. They can be easily recognized by their large size as well as their distinctive dark red and black patterning along the thorax. A somewhat social creature, Winnowers display a family behavior and have been known to nest together as well as to situate multiple nests nearby for protection from predators such as the Greater and Lesser Sulfur Lizards. Due to the typical temperatures of the Starklands, these wasps tend to congregate around sulfur pits in the colder months but there are also many reports of Winnowers entering a state of suspended animation while their nests are transported around the Starklands along with the Tower. 

Winnowers are a parasitoid wasp that lays their eggs primarily in human hosts- however moose and elk are also common hosts of the Winnower. When they find their prey, they aim for exposed soft tissue and deposit as many eggs as they can before retreating to their nests. Extensive documentation of the lifecycle of the Winnowers has been made by many a village and town throughout the history of the Starklands and the danger of these creatures is well known. After the initial attack, the host will experience the following symptoms:

Days 1-14: Itching around the injection site and a ravenous appetite. During this initial incubation period the eggs laid by the Winnower hatch inside of the host. The host will experience a ravenous hunger to account for the larva- much as with a tapeworm. A typical host carries anywhere from thirty to one hundred larva in them. By the end of this first period, the host looks to be obese and casual observers can notice unnatural movements under their skin. At this point, the larvae account for about 1/3 of the weight of the host. Winnower larvae spend their time eating and turning the chest cavity of their host into a nest, chewing through marrow and bone and spitting it back up to create a well protected barrel-like chest cavity riddled with small holes.

Days 15-21: The larvae emerge from the host at this time using sharp rotating teeth. Their natural secretions rapidly seal the wounds (and in fact make for a very valuable surgical aid) and the host will gather the larvae and shelter them in their home, usually somewhere safe and dry. Over the rest of the duration of this period, the host is driven to defend the larvae as though they were their own children- and what limited interviews are possible with these addled individuals reveal they are unable to tell the larvae apart from their children. During this time, the larvae spin a protective shell around themselves and begin their second phase of growth into a full Winnower. 

Once the Winnowers hatch, the new family instinctively returns to their host and the initial nest they made therein. By now, the hosts are usually dead- but this does not mean the end of their use. For some period after their death, their body still moves and carries the wasp nest at the whims of the family of Winnowers. Once their flesh has sufficiently rotted and they can no longer move, the Winnowers move on and leave the host behind, chest full of chewed up marrow and winding tunnels that make eerie sounds. Some hosts' minds are known to survive this process and, through means unknown, happily carry their wasp family around in their chest cavity. 

Villages are especially cautious of Winnowers. The stories of children, hunters, and foragers who have accidentally been infected and carried an infection back to a village are well known. Any Starklander worth their salt knows the best cure for an infection: fire. If the eggs were lain recently enough it's possible to burn them out and preserve the host- but some aren't willing to risk any remaining wasps spelling an end to the village and opt instead for a full cremation.

Many a wise woman and witch have their own cures as well, including the imbibing of certain poisons and liquors to kill the larvae within the host as well as the use of certain burning herbs to ward Winnowers off.

The Witch and the Wile (GLoGtober 2024)

This is for the two complimentary monsters challenge in GLoGtober 2024.

So your town has pissed off a local witch. These sorts of things happen with an uncomfortable frequency in the Starklands, so what was it this time?

 

Justin Gerard

What did your village do this time?

1. Someone cut down the witch's favorite tree and it was very explicitly marked with sigils and craft. No one will fess up. 

2. A drunk stumbled from the tavern into the woods and threw up in the sacred spring. The naiads called in a favor from the witch.

3. Patricians from the nearest city are going around trying to stifle witchcraft and require locals see doctors in the city. The witch has taken offense that her cures are insufficient. 

4. There's been a spree of cat killings throughout the village and the witch has had enough of it.

5. An oppressive religious sect has taken up residence in the village and is spreading rumors about the witch's terrible powers. They aren't fully wrong. 

6. Sulfur mine expansions have destroyed a precious foraging spot for rare mushrooms. It was the last one for miles.

Consequences and the Wile

Lusy_sama

When a Witch is ready to begin her mischief, making the town rue the day they brought her anger upon them or at least until they right their wrong, a Wile comes into her service. Sometimes a ritual is done, but more often than not Wiles have a sense about these sort of things and find their way to where they are needed. Whatever the witch does, the Wile is there to amplify and sow discord amongst the townsfolk. Their relationship is not exactly mutual- many a Witch's grimoire warns of the dangers of Wiles left unchecked.

Wiles have no shape or form of their own, instead adapting whatever suits their fancy- but a careful observer will notice their shapeshifting is never quite perfect. They aren't said to be strictly speaking intelligent- possessing more of a feral trickster level of intelligence and a sharp sense of where to twist a knife and mimic sharp words as like a malicious mockingbird. Their touch rusts new metal and gnarls wooden craft- wherever they've been one is sure to find twisted roots sprouted up from the ground where it walked.

Without any prompting by the Witch, the Wile amplifies her hexes and curses. If she brings a storm onto the village then the Wile is there howling in the night, shaking windows and doors, and calling in the voice of loved ones from just outside. If the Witch invokes a pustule pox then the Wile is there, a faceless familiar villager in the back of the crowds jeering and riling the town up. 

Though Wiles are more than happy to raise trouble for the fun of it, they also tend to take things from unsuspecting villagers. Precious jewelry, mementos, diaries, spices and the like are all up for the taking by the creature which will usually lair in a hollow tree nearby and revel in its ill gotten gains. 

Jonathan Gregory Bick

Many charms and counters are said to work against Wiles. Sometimes a Wile gets carried away and goes too far, taking a child, killing a herd, and the Witch herself may turn against it and expel it. Like all beasts of the wood it shirks from fire, though salt has no effect on it. A clever village may be able to catch and trap one by locking eyes with one another standing in a circle- ensuring someone will recognize and point out a lurking Wile in their midst. 

By the time a town has appeased the Witch and she ends her torments the Wile will have moved on, oftentimes lazily lairing in its hollow tree nearby and pulling tricks on unwary travelers until another Witch has need. 

Old myth and legend tells of the first Wile to walk the lands as a curse upon witches. They tell of the time when a Witch first acted in rash anger against a village that had offended, and the Wile leapt up from the ground and began their mischief. They amplified the Witch's fury and soon had goaded the Witch into wholesale destruction. While storm and root tore the town open the Wile stalked from home to home, eyes glowing bright, cackling laughter of parents and children, claws dripping red and rending villagers limb from limb. When the fury cleared the Witch's vision she saw what she had wrought- and what she had let stoke and feed on her rage- and lamented.

Chapel of the Living God (GLoGtober 2024)

Sacred Body Horror for GLoGtober.

On entry into a Chapel of the Living God most visitors will first be in awe of the hundreds of Beneficent Saints lining the walls, smiling down from the rafters, whispering their rapturous chants and cloaked in woven gold. Older Chapels are said to be so filled with Beneficents that their very roofs and shrines are upheld by smiling, chanting saints- gold-flecked skin and swirling golden irises.

Kris-3d

Feast days and memorials will usually see families visiting with and caring for their relatives that have become Beneficents, cleaning their skin and making offerings of their favorite foods. I have even heard of some sects that allow families to take their Beneficent out for the day to visit and bless each of their households before returning them into the care of the Chapel once more. 

The two other most significant features of your average Chapel of the Living God are the Supplication Basin, where appeals are made to the Living God in the presence of the oldest Beneficents of the Chapel, and the closed off Ritual Chambers, where the priests perform the Benefaction Sacrament.

Entei Ryu

Most are familiar with the general practice of Benefaction as a means of ritual preservation and recognition of services to the Living God, however the details aren't well understood by those outside the faith. The history of Benefaction goes back to the early days of the Living God, who would bless their chosen as Avatars that would wield a fraction of the Living God's power against their enemies. The saying holds true, however, that absolute power corrupts absolutely. After a time, Avatars would begin to be corrupted by the Sacrament as it grew and warped their bodies and minds with unfathomable power. Eventually, the Living God introduced the practice of Benefaction as a means of preventing Corrupted Avatars from wreaking havoc. 

Depending on the suitability of an Avatar candidate, they are assigned a date for their Benefaction. Great heroes of the Living God are known to have borne the Sacrament for years on end, though most last a month or a week. Once the date is reached, the Avatar returns to a Chapel where the priests ritually sever their limbs and burn them, then wrapping the strands of the Sacrament that remain around their torso into a golden cloth. Now a Beneficent Saint, they are put under the care of the Chapel- or transferred to their home chapel- where they will be cared for eternally. 

What's Going On?

The Living God is a hivemind organism that lives in the bodies of the Beneficent Saints. In the form of the Sacrament, it is a bundle of carefully grown tendrils that are ingested by candidates. Over time, it grows in the candidate and grant it extreme powers of strength and agility as the tendrils reinforce the candidate's natural body. As the growth progresses, the Living God and the candidate begin to act as one- however eventually the Living God will overtake the host where it then risks severing from the hivemind and growing its own- something like a sub-cult. Knowing this unfortunate feature of its evolution, the Living God uses ritual and tradition to curtail its Avatars early- maintaining its existence in the body of the Saint and allowing it to continue to grow. 

Evgeny Romanov

These facts are known by some of the highest of the clergy of the Living Saint- who maintain that these abilities could only be those of a God. Their God is tangible and, if it needs their service, then they will carry it in their body and become its lever upon the world.

One Clown Theory

Recently there was some clown discussion. Here's the thing about clowns:  

There's only one clown and there has only ever been one clown. 

These are all the same creature

One clown! It's all the same clown! No of course I don't mean it's some sort of clown hive mind or the same clown time travelling around and around- actually the second one isn't far from the bullseye. 

There's something that happens at the biological, psychological, pharmacological, ontological level to someone who starts walking down the clown path. At a point somewhere after they don the d-red nose for the first time and when they're chainsmoking with fourteen brethren in the back of a tiny car on their way to commit mischief, the neurological pathways in their brains form into just the right configurations of comedy meets tragedy, of necessity meets frivolity, and eventually there's a wet popping sound as the circle is completed, the ritual satisfied, and that person is gone and in their skin is the clown. 

same clown

And it's always the same clown. Always. Yes yes, who among us hasn't turned a corner and averted their gaze from a group of clowns dismembering and devouring one of their own- but that's just what this creature does! The madness locked in its big-tent striped brain is the insanity of eons! 

Blind and deaf inquisitors of the most holiest and secret of orders have thoroughly worked over many a subject and the results of their studies are thrice sealed and buried in the deepest vaults of hidden sacred monasteries- but one fact has made its way out of these sanctums: each clown is a different iteration of the same tormented soul- born anew atemporally into the host body. Can you imagine it? A thousand thousand thousand lifetimes in a thousand cities? A thousand worlds? We can only guess at the limits of it, but these concurrent lives lived out over the eons have driven the creature horribly, hilariously mad. 

this too, same clown

And this clown, the clown, it knows what is happening to it. After each death and renewal into a new host it remembers all of these previous lives- and so they tend to congregate into troupes amongst itself. Why else are the jokes so similar, the acts all the same, the colors the paints it's all the same clown! Experiencing itself in another maddening circle!

There's no coming back to one stricken by the disease, unfortunately. They become the clown irrevocably. Maybe the clown is feeling whimsical and will act the role of the dutiful son, daughter, husband, wife and wipe off their face paint- but never forget it's not who it once was. Late at night they will feel the inevitable pull to the trunk in the basement, beneath all the boxes of coats, and they will pull out their tiny trumpet and honk their red nose. It's best to just ignore it. Live blissfully ignorant and thank your lucky stars that the clown has decided to show you mercy.

honk

Maybe you can drag one along on an adventure- but be warned this timeless twisted creature has no experience of time as you or I do. Each life a new joke, a new shadow on the wall, and a new opportunity for comedy. Or maybe they'll spend this one weeping in the sewers, screaming against the gods that have cursed it so. Roving bands of ageless deathless clowns aren't unheard of- and some heresiarchs are whispered to have intentionally summoned this creature to extract boons and knowledge from it. 

For it has lived every time and place and knows the past, the future, the present, the great magics, the lesser magics, banana cream pie recipes, all locked under the harlequin mask of madness. Luckily the jocular cults of the clown tend to run their course and burn out quite quickly- most ultimately succumbing to their idol and becoming a new clown of their own.

always the same clown

But there are ways to commune with this creature, for those willing to risk the ire of an eternal horribly mad creature. 

1. Acquire a simpleton or other such willing peasant
2. Train them in the arts of clownery. Once they don a red nose, or should one appear suddenly, ensure they are locked well and safe in a cell. 
3. When the mad cackling reaches a peak, you may now attempt a bargain

The only thing you can offer to an eternal being is novelty. Jokes, gags, bits, stand up, should you prove to impress it then there's a chance you will be granted your request. Illusions, jocular magics, stories of mirth and hilarious secrets of history are the best bet for boons.

Be warned, there can be no guarantees it has not seen such before, and clown magic is not to be trifled with. If the clown waivers or seems uncertain, do not hesitate to kill it, change your face, and seek another life as far away as you can. Be ever vigilant for floppy shoes- though that clown may be dead one of them- many of them- will remember. Whispers near carnivals tell of hidden cells of assassins, given lists by their own ready to act in the funniest way they can to extract vengeance. Dynasties aflame, cities collapsed, livestock inverted all at the cost of the wrong joke.

what makes a mad god laugh

Some say the original iteration, the first clown, Clown Prime, was born and cursed long long ago- the first man to tell a bad joke, to slip on a banana, to laugh at the gods. Others believe the first clown is yet to be born, a creation of the mad sciences of man and a warning of our boundaries. At the very least, we can think ourselves lucky the poor twisted soul has a sense of humor.

 

To Swallow a Spider

Once, there was a young milkmaid. Fair-haired and soft-hearted, the envy of her sisters and the pride of her family. Day by day she milked her family's two cows and carried her pails through the winding village roads, warm and joyful faces greeted her at each delivery. 

On one such ordinary spring day she saw a shadow fallen along the roadside, couched in mud and grime. The shadow hacked and coughed, no shadow but a haggard old woman in deep- painful throes. As the milkmaid neared the shadow resolved to a cloaked, old woman- heaving on all fours and mewling in the mud. 

A hand shot out from the shadow of the cloak, the hood falling, and the old woman pled to the milkmaid "Oh golden-haired maiden, please! But a drink of your sweet harvest would set my humors right!" The fallen hood revealed the gurgling buboes and boiling warts that sloughed about her stricken visage, and terror beat its drum in the milkmaid's stomach. She cut wide around the woman and turned her face away, hurrying along her route.

With another hack and bloody cough the haggard woman pled once more- but the milkmaid hardened her heart and took to a run. Hauling herself to her knees, the witch then gestured and damned her curse to the milkmaid: 

"May you be ruin! May your beauty be your bane and your heart be hollwed! May your presence curdle the virtues of good men and may you be a crawling hive! May you die unburied and only then succumb to the rot you spread!" 

And with that last issue, she heaved her final breath and fell stricken in the mud, the terrified milkmaid fleeing along the road. 

The curse laid by the wayside witch festered in the milkmaid's mind, but she dare not repeat it for she feared the torch. 

That day, the milk she delivered was found to have spoiled overnight.

All through the night, the milkmaid tossed and turned with dark dreams of crawling claws and the evil eye, ever glaring. But, she woke and set to housework before making her deliveries as normal. All through the day, she would swat at an especially persistent fly and would jump at every shadow she saw.

It did not take long for the milkmaid to realize the witch's curse. At first, the hens stopped laying eggs- with their final clutch found rotten and molded. Not long after, the cows stopped giving milk, and her families' debts began to pile. 

Next, her father was stricken with a terrible sickness that soon consumed her sisters and mother as well. All bed ridden but the maid herself, who now was plagued by the flies that found her throughout the day. She slapped and swatted, catching hundreds until the house was empty of them, but then come morning a cloud of the biting, buzzing, swarming menace was back and stronger. 

The very frames of the house began to sag, mold sporing in the corners and consuming the rafters. One by one, the milkmaid buried each of her family in the churchyard, and with each death the village turned. Day by day, they shut their doors to the milkmaid and turned their faces to her plight. What's worse, those who did still speak with her told of the villagers turning cruel to one another, spats and fights sprung up among the kindest of folk and a hate boiled in their hearts. 

Despite her plight, a rowdy crowd of suitors began to plague her home- each a young farmhand or apprentice from the village who began turning to a cruel visage spotted through a window or a figure standing in the dark of the wood. They quarreled in her yard and pled for her hand- though the maid shut them all out of her home as she saw their teeth sharpening and eyes yellowing day by day. 

One night, the maid shut up each window and barricaded herself inside as the shouts became cackles and the suitors beat upon the home. Howling and shouts from outside ebbed and flowed, smoke and iron were on the wind and she sat up swatting flies all night, daring not to sleep.

Come morning the maid discovered what had become of her village and her home- now sagged and mold-ridden it would not stand another night. Blood spilled throughout the village, homes burnt and twisted- cruel faces smiled down at her from hanging bodies in the square. All that stood was the church. 

She sought sanctuary inside with the young priest- himself bloodied and bereaved by the terror of the night before. In begging prayer, the milkmaid came to realize the issue of her misfortune- as she choked and coughed- a black clot of wriggling flies coming up in her hand. Using a silvered plate as her mirror, she watched as the biting flies that plagued her would one by one issue from her mouth.

The church filled with these flies and everywhere they touched began to rot, benches falling to pieces, stone spotting with mold, hanging cloth shriveling and flower turning to fungus. Despite the horror unfolding, it was the priest's eyes yellowing and breath laboring that finally drove the milkmaid to flee and lock herself in the undercroft. 

In desperate prayer the maid sat by light of a single candle, the flies buzzed angrily around the locked crypt. The shroud of biting darkness swallowing up the light bit by bit- it parted suddenly as salvation crept into the candlelight.

Palm-sized, rose red, legs clean and sharp black, eyes gleaming with quiet hunger, the maid's mind slowed and began to set cold and clear as she made eye contact with the great spider.

Perhaps not an answer to her prayer, but a solution to her plight. The maid wiped away her tears, her heart emptied of fear. She reached out her hand to the spider.

Bringing it to her lips, she opened her mouth and the spider crawled inside with measured care, fluttering step by step down her throat.

It did not take long for the flies to stop, as the spider swallowed them up. Not long after, the spider too swallowed up the maddened priest outside.

The maid stood in the rotten chapel's archway and faced a new morning, the corpse of her village strewn about in front of her- but the rot stench could not bother her anymore. Fear and sorrow too, the spider swallowed. 

And still, it was hungry.

Tatum Cho

 

"The average person swallows 8 spiders per year. Susan Spidermouth, who swallowed 30,000 spider eggs thus becoming the ultimate spider incubator, is an outlier and should not be counted."

Tarna the Spider-Maid

8 HP, 8 STR, 14 DEX, 14 WIL (d6 dagger or d10 bite)

• A pretty young woman, cannot speak. Her insides are hollowed by the spider that symbiotically lives inside, keeping her limbs moving. Hungry. Can eat curses.
  
• Charms as per spell and can kiss a willing target to spit a Hollowing Spider into their mouth.
• Critical Damage: Paralyzes target (d8 DEX damage) with a spider-kiss. 
  

Hollow Zombie

4 HP, 6 STR, 6 DEX, 6 WIL (damage as weapon)

• An unwilling host to a Hollowing Spider. Hungry.
• Young Hollows are ravenous and mindless. Older Hollows can mimic human behavior but cannot speak.

 

An aside on curses.

There are many kinds of curses, from little malisons that bedevil a wayward adventurer to bloodline-tethered divine retribution. 

Some tables never use curses, some do. Delta did a good look at the history of the curse, Jon of Medieval Melodies did a look as well, and Noisms wrote a bit about curses as insanity too. I'm most partial to the table of flavorful curses from Swords & Scrolls.

Let's take a gander at what a curse looks like mechanically from something like Lamentations of the Flame Princess (though this is similar to most retroclones' format of the curse):

Bestow Curse (the reverse of Remove Curse) can bring about any number of unfortunate effects upon a being, determined by the caster and Referee. Some limits of effect must be enforced. Typical possibilities are limited to no more than a –2 pen alty to saving throws or –4 to hit, an ability being reduced by 50%. These effects can have any number of creative symptoms. The victim can avoid being affected by Bestow Curse with a successful saving throw versus Magic.

For best effect, players getting cursed should have a bit more flavor to it than just the modifier penalties above, and and iteration of a straight Remove Curse should be used with caution. A setting environment filled with curse-slinging witches and undead loses its luster if you can just hit up the local cleric for your monthly curse-check and get an inoculation just in case.

Curses should be unique and curses should have weight to them. To lay a curse is to set wrong a right, bend fate to a twisted bend and set a foul spirit on someone. 

In the worst of cases, anyone can lay a curse with their dying breath and enough vigor behind it- at the cost of the curse-layer's soul becoming that maleficent spirit enforcing the curse- and no curse worth a soul should be something generic.

A curse should have two components. 

1: A unique effect that impacts how a character functions in the world, whether this be changes to rolls or NPC reactions- make it work within the fiction and make it be felt.

2: At least two ways to break it. Some unique format is best- as with Noisms' take of unique breaking conditions to be met- but make sure that the player knows how to break a curse. Both a unique condition and some ludicrously expensive resolution as a backup would do the trick.

Appetizer, Doppelgangers

INT. THE INCONTINENT VICAR. NIGHT

A small bar occupies most of the first floor of the inn, dimly lit from the hearth and a lantern set upon the bar top. The room is empty, save for the portly middle aged innkeeper cleaning up for the night. Outside, the heavens have opened up and a fierce storm batters the windows, the occasional flash of thunder illuminate the dark, wild fields of the frontier that surround the inn.

Suddenly, the door bursts open and three weather-worn and drenched travelers stagger inside. Startled, the innkeeper moves to greet them. 

DOODLES

Come in, come in- bar the door and keep the storm out! What a terrible night to walk these muddy roads, but make yourselves at home and warm yourselves by the hearth.

The travelers mumble thanks and set their cloaks to dry and gear to rest before pulling chairs and settling heavily by the hearth. Amongst the three is a noble gentleman, a stately warrior-nun, and a young tinker. They have a sharp look about them, each one eyeing their surroundings cautiously. The gentleman speaks first. 

EDWARD

This inn is truly a godsend, barkeep, and you a messenger of the gods to have a hearth ready and warm to greet us. I am called EDWARD of the Marshlands, and these are my traveling companions Sister ARMITAGE and LISETTE the Tinker.

DOODLES

Well met, good sir and ladies. It is your good fortune to find yourselves in the Incontinent Vicar, begging your pardon for the jest Sister, it's an old family name. I am Cameron Fiddlesticks, the proprietor of this small bastion of civilization. But everyone calls me DOODLES. Used to be a bit of artist, you see. 

EDWARD

Our good fortune indeed, DOODLES. Do you have two rooms we can rent for the night? We lost our coach some ten miles back and have been battling the storm in search of sanctuary ever since. 

DOODLES

It displeases me to say it, but I am afraid that my small inn is full tonight. Just like yourselves, two groups of travelers seeking refuge from the storm rented out all of the rooms. I have no rooms, but rest assured I will not turn you out back into the storm. Frankly, I am glad to have some company as the other groups turned in early. How about this- I'll see what scraps of food might be around the kitchen. The serving girl won't be here until daybreak to fix breakfast, but I'll make it up to you with free drinks if you keep me company. 

DOODLES ducks into the back kitchen. The travelers huddle and speak quietly. 

EDWARD

As good a deal as we could hope for in these circumstances.

ARMITAGE

Free drink until morning? Keep your wits about the both of you, something here is turning my stomach. 

LISETTE

He seems friendly enough to me. Are you going to tell him about the corpse? 

ARMITAGE

Quiet about that, girl. Let us see what more this DOODLES has to say- there may be more to him than he seems. 

LISETTE

A doddering innkeeper like him? Surely not. 

ARMITAGE

These lands are the frontier now, many a strange folk and bandit are about. I have heard tales of villains and robbers trapping unwitting travelers before- so keep one eye open and a blade nearby. 

EDWARD

Easy, Sister. Don't frighten our ward unduly. This is no play and we are no players, he is much more likely a lonely innkeeper than some bloodsucking vandal. But, LISETTE, the Sister's words are not entirely without reason. Allow me to handle the matter of the corpse. 

Glasses clinking together signal DOODLES returning- he sets four mugs on the bar and fills them, offering one to each traveler in turn. 

DOODLES 

I'm afraid there's nothing left from dinner, but drink up. Tell me, what errand sends you to the frontier?

EDWARD takes a glass and drinks, after a moment LISETTE does as well. ARMITAGE glares. 

EDWARD

The Sister and I are escorting our ward to the Red Keep on the frontier, to apprentice under a master tinker there. Tell me, how far from the Keep are we now? 

DOODLES

On foot? I'd say a week at least. More if this weather keeps up.

EDWARD

I don't suppose the other travelers have any spare horses we could purchase?

DOODLES

Hmm, I doubt that. They came with two four-horse coaches and would sorely miss even a single from the teams. A troupe of five morris dancers staying the night alongside four traveling spoon merchants, if you can believe it.

From behind the bar, DOODLES reveals a shiny silver spoon to the travelers. 

DOODLES

Far too rich for my blood. Wooden utensils are simpler and more reliable for an establishment such as mine. The town just up the road, Argyle, might have someone willing to sell a horse or two though.

Chatter continues between the group for some time. ARMITAGE relaxes slightly as the night whittles away. LISETTE eventually nudges EDWARD. 

EDWARD

Ah, right. Say, DOODLES, you haven't noticed anything strange about the inn as of late, have you? 

DOODLES

Well, aside from the downpour no. A rain such as this hasn't come to us in a fair decade I should say. 

EDWARD

Ah, but no unusual guests? Or perhaps sounds the night before? Maybe-

LISETTE

DOODLES did you know there's a dead man in the bushes just up the road? 

ARMITAGE

Child! 

DOODLES

A dead man? Outside the inn? 

LISETTE

Yes, just a few minutes up the road! We spied his legs sticking straight up out of the brush and-

EDWARD

And he appeared to have been run through, a blade to the back I should wager. This day or the last. He had nothing of value on him either. Spying your inn in the distance we thought it best to make for shelter sooner rather than search around for any other signs.

DOODLES frowns, troubled, and strokes his chin. A flash of lightning illuminates the inn and thunder rolls in the distance. 

DOODLES

How very peculiar. None of the travelers mentioned such a thing when they came in yesterday- and the reeve has kept the roads well clear of banditry. If there were any foul sort running about the roads I should be the first to know.

The group of four all share a glance and then look upstairs. 

ARMITAGE

And what do you know of these travelers renting your rooms? Are you certain they are who they say they are?

DOODLES

They seemed the alright sorts, the merchants a bit stuffy but none of them the bandit type. I worry though, what say we haul the poor man out of the rain? If he's a local from Argyle up the road I should like to know who sooner rather than later.

A brief discussion follows, EDWARD and DOODLES pull on cloaks and exit the front door. LISETTE shivers.

ARMITAGE

 He seemed quite genuinely concerned. Hm. Perhaps I had him wrong. 

LISETTE

See? A friendly old innkeeper. If the murderer wasn't one of the travelers either, do you suppose there are bandits loose in these parts?

ARMITAGE

The other travelers aren't free of suspicion yet. Bah, we shouldn't get wrapped up in this. The minute the rain lets up we'll leave this place behind. We can let the Lord at the Red Keep know what we have seen when we arrive.

There is a creaking from upstairs and someone descends to the bar. It is Cameron Fiddlesticks, dressed in bedclothes.

LISETTE

DOODLES? How did you- where's EDWARD?

FIDDLESTICKS

I'm afraid you have me at a disadvantage, miss. Have we met? My friends call me DOODLES but I can't say I recall meeting two such as you before- who are you who make yourselves at home freely in my inn?

ARMITAGE and LISETTE share a glance. LISETTE's eyes widen and she swallows a response. Quickly, ARMITAGE steps between LISETTE and FIDDLESTICKS.

ARMITAGE

Good sir, I am called Sister ARMITAGE, and this is LISETTE. Do you have a twin by chance?

FIDDLESTICKS

A twin? What a strange question, and from strangers no less, at this time of night! No, and my brothers look nothing like me and left here long ago. 

LISETTE and ARMITAGE are silent at this. LISETTE's eyes flick to the front door. FIDDLESTICKS scratches his head, considers, then grunts. 

FIDDLESTICKS

Don't worry, I cannot begrudge the two of you for taking shelter here from such a storm. I'll forgive the drinks as I have no rooms to spare for the two of you- in exchange for some conversation that is, as I find myself now well and truly unable to return to sle-

Once more, the front door bangs open and the rain-slick figures of EDWARD and DOODLES haul a corpse into the room and secure the door again. 

EDWARD

Black news, friends, our innkeeper here says this body is one of the danc- what hey?

EDWARD looks at FIDDLESTICKS, whose mouth is agape and stuttering. DOODLES is a mirror image. After a brief sound of choking rage the two each move, FIDDLESTICKS grabs and brandishes a chair while DOODLES pulls a club from behind the bar and waves it at FIDDLESTICKS.

DOODLES

What dark sorcery is this? Who is this devil that wears my face? 

FIDDLESTICKS

There is witchcraft afoot here- who is this man you bring into my bar with these accusations and this countenance? Begone devil! 

ARMITAGE pushes LISETTE behind the bar as the two innkeepers charge at one another, shouting. Before they can do too much damage, ARMITAGE and EDWARD grab one of the innkeepers each and pull them apart. Raucous shouts and hubbub from upstairs can be heard, a party of five spry young men armed with rapiers and daggers charges down ahead of a group of four considerably obese men- both parties in nightclothes. One of the young men shouts above the furor. 

JOSHUA

Bandits! Stand down or we'll- we'll cut you to pieces! Innkeep what is all th- two innkeeps?

EDWARD

Yes- two- is exactly the problem! Bind that one and I'll get this one and we can get to the bottom of this! Now!

The two innkeepers continue to spout vitriol and loudly proclaim their innocence and the other as being a devil. After a moment's consideration the morris dancers offer their assistance and both innkeepers are bound and set apart from one another. EDWARD begins explaining the situation to the grumbling merchants and dancers as LISETTE checks the body hauled in from outside. She removes the cloak covering its face and her head whips around to examine the group, she gasps and points at one of the dancers. 

LISETTE

It's you! This can't be- the dead man is you!

Everyone looks to the body and sees that it indeed is the exact double of one of the dancers. Said dancer gets shoved apart from the group and into the middle of the room by one of the merchants. EDWARD draws his sword, ARMITAGE grabs LISETTE and draws her back towards the kitchen. 

EDWARD

Explain yourself- now!

PATRICK

I swear- it's not- I didn't do anything! JOSHUA tell them!

JOSHUA

The boy tells the truth, lower your blade and we'll explain!

EDWARD steps closer to ARMITAGE and LISETTE and lowers his blade but does not sheathe it.

JOSHUA

We were traveling yesterday when we met a wandering minstrel on the side of the road. The miserable sod was caught in the downpour, so we brought him along with us. But when he got in the coach he changed and suddenly there were two PATRICKs! There was a scuffle and the false one was stabbed. We... we feared the noose and so dumped the body as- who would believe us?

The merchants scoff and begin edging back upstairs, muttering. The most rotund and elderly one grumbles. 

REMUS

I think it's high past time that we pack up and get on the road.

EDWARD

Hold, merchants! This deviltry involves us all now. JOSHUA- how do you know that the one you slew was the false PATRICK? 

JOSHUA

Well- we weren't sure at first. Once we got to the inn we had him do our troupe's specialty dance- no one else can do it on demand and he did it flawlessly! Surely the devil was the one we slew!

ARMITAGE

And what of these two innkeepers, then? How do we sort devil from man? We only met the one in bedclothes just now- but the other was chatting quite jovially with us for some hours.

The group gets to shouting and arguing, nothing being clear over the din. Both innkeepers are practically frothing accusing the other, but no one can agree on what to do. Complaining that it was none of their business, the merchants head upstairs and proclaim that they intend to leave as the dancers continue arguing amongst themselves. A shout is heard from the kitchen and a serving girl enters the bar.

NICOLE

Quiet down you gits- breakfast is ready! What- what in the world is this, now?

Once more the inn erupts in noise as the group shouts the story again to the serving girl. The merchants descend the stairs fully dressed and with baggage- shouting accusations at the whole assembled group as they exit through the kitchen to the garage in the back. 

LISETTE, EDWARD, and ARMITAGE huddle. 

ARMITAGE

I think it's high time we leave as well- weather or no.

LISETTE

But what about the innkeeper?

ARMITAGE

He- they are not our problem, we'll fetch a priest in the next town and let them sort this out.

EDWARD

Very well. I don't trust these dancers though, they have killed once already and may well get ahead of us along with the merchants and convince the town that this was our doing. Their horses are in the garage, if we're quick then we can ready three and be gone before they notice. 

LISETTE

Horse theft! That's a hanging offense! We'll make it to the Red Keep just to be strung up!

ARMITAGE

The sword-arm is right, LISETTE. If we make it to the law first then they'll likely turn a blind eye to what was necessary to get there. EDWARD, take LISETTE and get the horses ready, I'll keep this group busy, knock on the front window when all is ready. 

ARMITAGE rejoins the shouting group in front of the bar and begins throwing her own, louder accusations. EDWARD and LISETTE duck out through the kitchen. 

The sun has not yet risen, and the rain is still pouring. The short path to the garage is muddy and slows the pair as they fight the wind. A flash of thunder reveals an abnormal lump by the door to the garage, and LISETTE gestures at it and shouts to EDWARD, who draws a finger to his lips and shushes as he holds his blade at the ready. 

Approaching the body, it becomes clear that it is one of the merchants. Another flash of lightning brings a peal of thunder, revealing briefly the merchant's face has become swollen and purple. 

EDWARD

Steel yourself, LISETTE. Steady breathing, remember your training. 

LISETTE nods. Sounds of a struggle can be heard from the garage. The door is open, a faint lantern light spills out into the dark. The pair continue cautiously forward, and EDWARD nudges the door open. 

Inside, four more bodies lie on the ground, some bleeding and others still sucking in their last breath. One is face down in the mud. They all look to be merchants, one is a double for the one found outside. 

There are sixteen horses, all crammed into the garage. Each horse has an exact duplicate. A brightly colored coach is unprepared in one corner, but a black coach stands ready with four chestnut colored horses hitched and ready. The coach doors to the garage are suddenly thrown open, and shouting can be heard from the other side of the coach. Two merchants are seen climbing in, with a third being thrown off and into the mud as one of the merchants drives the team out and into the downpour, disappearing into the dark. 

EDWARD runs forward to check on the merchant thrown from the wagon, leaving LISETTE gawping at the bloody scene and agitated horses. She draws her dagger and checks the merchants in the garage, each one bears mortal wounds. As EDWARD reaches the merchant thrown from the coach, she looks and sees the merchant throw a hand up and grab on to EDWARD- and suddenly where there was one there are now twin EDWARDs, with no merchant to be seen. LISETTE looks between them both and shouts in fear, she cannot tell which is which. 

Both EDWARDs rush one another and begin a bloody brawl in the mud. One shouts.

EDWARD?

Get ARMITAGE and make for the next town and the priest! I'll catch up!

The EDWARDs continue to brawl, one draws a dagger. LISETTE nods and turns back out the garage, drawing her dagger as she reaches the door- which bursts open in front of her. NICOLE flies into LISETTE's arms- sobbing. 

NICOLE 

Miss- it's terrible! They're all- they just started killing each other! We have to get the priest!

Glass can be heard shattering inside, along with the clash of blades and mixed shouting. LISETTE shakes NICOLE off her, crouching slightly and moving inside with dagger ready.

LISETTE

I'm not leaving without my companion, either come help me or fly back to your town on your own. 

NICOLE whimpers, looks out into the pouring rain and dark outside. The sky has begun to lighten, slightly, but the torrential rains have not let up. NICOLE follows LISETTE inside, grabbing a cleaver from the kitchen top and clutching it desperately. 

Broken furniture and pools of blood. Shouts and sparks fly at the clash of metal on metal. ARMITAGE, bloodied mace in hand with a stool as a makeshift shield, fighting back a mad-eyed morris dancer with a rapier. One of the innkeepers is tipped to the side in his chair, head bearing a grievous wound. Two of the same morris dancer fence one another, madly. 

LISETTE darts forward and hamstrings the dancer attacking ARMITAGE, who bats her away and keeps LISETTE from biting the blade of the dancer who shouts in anger. NICOLE sobs. 

The front door is swinging wildly, the storm pours inside the inn. The lantern is knocked to the side and the light extinguished, the melee inside stutter-framed with flashes of lightning. JOSHUA, bleeding from a side-wound. He drags a muddied person, limping, into the room- bearing the face of NICOLE. She screams, looking up at the NICOLE beside LISETTE. LISETTE is pushed aside as the NICOLE by her leaps through the room and flies at JOSHUA, knocking him back out and into the mud. 

JOSHUA

Witches and devils, all of you!

ARMITAGE

LISETTE, flee!

The door to the garage by the kitchen swings open, and a horse enters the room, surveying its contents coolly. It lets loose a screaming whinny and charges forward, dark shadows in its stead. 

ARMITAGE

Upstairs! Bar the door and open it for no one, girl!

LISETTE ducks the horse which charges into the tangle of morris dancers. She hurtles up the stairs and into the first room she finds, slamming the door behind her. She moves one of the three beds inside in front of the door, blocking it. As she prepares to move a heavy chest on to the bed and reinforce her barricade, she hears a voice. A figure rises up from under one of the beds. 

ARMITAGE

LISETTE? Is that you?

LISETTE turns around in terror and stabs downwards, again and again. ARMITAGE crumples, a flash of lightning from the bedroom's window revealing she already bears numerous wounds. LISETTE gasps and pulls ARMITAGE into her arms- choking a sob.

ARMITAGE

It's okay- girl, the gods will protect you.

ARMITAGE coughs bloody and wet, shudders, and goes quiet. LISETTE remains, holding her, kneeling on the floor. 

Crashes and shouting are heard from downstairs as the rain hammers against the inn. 

The clamor from the bar quiets, eventually. There is a knock on the door. 

EDWARD

Hello? LISETTE? LISETTE are you in there?

LISETTE sets ARMITAGE on the ground gently and stands. 

LISETTE

You're not EDWARD.

EDWARD

LISETTE what are you saying? Of course I'm EDWARD. The other- hells, the other... thing ran off into the woods after I stabbed it. I just came back in and- gods are you alright? 

The door rattles. LISETTE does not respond. 

EDWARD

Come on LISETTE, open the door. Let's go and get the priest. 

More steps can be heard outside the room. The door rattles again. LISETTE does not move. 

ARMITAGE

Girl, get your wits together and get out here, we're leaving.

EDWARD

Yes, and hurry! There may be more of these... things. We should put as much distance as we can between us and here.

LISETTE shakes her head, unsteadily.

LISETTE

No. You're- you're dead.

Something heavy thuds against the door suddenly. 

ARMITAGE

I did not raise you to speak nonsense, girl! A little book learning and she thinks she knows the stretch of the world. If I had known she'd turn out to be such a disappointment then I'd never have picked that wee starvling off the streets.

EDWARD

Calm yourself Sister, there's been a great deal of bloodshed here. Surely she's just confused. Now, open the door and let's make haste.

LISETTE

You are not EDWARD, and you are not ARMITAGE. 

I do not know what manner of devil you are, but you will not fool me.

The patter of rain fills the silence. Moments pass. 

EDWARD

What an absolute fool of a woman this child has grown into. What would your mother think if she could see you now?

Well, I suppose you couldn't know. After all, ARMITAGE is the closest thing you have a mother, and you killed her just now, didn't you, LISETTE?

Now you're all alone.

Something slams against the door, the room shakes and LISETTE pushes hard to keep the door barred. She looks to the window and smashes it with the pommel of her dagger. The morning is still dark, but she can see it's a short drop to the muddy ground below. 

There's someone standing outside. 

NICOLE

Quickly, miss! If we hurry we can outrun them!

LISETTE stumbles backwards and falls. Something, somethings, behind the door laugh. Standing up, she looks out the window again. EDWARD stands just below the window, beckoning for her to jump. 

LISETTE

No... no. 

Lightning splits the sky and thunder shakes the inn. Below, now ARMITAGE stands, staring up at LISETTE and smiling wickedly. The laughter from the other side of the door grows more baleful. A sword blade breaks through a crack in the door, and many hands set to hacking it to pieces. 

LISETTE steadies herself and turns to face the door. She holds her dagger in front of herself, defensively, and speaks quietly. 

LISETTE

Gods, grant me strength. 

The door heaves and shatters as lightning strikes the ground just outside the inn with a blinding crack and shattering boom. The assailants rush the room but stop short. LISETTE is nowhere to be found. 

INT. CRAB DUNGEON. BANQUET HALL. 

A lavish table is laid out with a bounty of dishes. The benches are crowded with squat, frog-like creatures in robes, devouring the meals noisily. At the head of the table, CRAB eats distractedly, reading from a tablet. Mouth full:

CRAB

Damn, Negative Space, that was horrific. I've got to get someone else to read this and suffer with me.

From a side door, a tall man with a pigeon's head and wearing a tuxedo slides into the room and strides up to CRAB, handing him a sealed envelope. 

CRAB

Oh, hey DEREK. Mail at this hour?

DEREK

Coo.

CRAB

Huh. Well, take it easy man. Grab some food before you go.

DEREK bows and produces a small tupperware container and picks delicately from the assembled meal. CRAB slices the envelope open, a sudden effervescent octarine billows out of the envelope, flooding the room. 

Burning letters of swirling octarine form above the banquet table. 

GRANT THIS ONE STRENGTH

The frog-like creatures scatter as the swirling writing throws the table into disarray and food flies across the room. CRAB stands up, fighting the pulsing octarine. 

CRAB

DEREK who did you say sent this one?

DEREK shrugs and slides out of the room, avoiding the mess.

CRAB

 Oh, great, just like the gods to never sign a letter. How am I supposed to know which of you this is a favor for? And grant who strength?

Suddenly, the swirling letters disappear, leaving the room strangely void. CRAB surveys the mess. 

With a great crack and peal of thunder, LISETTE appears, standing on the table. 

LISETTE yells in surprise and spins around, surveying the room. She sees CRAB and yells again. CRAB yells back. LISETTE yells again. CRAB shakes his head.

CRAB
We done? What do you speak?
Parles français?
说中文吗？
Care- tye sinte quenya?

LISETTE

Where are we now, devil? What new sorcery is this? I will not be tricked again!

CRAB 

Well, that's a relief. I didn't want to do this whole thing in Quenya, my Elvish is rusty.

CRAB rings a hand bell and the doors around the room burst open. LISETTE shouts and brandishes a knife at the dozens of skeletal figures wearing bowties that swarm into the room and begin cleaning. One approaches CRAB bearing a silver platter with two steaming mugs of coffee bearing the Old Bay logo. CRAB takes one and the skeleton places the other at the other end of the table. 

CRAB

Well, go ahead and take a seat over there, miss. Seems like you have need of strength and I need to know what your story is to figure out what that means. 

LISETTE

I- what are you? What is this place?

CRAB

This is the CRAB DUNGEON, and I am the DUNGEON CRAB. Just call me CRAB, it's easier. Go on, take a seat and tell me your story. Sounds like you have a god in your corner and they've called in a favor. You uh, don't happen to know which god you have backing you, do you? Any weird parents? Work at a temple? Signs from the heavens? Prophecies?

LISETTE, considers as CRAB sips the coffee. She gets down from the table, still brandishing the knife, and carefully avoids the skeletons, now mopping the floors, then sits at the other end of the table and sips from the mug cautiously. 

LISETTE

I... just like that? My prayers are answered?

CRAB

Well, gonna be a little harder than that I wager, from all the blood on you I'd say you've been through some rough times. Now, what's your story?

LISETTE

Parents- I didn't know them. I was raised in a convent since I was very young, taught the principles of Xenia before apprenticing for awhile under a local tinker.

CRAB

Wait, Xenia? Like, Athena Xenia? Like Pallas Athena? Athena Promachos and Polias? That Xenia?

LISETTE

Those- some of those names I know as epithets of Xenia. Are you a servant of the Silver-Eyed Owl?

CRAB

Uh, no, I just sort of owe her a favor. Or four. Anyways, go on. You look famished, I'll get some more food.

LISETTE continues to tell her tale as a hearty meal is brought in. 

END TITLES

"Pixies - Stormy Weather" begins to play.

After finishing the meal and summarizing the events of the night at the Incontinent Vicar, CRAB considers the tale.

CRAB

Yeah, sounds like doppelgangers, or I guess changelings- you'll learn the distinction later. There's some some work cut out for us. Alright, first thing in the morning we start the training montage, gonna have to start you from the very beginning it sounds like. Follow this here dapper skeleton and he'll see you to your quarters- just ring the bell and they can bring you whatever you like.

A skeletal servant escorts the still bewildered LISETTE from the room.

CRAB, ASIDE

Well, hell of a prologue there. Sort of hard to keep track of everything, huh? Sure does seem like a problem inherent with the source material, yeah? All in good time. Doppelgangers and the like are pretty dicey, and used with a heavy hand they can pretty much tear apart not just a session or a campaign, but even a table. But we'll exhaustively get into that next time, cheers.

FADE OUT

PAYING THE JOESKY TAX

Masque of the Deceiver

A white tragedy mask, mouth frowning but otherwise unadorned. If carefully inspected, bits of skin can be seen stuck to the inside of the masque, as though torn from great effort. The masque looks as though it is mocking those that behold it.

When worn, the masque allows you to appear as any person you have seen before and mimic their actions and voice perfectly, use their stats and class attributes. While wearing the masque, you are unable to eat or sleep, food and drink ingested while disguised will disappear as though consumed. Doppelgangers will know that you are deceiving them, and they will hate you for it. You can see the true forms of doppelgangers while wearing the masque, and they know this. 

The masque sticks to your flesh, and does not want to stop being someone else. On a failed save against your personal charisma, the masque cannot be removed without permanent scarring.

Part 2: First Course, Doppelgangers