Water babies

The kappa of The Eye of the Dragon, which eventually found their way into Dragon Warriors, owe very little apart from their watery habitat to the creatures of Japanese folklore. For one thing they live in the sea, whereas Japanese kappa haunt ponds and streams. Not to mention the unhealthy obsession with mortal posteriors, as in the illustration above where a kappa is looking at an bow trap baited with a corpse whose arse is positioned directly under the arrow tip.

The way it came about was this. I probably first came across kappa (the original variety) either in Richard A Lupoff’s Sword of the Demon or the roleplaying game Bushido. As the setting of The Eye of the Dragon is vaguely Graeco-Egyptian, at least architecturally, and kappa is a Greek letter, some circuit tripped in my brain. That combined with The Tempest’s “of his bones are coral made; those are pearls that were his eyes” and gave us the DW kappa.

For our Tetsubo book (I won’t recap the story here, there are enough old posts about it) Jamie and I naturally had to include to genuine Japanese kappa, supposedly spawned from the ghosts of the Heike after the clan’s destruction at the sea battle of Dan-no-ura.

According to the Morokoshi Kinmō Zui, these creatures resemble a small child or monkey with a back entirely covered in scales, look like a tiger when resting on the sand, and have long claws that they keep hidden in the water. But folk tales, like dreams, are elusive and protean; another description claims the kappa has the body of a tortoise, the limbs of a frog, and the head of a monkey. Just to confuse things even more, the Suiko (a Bugaku theatrical mask) depicts the creature with flat ears, a pointed eagle nose, and a coxcomb covered with tiger's skin.

In the river of Kawachi Mura, a kappa was once caught in the girth of a horse. After being rendered harmless by spilling its fluid, it was forced to sign a bond promising never to attack a man, woman, child, or beast again. Another tale tells of Rokusuke of Keyamura, a retainer of Taiko, a strongman who captured a kappa. In prints he is seen surrounded by a number of these creatures.

Poems by Sugawara no Michizane were held in great esteem in Kyushu as protection against the kappa. Before departing for exile in Kyushu in 901 AD, Michizane cast a final glance at his plum trees and composed the following verses:

“Kochi fukaba Niwoi okoseyo Ume no hana Aruji nashi tote Haruna wasurezo.”

The sources translate this as:

"When the eastern breeze passes, load her with perfume O blossoms of my plum trees; even though the master is far away, never forget the spring."

According to legend, the poem was so powerful that one of the plum trees uprooted itself and miraculously flew to Chikuzen to be with him. This tree became known as Tobi Ume, or the "jumping plum tree". In exile, Michizane was crossing a river when a kappa seized his horse’s bridle and tried to drag him underwater. Michizane sliced off the creature’s hand. The mummified hand can be viewed to this day at the Kitano Tenmangū Shrine in Kurume, Fukuoka.

That’s all a long preamble to the Tetsubo entry for kappa, which (like the baku and gaki) I have converted to Dragon Warriors rules.

Kappa

Kappa are amphibious goblins that inhabit the rivers, lakes and ponds of the Ikaido islands. Honourable but vicious, they prey on the blood of land-dwelling creatures -- not just mankind, but also cattle and horses. Their favourite sustenance, however, is the blood of human children. They drink this through the rectum, so if a drowned corpse with a distended anus is found this is always blamed (on the whole justifiably) on the kappa. These creatures are ferociously proud of their martial ability. They will sometimes challenge a person to single combat, and if the kappa is bested it will undertake to teach secret skills to its opponent. It is important to be very exact about the terms of a duel, as kappa are sticklers for the letter of an agreement and if they can gain any advantage (such as by insisting the duel take place underwater) they will not hesitate to do so. Kappa are not communal. Always encountered singly, they are the Oriental equivalent of the kelpie of Elleslandic folklore: a genius loci, really a water sprite rather than a simple water-dwelling animal.

Physique: Kappa are spindly beings rather like monkeys, except that they have no fur but instead are covered with silvery-grey or yellow-green scales, like those of a fish. Their hands are webbed and, in some cases at least, a carapace like a tortoise’s shell protects the kappa’s upper body. Kappa have a bowl-shaped depression in the top of their heads. This is used to carry water when the kappa emerges on to dry land, as otherwise it would quickly lose its strength.

Behaviour: Kappa fear fire, which desiccates their bodies. A kappa faced with brandished flame must roll 6 or less on d20 or give ground. Any fire-based attack which strikes a kappa, whether or not it inflicts damage, dries its body; it loses 1 Health Point and suffers a cumulative −1 from ATTACK until it can next immerse itself.

Special Rules: Kappa breathe underwater and are excellent swimmers. Either through sorcery or stealth, they are seldom seen on their excursions to human settlements. Renowned for their fondness for cucumbers, they can be bribed or distracted by an offering of them; the kappa resists the temptation only if it rolls 17 or more on d20.

They are able to survive short forays onto land by means of the hollow on their heads, which holds water to sustain them. If this water is spilled, the kappa quickly becomes too weak even to move. It is possible to trick a kappa into spilling its water simply by bowing: kappa are so polite that they almost invariably bow back. Roll d20 against the kappa’s Intelligence of 6; on a success it realises the danger and keeps its head level as it bows, otherwise the water spills out and the kappa can be caught. (As with most creature vulnerabilities, players should not have their characters make use of this ploy without first checking to see if they know it. Obviously anyone can read it here, but the Tetsubo rulebook is unfortunately not available in Yamato! A character must be versed in Shinto doctrine and make a successful Intelligence check at difficulty factor 13 to remember this weakness and exploit it.)

Kappa invariably know Unarmed Combat, Kawashi, Koppo, Atemi-Waza, Heal Wounds and Surgery (skills defined in the Tetsubo rules), and in most cases they are better at these skills than humans. They are also innate spellcasters, casting without gesture, incantation or ingredient — though their magic, like their strength, fails entirely while the water is spilled from their heads. Each kappa has 3d4 Magic Points and commands the following: Curse, Lesser Healing, Command, Tangleroots, Peer, and Illusion (all as the Sorcerer spells of those names, at the usual Magic Point costs); Wave Mastery (as the Water Elementalist spell; a kappa uses it to part or still the waters of its pool, 2 Magic Points); and five lesser dweomers of its own, each costing 1 Magic Point and lasting until a Spell Expiry Roll: marsh-lights (a drift of pale flames that wander where the kappa wills, luring or misleading travellers by night), the zone of cold (a clammy chill within 10m of the kappa, numbing fingers: −1 from ATTACK for all within), the zone of silence (no sound carries within 10m of the kappa), the reek (a concealing fog rises over water within 50m) and dousing (every open flame within 15m gutters out).

As Tetsubo is not going to be out before next year, anyone looking for a good RPG of the Sengoku and early Edo period is advised to check out Stray Crows from Portmortem Studios. The Kickstarter is launching soon and there's a free preview on DriveThruRPG.

Mummers' games

As later Dragon Warriors books were released and we began to introduce creatures that were less familiar from folklore and fantasy fiction, I liked to include adventure seeds in the description as a guide to how to use them. Some have found the Blue Men silly, for example, but my excuse is that if a bit of wackiness has your players giggling then the cold grue that follows will be all the more chilling.

Blue Men

By night in the sailors' taverns of many a port, with salt spray lashing the windowpanes, one may hear old adventurers in their cups whispering seafarers' tales. Sometimes the talk is of the Blue Men, who plough through the cold northern seas in their dragon-prowed warships, and plunder riches and souls from the living.

They come out of churning grey waves with the gnawing icy gale of an approaching storm billowing out their sail. A pallid flare of phosphorescence limns the rotted timbers of their vessel - an ancient, barnacle-encrusted hulk, waterlogged and impossibly afloat, like a grim wreck that has been raised by sorcery from the ocean depths. The grisly mariners of this ship stand silent on her creaking decks, blankly observing the terror-struck faces of their human prey. Chilled to the marrow of their bones by a cold no earthly fire could dispel, they possess the hunger of the dead for the living. Their flesh is shivery blue and their long beards are tangled with kelp, and in his hand each grips a cutlass of brine-corroded bronze. 

The Blue Men hold a course alongside the chosen ship, whereupon it is soon clear that they cannot be outrun or evaded no matter what the steersman's skill. Standing by the fierce prow, the Blue Men's chieftain addresses his prey. In a voice like thunder he calls out couplets of verse that describe the terrible fate that shall be meted out to them, but if a spokesman from among the adventurers can immediately reply with a rhyming couplet refuting his words then the Blue Men will be temporarily balked from attacking. So the chieftain might say: 

'Our prow shall split your ship like kindling,
Your own bright blood shall wash the decks.' 

And be countered by: 

'We have no fear of cold blue dead men
Blustering from their sodden wrecks.' 

The adventurers then get the opportunity for a riposte, which the chieftain must likewise deny in rhyme. The contest of verse continues until one side falters or is forced to make an unconvincing or clumsy rejoinder. If the chieftain wins, his Blue Men board the adventurers' ship and fight like demons, untouched by lesser sorcery and all but impervious to wounds. They may be driven back if the adventurers manage to inflict more than 25% casualties, returning to their own vessel which then sinks rapidly below the waves. Any character they slew will be beyond resurrection - his soul taken down with them to the depths, as the legends have it. If the rhyming contest is won by the adventurers' spokesman, the Blue Men will depart at once. 

Hardy adventurers will perhaps refuse to play the Blue Men's game. Ignoring the verse, they may attempt to take the battle on to the planks of the dragon-ship. The Blue Men will respond by lowering the vessel below the waves, and each adventurer who boarded them must roll under his Reflexes on 2d20 or be sucked down with them. The chieftain will hurl a final weird upon those who survive: their vessel will lie becalmed and stricken by plague unless every adventurer aboard can resist his MAGICAL ATTACK of 16. (In game terms, the effect of the weird is to leave the vessel becalmed for 3-30 days, during which time careful check must be kept on rations and supplies of fresh water. The adventurers are exposed to 1-3 random diseases each day the weird lasts.) 

ATTACK 23         Sword (d8 + 2, 6)
DEFENCE 10         Armour Factor 1 (take half-damage from arrows, slingshot, etc)
MAGICAL DEFENCE 8 (but immune to Sorcerer spells of lst-4th level)
EVASION 6         Movement: 10m (20m)
Health Points 1d6 + 16         Rank-equivalent: 7th

Fast-forward thirty-four years and we were in lockdown. One of our gaming group, Dr Aaron Fortune, volunteered to run a traditional Yule adventure featuring the Company of Bronze mercenary characters (later to become known as the Iron Men) whom I've mentioned before. This was on Discord, naturally. Oliver and I missed the opening session but Aaron ran a side quest for the two of us that led into the main adventure. Oliver was playing Whirrun, aka 'Cracknut', who apparently was based on a book he'd published, and I was Calidore of Warens Field, aka 'Caliburn'. This is Caliburn's account of the session, but it's also a description of the macabre Mummers that Aaron had dreamt up:

The Adoration of the Magi

We meet Sir Wulfstan in a tavern outside Cantorbridge. He’s not really a knight, he’s a member of the Company. ‘Here’s your pay,’ he says. ‘You’re to come with me to the cathedral.’ He says a lot of other stuff too but now the sun’s gone down and we’re drinking. It’s Advent, you see, so fasting all day.

Next day at the cathedral, Wulfstan says we’re to escort Sir Joffe (who is a real knight) on a trip. ‘First you’ve got an audience with Subdeacon Elfwine.’

‘Why?’

‘Just listen to what he says.’

So we go in and this young priest tells us about factions in the Church and what his faction stands for and how there are rumours of the End of Days and that. After a bit I can’t hold my tongue. ‘Is there anyone you want killed, your holiness?’

‘Eh? No. There’s a relic at a hermitage up the coast. The hermits have been reluctant to part with it but now they’ve agreed. Go with Sir Joffe and bring it back in time for Christmas. Now, if Sir Joffe gives you orders then – ’

‘He’s not a member of our Company. We take our orders from Wulfstan.’

‘Well, pretend. I don’t want Sir Joffe to suspect.’

Suspect what, I wonder, but I don’t say anything because Church business is not Company business.

Wulfstan finds me and Cracknut and Portus. ‘It’s up the coast a ways. You’ll get another pay packet when we’re back. Also the best food and lodging, and horses all along the route.’

This sounds like when somebody is setting you up as a patsy but we don’t say anything. I put Coronach in the stables here in town because I gather we’ll be riding post up the road and I don’t want to wear him out.

Off we trot, with Sir Joffe and his five Chaubrettian guards, and a few days later we come to an island that you can ride to at low tide. Here the three hermits live, in conditions my granny would call squalid. Filthy wretches they are, claiming to be holy and that. ‘Where’s my relic?’ says Sir Joffe.

The shiftiest of the hermits, who I notice from his bloody shirt has been whipping himself, pushes back the altar and hands us an old box with three crisp new lead seals on it. Funny, I think, but I’m not paid to think so I keep quiet.

Off we go along the coastal road back to Cantorbridge. There’s a foul smell off the sea and some ominous looking ships, but the world is supposed to end soon so it’s not too surprising. Also, it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good, and being in a mercenary company you tend to welcome bad omens.

After a bit Joffe discovers that what I handed him wasn’t the relic but a packed lunch wrapped in an oil cloth. He starts moaning that we’ve been robbed, but then I hand him the real box and he’s so happy he gives me a crown, which is five shillings or a considerable number of farthings.

Pretty soon Sir Joffe is whipping the horses so that two of them go lame. What an idiot. Then Gilbert, who is in the Company, rides up to meet us near Langdip. ‘Give me your horse,’ says Sir Joffe to Cracknut.

‘Good idea,’ says Wulfstan. ‘You three hand over your horses. Go down that track there and you’ll find the home of Mistress Godwina. She’ll give you fresh horses for the lame ones. We’ll ride on to the next coaching inn and you can catch us up.’

Now, this all seems entirely too convenient for anyone thinking to shake us off. Only two horses are lame, but Wulfstan is trying to get rid of me too. Is he up to no good?

‘Cracknut and Portus can do that,’ I point out, ‘and I’ll come with you.’

‘You stay too!’ says Wulfstan, a bit agitated now.

‘Uh-uh. I’m sticking to you like one of Joe’s turds after a big cheese dinner.’

‘I’ll see you sacked from the Company,’ he says.

‘Try it. I’ll answer to Pieter de Fleur.’

So he rides on with me right behind him. We’ll see what that was all about later.

Cracknut and Portus have barely seen us off down the road when they hear a horse whinny, and turn and see a young bloke that gives his name as 'Prince' Aengus. ‘Have a lucky rabbit’s foot,’ he says to Cracknut. ‘It will help you win a dice game against the Mummers. In fact, it will mean you always win.’

‘What you want for it?’ says Cracknut, who is no fool.

‘Nothing. I give it to you freely. And now I ride off.’

As it’s getting dark they go down the lane Wulfstan pointed out and there’s an old house, reasonably grand with a porch and that. They’re welcomed by Mistress Godwina, an old bird who lays out a good spread. She’s a friend of Wulstan, who is even more long in the tooth than Portus so might conceivably have had a thing with this crone at some stage in the past.

‘What about these Mummers we keep hearing about?’ says Cracknut, gnawing a chicken leg.

‘Oh, they’re terrible bad sorts. Devils, some say, or bad fairies. They live in a ruined chapel in the woods and at this time of year they come to the door when people have had a baby, and they shake dice, and when they win they take the baby away.’

‘What if they lose?’ asks Portus.

‘They use weighted dice – or so the rumour goes – so they rarely lose. And if people don’t give them what they want, they kill everyone in the house most horribly. Blood and guts everywhere.’

I guess Cracknut and Portus look sheepish at that, as they are not known themselves for over-daintiness or mopping up people’s guts after they’ve done a killing, but they tuck in and soon forget it.

Meanwhile I’m at the coaching inn and Wulfstan is distraught. He takes me aside and shows me inside the box. There’s no relic, just a velvet cushion which has got exactly as tatty as you’d expect after a few centuries under an altar stone. It looks like there used to be a mask in the box, and as it’s a relic of St Lucinda I can guess what bit of her that was.

‘Where is it?’

He shakes his head. ‘The box was empty.’

‘Oh. That’ll be why that hermit was so shifty, then. And why the lead seals look new.’

‘You go back and get the others,’ says Wulfstan. ‘Better get back to the hermitage and – ’

‘Say no more. Acquire the relic by any means necessary.’

Now it’s a good job I tagged along, and I bet he doesn’t go bad-mouthing me to Pieter de Fleur after all. But as I ride back I’m wondering why he was so keen to get rid of all three of us. He’d have been well stuffed if I hadn’t insisted – unless, that is, he pinched the relic himself and this is a wild goose chase.

As it happens, roast goose is on the table when I get to Mistress Godwina’s place. I tell the others what’s going down. Luckily Mistress Godwina tells me the story of the Mummers, because Portus and Cracknut are sitting gaping at the food like a couple of flounders on a fishmonger’s slab.

‘Well, it’s clear to me what’s happened here,’ I say. ‘Shifty the Hermit gambled the relic away to the Mummers. Guilty conscience, that’s why he’s been whipping himself. We’ll have to get it back off them.’

‘They might turn up at the house of Leofstan and Hild,’ says Godwina. ‘She had a baby yesterday.’

Sigh. We grab our stuff. ‘We’ll have to get over there and deal with these Mummers.’

‘They’re very dangerous,’ says Godwina. ‘Monsters, really.’

‘Only way to get the relic.’

As we’re riding over, Cracknut mentions the rabbit’s foot. ‘Handy,’ I say. ‘You can gamble against the Mummers for the relic.’

‘No, I want a Yule present for my wife.’

‘Give her the rabbit’s foot,’ says Portus.

‘But don’t we need it against the Mummers?’

‘Look,’ I say to Cracknut. ‘Win the relic first, save the baby, then afterwards you can give the rabbit’s foot to Lady Misery. Sorry, Maisery*.’

The house is down by the shore and it’s quite a hovel really. Poor folks, this couple, but they let us in and seem to believe our story. I suppose they’ve been quaking there expecting the Mummers and we’re a ray of hope.

So we wait, and at midnight there’s a knocking at the door. I open it to find thirteen cowled figures in masks going, ‘Mmm, mmm, mmm.’

‘In you come.’ I’ve got my hand on my sword but they’re all armed and there are thirteen of them. It’s a tight squeeze inside the cottage. The leader goes up to Cracknut, who is sitting at the table. He points at the baby, then he slams down his dice cup.

‘Hang on,’ I say. ‘If you lose we want the face of St Lucinda, which is the relic from the hermitage.’

‘I think I must name you,’ says Cracknut, and he goes on to say they’re all called Death.

They don’t unmask, so maybe that’s wrong. The leader gestures impatiently at the cup. ‘Mmm.’

So Cracknut rolls and the Mummer rolls and, thanks to the rabbit’s foot, Cracknut wins. The Mummers don’t take it well. They start up a horrible shrieking and the leader whips off his mask to show a leathery yellow face with the mouth stitched shut, and he shrieks so much a few of the stitches break and a bit of black spittle rolls down his chin. I’m very glad that nothing scares me, and I’m surprised that Cracknut and Portus don’t lose their dinner at this point.

Anyway, the Mummers have lost so they give us the relic and piss off. The relic is, as I thought, St Lucinda’s face, cured and mounted on a jewelled stick like a posh bird’s mask at a ball.

‘I reckon she was ashamed of how often she got propositioned because of her beauty,’ I say, struck by sudden inspiration. ‘Holy people hate fucking. So she cut her own face off because being holy can make you do things like that.’

The baby was crying. We went and had a look, and Hild agreed to call him Whirrun as that’s Cracknut’s real name. I looked through the mask’s eyes at him and announced he’d have health, happiness and prosperity. But I’m not sure that blessing worked, coming from me, even though it was a relic, so I also left a shilling on the mantelpiece.

We’re riding back when Cracknut says he thinks there’s something up with the road, and sure enough it seems we’re somehow lost in a wood. Well, it is after midnight now. I take out the relic and look through its eyes and now I can see the true path as a clean gleaming trail, which leads to a warm light beyond the trees, but behind us are the Mummers and they have a cold, blue-white glow to them that’s somehow menacing.

We follow the true path and it brings us to Mistress Godwina’s place, and the warm light is shining from her. The Mummers stay lurking back there in the woods, not liking to come near. Bastards. Bad enough that they use weighted dice or magic or whatever, but to be sore losers too. I’m tempted to go out and kill them all to teach them a lesson, but it is pitch dark and it’d be thirteen to one, so maybe not tonight.

We have some mince pies and ale, then we take turns sitting up through the night, and every now and then there’s a soft thump of something hitting the door, and when we’ve had breakfast and we go outside we find three dead rabbits in the porch with their front paw cut off, that the Mummers threw against the house.

We ride on, making a good pace, and by close to midnight on Christmas Eve we catch up to Wulfstan and the Chaubrette geezers. No sign of Joffe, he’s ridden on to present the relic – well, the empty box, as he’ll find out.

We’re approaching Cantorbridge and we hear the bells ringing midnight. ‘Happy Christmas, lads,’ I say, and at that moment White Light** appears in the north like a candle that’s been lit. Or more like a thousand candles. But it doesn’t last long and then it goes out. It makes me think of that star and our Saviour with the Magi that came and did the spells on the manger or whatever. Bet they didn’t leave a shilling. Stingy sods, Krarthians***.

* Cracknut had been wed in an earlier adventure to a lady of possibly fay origin called Maisery.

** One of the so-called Ghosts of the Magi (in common parlance) or, according to official Church teaching, the Pentaphan -- five celestial bodies that appear from time to time in the northern skies.

*** Caliburn is confusing the Magi who attended the Saviour's birth, who were almost certainly from Opalar, Batubatan and Zinj, with the rulers of Krarth.

There are plenty of interesting ways to use mummers in a Legend game. You don't even have to bring in magic or horror. Those masks are perfect for concealing one's identity -- a spy, a thief, a former foe seeking revenge, a proscribed lover sneaking in to see his beloved, an outlaw coming to free his comrade from the castle dungeon. But Aaron's Mummers are actual monsters, fay or undead or diabolic, so let's consider them in terms of the DW rules.

First, Cracknut seems to think that if he can name them they will be robbed of power over him. That makes sense, especially for beings wearing masks, and traditionally you get three guesses too. But there are thirteen of the Mummers, so it won't be as easy as dealing with Rumpelstiltskin. If you're going to let your players discover all the names I think it's fair enough to ask them to memorize them, not read them off a piece of paper. Oh, come on, not every adventure can spoon-feed the adventurers their successes.

But what if the Mummers aren't named? They offer a game with rules -- which is typical of the fays, however they may twist those rules. They roll the dice. If you win, they must depart. If you lose they will take the child they've come for, or something equally precious in its stead -- unless you can outwit them. Think on your feet. 'Do we roll for the one who was born tonight?' could mean the foal in the stable. Pointing to the cradle and saying, 'The winner takes what lies there' could indicate the cat, not the baby who you cleverly hid elsewhere when you heard them knocking at the door.

If they win the game and you haven't managed to outwit them, then it's a fight. A bloodbath, perhaps. They should be more than a match for any normal group of fighting men. You'll scale them to the strength of your PCs, but here I'm assuming they are equal in rank-equivalent to the strongest member of the party.

ATTACK 22         Shortsword (d8 + 1, 4)
DEFENCE 12         Armour Factor 2 (unaffected by nonmagical weapons until the dice game has been played)
MAGICAL DEFENCE 15 
EVASION 7         Movement: 15m (30m)
PERCEPTION 14
Health Points 2d6 + 10         Rank-equivalent: 8th

Positively the last RuneRites

If you were a fan of the RuneRites column in White Dwarf thirty-five years ago - indeed, if you were even born then - here's a very late addition to the files. I had this lined up to run alongside Oliver's "Wrecker Island" scenario for Questworld. But then Questworld fell through, Games Workshop stopped pushing Runequest, and RuneRites got shifted back to bimonthly. Since the scenario was never used in WD, neither was this column, although the former later appeared in Dragon Warriors book 3: The Elven Crystals. It had changed quite a bit - the original scenario was set in tropical seas, the DW version was rainswept and wintry - and the RQ monster stats here were never needed. So, for the RQ completists out there...

RuneRites: RICH AND STRANGE

A selection of sea creatures

By Oliver Johnson

When adventuring in a marine setting, be sure you are familiar with the drowning rules (Runequest Appendix E). Also, Borderlands explains how difficult it is for humans and other air-breathers to fight underwater: Air-breathers don’t get their damage bonus underwater. Except for metal-strung crossbows, missile weapons cannot be used. Armour reduces combat skills by 5% per ENC point unless specially designed for use underwater. Attack chances (except for thrusting weapons) are halved after making the ENC reduction. So if the drowning don’t get you the monsters sure will! Talk about being caught between the devil and the deep blue sea. -- DM

Barnacle men

These undead creatures come up from the ocean depths during storms and cling to the hulls of ships and coral reefs. Their bodies are completely covered with barnacles, and anyone succeeding in hacking one apart will find only a calcified white skeleton beneath this near impervious layer. Using their massive strength, barnacle men break through the bottom of ships to search the holds for jewels. If there is no plunder to be had, they will then stalk the ship terrorizing its crew. Barnacle men are frequently found with stolen precious stones embedded in their shell covering; assume a 20% chance of 1-8 gems.

Folklore: If you wander round the bars and taverns of Deliverance, you will find many an old salt with tales to tell of barnacle men, but few who can claim to have actually seen one. The popular belief among sailors is that these creatures are the liches of pirates so rapacious and malign that they cannot rest in death, but rise up from their sunken ships to torment the living. Most sailors know that disruption is a good way to deal with barnacle men.

Giant electric eel

Any character who hits an eel suffers an electric shock. This is resolved as a 2d8 attack to CON, like a systemic poison attack except that the lost CON recovers at the rate of 1 point per full turn. Additionally, a character receiving an electric shock is reduced 1d6 points in STR for two minutes.

Dead men’s sighs

Said to be the dying breath of sailors killed on rocks and reefs, these blue, wraith-like spirits appear at dusk and dawn, drifting out of the waves to attack the unwary. Normal weapons (even Runic metals) will not harm them, but any magical damage immediately disperses them like mist. They attack by closing with their opponent and matching POW vs POW. If the sigh wins, the victim takes 2d3 damage (a chilling numbness) directly to a random location, and the sigh then dissipates.

Stingray

Rays will always attempt to avoid melee, and will only fight if cornered or attacked in the lair. Rays should be treated as though they have shimmer 2 at all times. This is not a spell-effect, but instead derives from the ray’s camouflage ability to fan up an obscuring cloud of fine sand from the sea bed when threatened.

Giant clam
You encounter a clam by stepping onto it, so any encounter must be checked against the character’s Spot Hidden. A character trapped by a clam takes 2d6 on the first round, then 3d6 on the next, and so on. The damage does not go on increasing after the sixth round. Armour will protect until it is crushed. Clams can be forced open by combined STR equal to the clam’s own STR (4d6+8) – if a character can improvise a lever of some kind he gets a 50% STR bonus.
.
Sharks

Sharks vary quite a bit in size and ferocity. The sort described here average about 2.3m in length, and are well known to the sailors who ply the southern seas to trade in Gradisti. Sharks will attack anyone who is bleeding or thrashing about, and such is the terror that these creatures instil that I suggest an MDFx5 roll is required for any character who spots them while in the water. If the character fails this roll, he or she panics and cannot help shouting and struggling. If a shark’s tail is reduced to 0 hit points it will start to “drown” as sharks must move forward to breathe. Reducing its head to 0 hit points will halve its Attack chance but the shark will fight on for 2-6 rounds before dying.

Hungry Morguss
Hungry Morguss is a legend among sailors, a monster of folklore spoken of by those who have somehow survived when their ships went down in maelstroms or violent storms. Such mariners will sometimes whisper of having looked down into the ocean’s depths at the moment of disaster and seeing in the waters below a huge, mad, staring face with a gaping mouth, bigger than three large ships, sucking the doomed vessel down in a whirlpool. This evil visage is believed by sailors to be Hungry Morguss, a marine aspect of the devil. We may speculate at leisure as to other explanations. The face of Death himself? A monster, demon or forgotten god from Questworld’s antiquity? A mere phantasm created in the mind of sailors when disaster is imminent? How shall the truth be known?

The jackboot of stats

Another misguided attempt at writing up creature stats, this time for the Questworld pack I worked on for Games Workshop in the early 1980s. While playtesting one of the scenarios, Oliver Johnson had mentioned the Forest of the Serug - a typically evocative throwaway reference. I was intrigued and couldn't let it go. I kept coming up with abilities and spells for the Serug, dimly realizing each time that by doing so I was spoiling the mystery that made them so effective. (A point made very eloquently by JC in a comment to my recent post about Dunsany's gnoles.)

It's like all those Edwardian hunters who, confronted with the gob-smacking scale and profusion of wildlife in the tropics, let fly with both barrels. They had an emotion they needed to express, but they were going entirely the wrong way about it.

So my advice: use the stats for anything you like, but it will always be the undefined parts of your roleplaying world that most captivate the players.

THE SERUG

The Serug are a very ancient and mysterious species, rarely encountered, living only in certain areas of the forest named after them. Local woodsmen will sell information about the Serug, but for the most part this consists of half-truths or outright fabrication.

The principal characteristic of the Serug is their murderous whimsy. If they decide to interfere with a party of travellers (roughly 20% chance of this each day that the party spends in a Serug area), they will avoid a direct assault. Instead, they may use crafty diversions to divide the party and then pick off stragglers, or extinguish campfires with magic and make a fleeting night raid. The party may catch a glimpse of sinuous draconic forms , long many-jointed limbs, a hooked beak or snout – but no clear description should be given.

Characters will almost certainly never learn, therefore, that the Serug dwell in a network of tunnels and chambers under the forest roots, built millennia ago when the species was still relatively sane. The tunnels are very low, and have sudden twists and slopes which make them difficult for any but the Serug to use. Entrances are usually within the hollow trunks of trees, and very well concealed.

The Serug can use all normal battle magic, and also have their own spells for raising a ground-mist, controlling forest creatures, and obfuscating or entangling a trail. They see well in darkness, and so prefer to fight at night if at all. In melee a Serug will strike twice a round, once with its weapon, once with beak or claw. The usual battle tactic is to concentrate most of their efforts against one or two individuals, then disengage when they have inflicted enough damage.

The following are some of the more commonly held beliefs concern­ing the Serug. Most are false:

1. The Serug live on the moon and climb down to the ground using the tallest trees.
2. A Serug is only visible when stationary.
3. The Serug are actually a race of mad elves.
4. Having draconic ancestry, the Serug never harm dragonnewts.
5. There are no Serug, only men wearing costumes to frighten off interlopers.
6. The Serug are giant spiders.
7. The Serug are phantasms of the mind, and anyone seeing them will go mad.
8. The Serug will not attack anyone carrying sprigs of dried heather.
9. The Serug can only be hurt by fire.
10. The Serug will always leave one member of any group alive to tell the tale.

Players may hear any of these as tavern rumours. Only the last is in correct, though the referee may choose to have others derive from a kernel of truth.

ARMOUR: 4 point skin.

SPELLS: Any— typically about six spells per individual

SKILLS: Climbing 90%; Jumping 90%; Set Ambush 75%; Perception 80%; Stealth 80%

I'll leave the last word to Kirk Douglas:

Return of the living dead

Having dusted off the Questworld folders recently - and by the way I do mean folders and I do mean dust, these having languished in the attic for over thirty years - I thought I may as well take a look through and see what still catches my interest.

One of the things that baffled me and my co-writer, Oliver Johnson, was the degree to which Questworld retained Glorantha's bronze age technology, culture, races and even specific deities. After all, if you liked Glorantha then you'd play official RQ supplements, wouldn't you? I had nothing against Glorantha myself, but the setting wasn't what most appealed to me. What I liked about Runequest was the rules, which over the years I've used for games in ancient Sparta, Tekumel, Arthurian adventures, and my own campaign world of Medra.

Anyway, we set about tweaking Questworld to be as different from Glorantha as we could make it. We were lumbered with the Issaries River (though it did get renamed the Ophis a few years later, when we started repurposing the material for our creator-owned Invaders & Ancients project) but we insisted on including something more like traditional fantasy undead. Gloranthan mythology defined undead in terms of their inability to regenerate Power, so we invented a class of "living dead" as well. Vampires were already taken, so ours had to be "vampyrs". Oh well, we could always pass it off as a nod to Polidori.

VAMPYRS

ARMOUR: As worn

SPELLS: Any

SKILLS: A vampyr has plenty of time in which to develop its skills. Perception and Stealth are particularly favoured: assume an average of 75%-80% for these.

A vampyr depends for its existence on draining blood from the living. The symbolic nature of the act provides potent magic; as the victim's life ebbs, the vampyr draws the vital essence into itself. The blood must drain directly from the victim to the vampyr. Blood stored in flasks would be useless, its magic destroyed.

If the vampyr goes without blood its CON begins to decrease. This represents the sapping of the creature’s energy. After seven full days without blood the vampyr loses 1 point of CON. Five days later another CON point is lost, then further points at four day intervals. For each CON point after the first, the vampyr also loses 1 point of STR. Moreover, after the first couple of weeks without blood the vampyr begins to show signs of ageing. When CON reaches 1 the vampyr's STR sinks to 3. It remains in this state for one month, then becomes truly dead – though even then the soul is not released unless the corpse's head is severed. The vampyr can stay in its coffin in order to slow the rate of CON loss, as each night that it rises is equivalent to two nights of remaining dormant.

The maximum amount of blood that a vampyr can drain in a single night is one pint. Usually it revisits a victim on successive nights, and the victim loses CON and STR as shown on the Blood Loss Table. Each point of CON that the victim loses adds one point to the vampyr's CON. When the vampyr’s CON reaches species maximum, further points go towards healing any damage the vampyr has taken, at the rate of each CON point lost to the victim giving the vampyr the equivalent of a healing 6 spell. This is the only way a vampyr can heal itself.

Vampyrs are unaffected by non-Runic weapons unless impaled by the weapon – and even then only half the normal impalement damage is taken. Bladesharp or other magic cast on a weapon will damage the vampyr, of course, as will Runic metal weapons.

A vampyr does not collapse when it has taken damage equal to its hit points - it must be hacked apart until it cannot fight, and in this respect is treated as a zombie. If for any reason the head of a fallen vampyr is not removed then the creature can be healed (by a charmed servant, for instance) by causing blood to gush from a living victim onto the vampyr's body.

Vampyrs have the power to charm. This requires the vampyr to talk to the intended victim for at least thirty seconds, and they must be within ten metres of one another. Charm cannot be used while the vampyr and victim are in combat, it must be normal conversation. A charmed victim allows the vampyr to do whatever it chooses with him/her.

It is widely believed that vampyrs can accomplish transformation into bat, wolf and mist form, but this is not definitely known. A vampyr certainly cannot make such a transformation in full view of its victims. When not observed, a vampyr can find its way up vertical walls and through locked doors exactly as though it does possess shapechanging abilities, but as it can never be seen to do so the exact truth of the matter is irrelevant.

A vampyr can be destroyed by driving a stake (in fact any sharp instrument) through its heart and then cutting off its head. The stake interrupts the flow of magical energy that sustains the vampyr, causing it to become in all respects like a normal corpse. If the stake is later removed the vampyr comes back to "life", because the soul has remained latent within the corpse. The action of severing the head frees the soul to go to the spirit plane, irreversibly ending the vampyr's living death.

Being caught in sunlight immediately removes the vampyr's power to charm and its invulnerability to bronze weapons. Also, the vampyr loses 2 points of CON every round it remains in sunlight until CON reaches zero and it ceases to function. Removing the head at this point will destroy the vampyr. If a vampyr which is already dormant in its coffin is exposed to sunlight then it suffers no CON loss but is held trapped, unable to rise, the until the sun sets.

Vampyrs cannot cross pure running water except by bridge, boat, or on the back of someone else. Swamp and marshland have no effect on them.

Vampyrs can be driven back with the Life Rune. If someone tied to this Rune presents it strongly before them, the vampyr is forced to retreat so as to keep at least four metres between itself and the Rune. This only applies as long as the Life Rune cultist concentrates fully on the power of the Rune. If  backed into a corner so that it cannot circle round the Life Rune, the vampyr will go berserk (as a fanaticism spell) and attempt to escape. The Death Rune has no effect on vampyrs. Many of them worship it in some form, as a matter of fact.

Anyone who dies from a vampyr's bite will become a vampyr or a demi-vampyr. A true vampyr is created when the vampyr allows the victim to drink its own blood at the same moment that it drains the victim's This costs the vampyr 1d4 points of characteristic POW (regainable through POW increase rolls) and ensures that the victim will arise three nights after his/her death as a new vampyr. The new vampyr loves its creator and is therefore (usually) totally loyal. SIZ, INT and POW remain the same as the vampyr previously possessed in life, DEX and CHA both increase by 1d6, CON increases to species maximum, and STR increases to 1½ times species maximum.

If the vampyr does not sacrifice POW its victim will arise as a mere demi-vampyr. Such a creature has characteristics as follows:

So the demi-vampyr gets the increased physical power of a normal vampyr, but its DEX and POW are reduced and it is left with. animal-like intelligence. It drains blood just like a vampyr, but cannot charm and takes normal damage from bronze weapons, and so must resort to random attacks and waylaying travellers on desolate country roads. Enough of its intellect remains for it to utter phrases and pleas for help in order to lure victims, but the demi-vampyr has no real understanding of anything it says. If meleed, the demi-vampyr will battle ferociously (usually with its bare hands or a simple club, and with a maximum fighting skill of DEXx5%) until it sees a chance to escape. A demi-vampyr will obey simple instructions from the vampyr that created it, but has no loyalty and will flee if endangered. Demi-vampyrs have all the vulnerabilities of a true vampyr.

NIGHTSHADES

Nightshades are living dead creatures that are sometimes encountered in woods. They are met only when there is a fog, as they have the magical ability to create shadowy images from fog. This ability is used to confuse and intimidate an enemy by making it seem as though there are many more Nightshades lurking among the trees.

Nightshades are translucent figures drifting forward through the mists. They often seem to be screaming at their victims, but no sound can be heard. Nightshades are protected at all times by a shimmer 3 spell (not included in the Defence above). Bronze weapons pass harmlessly through their insubstantial bodies.

Weapons of Runic metal, or which are under the effect of a spell such as bladesharp, will affect a Nightshade, but only to the extent of doing the basic weapon damage. For example: a fighter with a bronze greatsword slices at a Nightshade. Seeing that he has done it no damage, the fighter now applies a bladesharp 1 to his weapon. This is enough to give the sword power to affect a Nightshade, and the fighter's next strike does the weapon's normal damage (2d8 in this case), without bonuses for the bladesharp spell or the fighter's STR and SIZ.

When a Nightshade touches its opponent there is a tremendous discharge of magical energy. The opponent must match his SIZ+DEX vs twice the damage rolled for the creature's touch (see Knockbacks, Runequest Appendix C). If the touch did 14 points, for instance, and the opponent had SIZ+DEX equal to 24, this would give a 70% chance of a knockback.

If the body of someone slain by a Nightshade is left in the woods where he died then he will become a Nightshade himself once the body has rotted (in 3-18 months).

WIGHTS 

 

*The wight's touch is not a strike; it does no direct damage, but its effect reaches through armour for a POW vs POW attack. If the wight wins, the character suffers 1d3 damage (like a disruption spell) in that body area and loses 1d4 points of STR. When the character's STR reaches 0 he will fall to the ground paralyzed. Even before this, it is likely that he will have become too weak to heft his weapon. Wights usually transform their defeated victims into zombies, but if they are thwarted from doing so then their victim's lost STR recovers at the rate of 1 point an hour.

ARMOUR: None usually; can wear any

SPELLS: Battle magic to INT limit; 1d12 points of Rune magic

SKILLS: Detect Life 80%; Detect Magic 80% (as the spells, but at no POW cost)

Wights are the spirits of the priest-sorcerers of an ancient empire. They inhabit their original bodies (transformed and sustained by their sorcery) and lurk in burial mounds. They are sallowish and dessicated, and their sunken eyes gleam with a preternatural light, but apart from this they look much like a normal man. Wights dress in the rotting, dusty tabards of a bygone age and rarely trouble to wear armour because they are unaffected by bronze weapons. A bronze weapon striking a wight will, moreover, take 5d6 damage due to instantaneous corrosion.

Wights are capable of various exotic Rune magics, including the ability to summon up dense, freezing fog from the moors to lead travelers astray. Wights will travel abroad in such fog, or at night, but abhor the direct light of the sun. Their Rune spells, once used, recover at the rate of 1 point a day, at moonrise. Wights are living dead (not undead) and therefore recover POW normally.

The wight picture at the top is by Ryan Barger and you can buy print copies of it here.

 

Dragon Warriors of the Lost Continent

In case you want to try out some of the Abraxas aliens (see yesterday's post) in your role-playing campaign, I've had a go at converting them into Dragon Warriors. Of course, these creatures don't really belong anywhere near the magic-steeped, purposely illogical world of Legend, and where I have likened their abilities to magic that's purely for the sake of the rules. The people of Abraxas do believe in magic (for good reason: it exists) but the "magic" of their world is actually the psionic manipulation of cosmic forces, and therefore much more of a science than the undefinable faerie arts of Legend.

VLIS

ATTACK 15
Spear (2d4+1, 5) or kick (1d6+3)
DEFENCE 8
Armour Factor 3 (innate: 1)
MAGICAL DEFENCE 3
EVASION 6
Movement: 12m
Health Points 1d6+10

STEALTH 11

PERCEPTION 8 ("elfsight")

These are the stats for a 1st rank fighter. Vlis sorcerers are also encountered. To make its screech attack, the vlis makes no attack in melee and and at the end of the round must roll its rank or less on 1d6. If a vlis preparing a screech attack is injured during the round, the screech is aborted. If the screech is made, anyone within 3m must roll Strength or less on 2d10 or be stunned (0 ATTACK, DEFENCE and EVASION) the following round. Even if the Strength roll is made, the character is disconcerted, losing initiative for the next 1-6 rounds. Vlis are powerful climbers and can leap twice as far as a human. The strong legs (strictly speaking, the arms) can strike backwards or forwards with equal force, and anyone hit will be knocked back 1-6 metres and must roll Reflexes or less on 2d10 to avoid falliing over.

ULEMBI

ATTACK 13
Vambrace strike (d6+1, 5) +1 vs unarmoured foe
DEFENCE 8

Armour Factor 2 (innate: 1)
MAGICAL DEFENCE 6
EVASION 7

Movement: 15m

Health Points 1d6+11

STEALTH 16

PERCEPTION 8 (darksight)

These stats apply to a typical 1st rank ulembi, though most encountered will also be mystics. The ulembi's psionic ability to instil fear is resolved as a fright attack equal to the creature's rank (+1d6 if it gets surprise) effective on all enemies within 5 metres. If the fright attack succeeds, the opponent drops his weapons and tries to flee - or surrender, if escape is impossible. Even if the fright attack fails, the opponent takes -2 from ATTACK and -1 from damage for 2-12 rounds. The ulembi is able to strike in melee while making the fright attack, but must treat it as a first level mystic spell for purposes of psychic fatigue. Humans captured by the ulembi can be slowly brought under complete mental control, rather like the mystic Enthrall spell but with unlimited duration.

CHURUK

ATTACK 15
Sword, etc (d8+1, 5)
DEFENCE 6
Armour Factor 5 (innate: 2)
MAGICAL DEFENCE 3

EVASION 4
Movement: 9m
Health Points 3d6+7

STEALTH 10

PERCEPTION 10 (panoptical)

These stats would be appropriate for a full complement of the three churuk morphotypes (Strider, Brain and Worker) fighting together, assuming the gestalt's skill was equivalent to 1st rank. Churuk are rarely encountered singly in any case, and are the most tractable of the intelligent nonhuman races inhabiting Earth in 38,000 B.C., though raiding parties are sometimes sent into human territory.

NEANDERTHAL

ATTACK 14
DEFENCE 6
Armour Factor 1 (innate: 0)
MAGICAL DEFENCE 1
EVASION 5
Movement: 10m
Health Points 14
STEALTH 13
PERCEPTION 4 (normal)

Neanderthals are a valid player-character choice. Although not native to Abraxas, they are found on other land masses and could have been brought to the continent as slaves or "barbarian" bodyguards, possibly leading to a Kull-style campaign. Neanderthals get +1 on Strength and Health Points, but roll only 2d6 for Looks (as perceived by other human races) and 1d6 for Psychic Talent. Play a neanderthal character as intelligent but lacking the capacity for abstract thought; your school gym teacher would be a good model. The major difference from other humans is that neanderthals do not think symbolically and therefore have not developed a high degree of art, science, politics or religion. They are superstitious and usually fearful of magic (which to a neanderthal means anything he doesn't know about). They live in small family groups and may be wary and/or contemptuous of the large, well-organized cities of Abraxas. The stats given are for a typical 1st rank fighter. Neanderthals usually fight with spears and wear leather armour.

Abraxas: the rivals of Man

Humans are not the only intelligent species in Abraxas. There are others, some of them well organized and genocidally hostile. The eventual ascendency of Man is not a foregone conclusion.

Vlis

An intelligent pre-human Terran race descended from pterodactyline ocean gliders. When the vlis's distant ancestor adapted to life on the ground, the powerful forelimbs evolved into its legs and the smaller hind limbs became its arms. Several hundred million years on, the hind limbs moved around through a widening of the pelvic girdle and the legs moved back. The creature thus has a low hunched stance with the thorax and head supported like a table-lamp on strong backward-jointed legs; the overall height is about five feet.

Possessions are typically carried in a pan or bag strapped under the thorax; the vlis's long slender-digited arms can easily undo the flaps, remove a needed item, and reseal it with horridly unhuman dexterity. Sometimes this pan will be found to contain a freshly-severed human head; the vlis are believed to collect such heads in order to restore them to sentience in their laboratories, where the head can be maintained in a vat indefinitely while the vlis subject it to interrogation and experiment.

The vlis are man's deadly rivals on Earth, regarding humanity as usurpers of their rightful supremacy. In addition to being skilled fighters, usually with a spear held in both hands, the vlis can use magic and have a sonic screech attack which can distract or stun an opponent.

Ulembi

Creatures from a star cluster beyond the Coal Sack, who came to Earth by psychically broadcasting themselves through outer space to escape their own dying world.

Ulembi have large heads whose hard ridged integument resembles a walnut. This skull protects the creature's huge brain. A ring of dark globular eyes protected by deep recesses allow the ulembi to see in all directions at once. There is a short neck and then the ulembi's trunk bifurcates, the two stout limbs resembling large serpents. At the end, each limb divides into four tentacular fingers. The ulembi can balance on one limb or on its "elbows" while holding something in the fingers, but rarely needs to do so because all ulembi are able to manipulate small objects by telekinesis.

When fully reared up on its limbs, an adult ulembi's head can be as high as eight feet off the ground. But it can also splay its limbs out low, moving with ghastly stealth through undergrowth no more than a few feet high.

In combat the ulembi is able to bristle its scales, giving the limbs a rough jagged surface like pineapple skin. This allows it to flay the skin off an unarmored opponent. Young adults sometimes wear bronze vambraces on the lower limbs, with which they can deliver powerful whip-like blows. Older ulembi disdain physical combat altogether, preferring to use their psionic power to instill a feeling of dread and despair in a foe.

Given a short time with a subdued victim, the most powerful adepts of the ulembi can psionically rewire his brain so that he will serve as their agent. This can even take the form of subliminal commands, so that the victim does not know he has been affected. Eventually tumors form in the brain of the victim, however, and madness and death soon follow.

Eremen

The offshoot of humans altered by an ancient wizard's genetic sorcery. Eremen are recognizably human in origin but have the features required for survival in the desert: large membranous ears, heavy brows, a limber frame, folds of fat around the belly, and elongated webbed digits. A dorsal fin that usually lies flat along the spine can be erected for temperature control as well as conflict and mating displays.

The genetic changes have caused some reduction in these creatures' intelligence: you might be attacked by one wielding a metal club it had found, the club actually turning out to be an ion pistol that it lacked the wits to operate.

Churuk

Hive-dwellers, the descendents of an alien race stranded on Earth in the far past. The churuk thrive best in the sulfurous atmosphere of volcanic rifts, but are hardy enough to tolerate normal air for days or weeks at a time.

The basic body form of a churuk is of a lozenge-shaped torso armored in chitin and with three limbs arranged around the rim. This form can develop in quite different ways, however, according to chemical jellies administered to the eggs during development. Some churuk hatch as Brains, others as Workers, others as Striders. The Striders have powerful legs. The Workers have one of their limbs developed massively for heavy labor or combat; for travel they can move slowly with their other limbs or latch onto the back of a Walker. The Brains are the most intelligent; they have only limited mobility but can latch into the back of a Strider or Worker and directly take charge of its cerebral ganglion (its eyes then close in sleep).

Mottling on the chitinous shell allows a churuk to identify the members of its hive and egg-clutch.