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FEATURES OF THE OUTLANDS
If a cutter's going to get along on the Outlands, she's got to know her way around. A blood wants adventure and danger in life, and that only happens by exploring. The thing is, she needs a place to explore. Now, the planes are vast and there's lots of danger out there, so there's no loss of places a body can explore and risk her hide in. But that cutter's got to have more than just dangerous places to explore. She's got to have places to eat, sleep, and get healed after a long day of adventuring. Maybe that cutter needs a space to accumulate experience, somewhere she can explore and live to talk about it, too. Safety in the whirling ring of the storm is what that berk needs, and that's part of what the Outlands give. 'Course, it ain't all quiet gardens and fine sweetmeats, either. Just like on the Great Ring, a berk's got to know where she's welcome and where not to rattle the doors. It can be just as dangerous here as in the deepest pits of Baator. Here's the chant: Folks often make a big mistake in thinking about the Outlands. They figure the essence of the plane is true neutrality, and that means nothing happens. Leatherheads! True neutrality means there's a balance of everything. For every good there's an evil, and for every land of order there's a swirling morass of chaos, but that can make for a lot more action than a body'll find in the most chaotic planes. That's the dark of the Outlands. This section describes some of those lands: the red-brick Palace of Judgment, the maddening caverns of the mind flayer god, the gate-towns of Ribcage, Plague-Mort, Glorium, and a host of other wonders that make up the Outlands. While this is the gazetteer of the land, it doesn't even try to describe every place the characters could go, only a few of the more interesting possibilities for adventure. Some of these are gate-towns on the verge of slipping off to adjacent planes, while others are the more dangerous or even useful realms on the plane. With this section the DM gets a start on creating his own planescape campaign.
By the way, this information's
for the DM's use only, so if a player's looking at this, knock it off, berk!
To make finding things simple, entries in this section are categorized as realms and towns. Each site has particular information presented about it in the same way, as outlined below. Character. A realm's the creation of a power, so a berk can bet it's got a definite feel and attitude to it. This part only hints at the flavor of the place, but it'll note if the area's dangerous, open to travelers, heavily populated, or whatever else the character of the place might be. This is stuff any planar native to the Outlands is likely to know, so the DM can freely share it with players. Power. The name of the ruling power, or the most dominant one. Powers described in Legends and Lore (2108) are marked with (LL). Those found in DMGR4, Monster Mythology (2128) are noted by (MM). Principal Towns.. Any cities or large towns in or near the realm show up here. Most settlements are part of a realm, but a few sit just over the border, trading with the petitioners of the realm, yet not counting themselves a part of it. Such burgs are where most planars live because they generally don't care for the stiff-necked views of the powers that be. Special Conditions.. A power'll sometimes create special quirks in its realm that a cutter had better know about. It could be that physical conditions are different, like in Sheela Peryroyl's realm, where it's always spring, summer, or fall, but never winter. It's also important for a basher in Ilsensine's realm to know that painful thought waves are going to scorch her brain. On the other hand, it could be the petitioners who are different. In the halls of Yen-Wang-Yeh, the petitioners constantly spout their supposed virtues to every passing sod. Then again, it might be the laws of the place that are a bit different. A cross-trading knight might want to know that cheats in Vergadain's gambling halls are routinely drawn and quartered without trial. Description. Now that a cutter knows what's dangerous, he needs to know what else is found here. Principal Nonplayer Characters.. Since player characters don't deal with the power of a realm, the nonplayer characters they're likely to meet, and those who would be useful to know, are named under this heading, along with their position, title, or role. Services.. Inns, craftsmen, goods, and other services that make a basher's life easier
are described in brief, including the name, race, and class of the particular proprietor.
Towns Character. Just because it's not living, that doesn't mean a town's got no personality. Character's part the general alignment of the place, and part the nature of what happens there. Ruler. This tells a sod who's officially in charge - name, race, class, and level - and what that supposed chief is like to deal with. Be sure to check the next entry to find out who's really in charge. Behind the Throne. Just because a berk rules a town, it doesn't mean he's the only boss. Most times there's one or more other groups trying to pull the strings. A wise cutter takes time to find out who's really the high-up man in the local operation. Description. Here, the layout of the town's presented so that things said later'll make sense. Militia. Player characters seem to get messed up with the local authorities a lot. This entry tells who's in charge, what they've got to command, and just what kind of attitude they're likely to have in response to the mischief player characters are likely to cause. Services.. This is the same as the entry for realms: a listing of places to go and things to buy that could be useful to a band of danger-loving toughs. Local News. Gossip's always useful, and a wise cutter keeps his ear to the ground. This entry gives some of the chant the locals are likely to know. 'Course, not every place on the plane can be mapped and named. Addle-coves that try to chart the whole mess wind up with maps filled with named things like Duena's Crossroads, Big Pile of Rocks, and Forest-darker-than-the-last-one-we-were-in. Things like that'll confuse more than help in no time at all. That doesn't mean these unnamed places are blank, white expanses, though. They've got features, but none of special or particular note to warrant a special entry. That doesn't mean the unnamed lands are all the same either. There's clear differences in the plane as a cutter travels from Glorium to Ribcage - enough differences that a cutter can notice. Unnamed territory generally resembles the realm or plane it's closest to. The land near Glorium is green meadows, rolling hills, and open forests. Nearer to Mechanus, the woods become more rigid, with the trees arranged in neat rows and the fields squarely-patterned. At the opposite extreme, near Limbo, the plane assumes the look of an untamed wilderness, thrown together without plan or organization. Throughout the plane the weather's always temperate, without the bitter gnaw of winter or the searing gaze of high summer. Toward the Lower Planes, the variations are a bit more extreme - chilly and damp fens surround Semuanya's Bog, dusty plains encompass Ribcage, and the sad climate of late autumn hovers near Plague-Mort. Yet even in these areas the extremes are not so great as to change the season from the perpetual mildness that predominates across the Outlands. Because the plane tends to look like whatever realm or plane it's closest to (though without the extremes that'll tip the balance of things), bloods tend to argue as to what the Outlands' "true appearance" is like. The best guess is that the Land looks like those areas found near the center of the plane, farthest from influencing realms and planes. There, the land's a perfect mix of plains and forests, canyons and mountains, even rivers and deserts. No one single thing dominates over all the others. It's a wilderness that's not impossibly forbidding - it's traversable with some difficulty.
Some of the Clueless claim the Outlands are pretty close in appearance to their own
prime-material worlds; other Outsiders claim it's nothing like their homes. Who knows?
Most bodies figure the Clueless are all barmy anyway, and those that ain't make it through
the day by clinging to the belief that the planes are just like home. 'Course, that's why
they're called "Clueless."
Nonplayer Character Abbreviations Nonplayer characters - rulers, merchants, and the like - will always have important information listed in parentheses after their names. This always goes like so: (origin/sex and race/class and level/faction/alignment). Origin tells whether the character's a petitioner, planar, prime, or proxy. Powers, should they appear, are never reduced to a set of abbreviations - something important that deserves special attention. For all the others, abbreviations used are as follows.
Automata Character. As a tiny reflection of nearby Mechanus, there's a rule for everything here, and gods help the berk who ain't learned them all! Ruler. The Council of Order is clearly in charge here, at least during daylight hours. The Council has three seats, currently filled by the humorless Captain Arstimis (Pl/m/gz/F14/Ha/LN), representing the town guard; Pelnis the Clockmaker (Pe/m/h/0/N), representing the craftsmen; and Serafil (Pl/f/tf/P(sp)/10/FO/LN) (Spell Spheres - major: All, Elemental, Weather; minor: Combat, Sun), a priestess of Lei Kung (LL). She represents the temples of the town. Any other group's got no voice on the Council. The Council decides all things in strictly regulated sessions that follow absolute rules of order. Behind the Throne. There's no force that would dare interfere with or presume upon the proper workings of the Council. By night, however, the Council of Order is replaced by the Council of Anarchy, a perfect mirror of its counterpart. Leggis Scrog (Pl/m/gz/ T10/RL/NE) represents the criminals, Ravis Corcuncewl (Pe/f/h/0/N) represents the vagrants, and Aurach the Fair, a baatezu erinyes, represents the fiends who want to subvert the city. Description. Nobody ever gets lost in Automata - it just ain't possible because everything's so orderly. The streets are a perfect grid, and even the houses are set at perfect intervals. A cross-trading knight could set a clock by the timing of the watch patrols. Everyone rises with the sun and retires when it sets, which splits the day into two equal halves of light and dark. Automata's got about a thousand bodies packed behind its rectangular walls. There are six gates into town - two on each of the long walls and one on each of the ends. Inside, every block's got a definite purpose. Some are nothing but houses while others are workshops, and a few are devoted to the government - more than're really needed in a burg this size, but then Automata's got a lot of laws. The one thing that doesn't fit into this perfect order is the blocks themselves. A cutter'd figure that blocks of the same type'd be set together, but it ain't so. Everything's scattered all over Automata; workshop blocks are next to mansions, which are next to stables, which are next to the armory, and so on. Ask a body here about it and they'll just shrug, saying you don't see the grand pattern of things. "Such are the mysteries of order." Remember that Automata is order and that means there's laws for everything. A sod's got to watch where he steps, what he says, what he drinks, and even when he drinks. A cutter can't buy ale after the third hour and shops can't open before the first. No merchant holds a sale unless it's approved by the Council, which means nobody holds a sale unless everyone does. There's no haggling on prices, no credit, and no bartering. A berk'd better have funds when he comes into town, because there's no place for beggars here, either. Automata ain't perfect order, though. It's got an underside that isn't seen by the common traveler, as it's literally underground. Beneath Automata there's a network of passages, chambers, apartments, and even streets that house the hidden life of the burg. Here, the petitioners of the Outlands even the balance between law and chaos. Crime, violence, disorder, and revelry echo through the tunnels. There's rumors of a hidden gladiator arena where games are fought to the death, festhalls where every vice can be found, even conclaves of conspirators led by fiends. This is where the bodies of Automata go at night, after the laws have sent them to bed. Although the agents of Mechanus have a firm grip on the surface town, the wild undercity keeps Automata firmly planted on the Outlands. 'Course, the proxies of Primus the modron-lord would love to shut down the criminal side of Automata because, once it falls, the burg's shift into Mechanus would be assured. Militia. There's two - one for the surface and one for the underground. The surface militia's commanded by Captain Arstimis, and it patrols the streets with vigorous regularity. A typical militia patrol's made up of 10 petitioners, led by a sergeant who's also a petitioner. Planars and primes are never part of the rank and file, always assuming command positions instead. All officers are members of the Harmonium. The underground militia is a semiorganized gang under the control of Leggis Scrog. This militia doesn't patrol or give a tinker's damn about the laws. It's only concerned with collecting protection money from the businesses above and below ground. Collecting from the underground's not much problem unless there's a power struggle going on - bribes are a regular part of business. But every once in a while some berk on the surface'll refuse to pay, and that's when the thugs go out. A thug gang's got 2d6 members, all primes and planars, either 1st-level thieves or fighters. Services.. Automata's got it all, if a cutter knows where to find it. On the surface, a berk's not going to find any great deals. All the prices in this burg are carefully regulated. Still, the inns are clean and orderly. The best of the lot's The Divine Machine, run by Tourlac the Halfling (Pe/m/ha/0/N). The furnishings are a little small, but he runs a fine establishment. Dinners are hot and ample. Underground's where the interesting life is. A berk's got to know the dark of the town, and he probably has to garnish a local or two with some jink before he gets shown around. Of particular interest beneath the streets is the little shop of Hokee Thridun (Pl/m/tf/W6/Du/LE). Hokee specializes in buying and selling the rare and exotic for a select clientele. Where it comes from he doesn't care, and who buys it and what it's used for ain't his business; he just supplies the need. Now, player character types ain't among Hokee's clientele - he deals with beings much more powerful - but he always needs one job or another done. There's sure work, but dangerous, from his hands. Local News. Loctus, a local explorer, has come back with reports of a
strange hill outside of town. What's strange is that it wasn't there a week ago. Not only
that, but Loctus swears it's growing - "kinda like a hive," he says. 'Course,
Loctus's a notorious bubber who's been telling the tale to anyone who'll buy him a drink.
(Town) ![]() Character. Not really a town, but an asylum let loose - that's what this place is. The chant is the town's mad, that the barmies have seized the keys, but what's a soul to expect from a place that's hard on the gates of Pandemonium? Those who live here can't help but be addle-coved in one way or another. Ruler. Tharick Bleakshadow (Pl/m/h/W12/Xa/CN), Keeper of Bedlam. A gouty old wizard, he's prone to senile rambling and savage outbursts of magical fury. More than a few buildings in town have been scorched by his fireballs. Tharick became Keeper after leading a rebellion against the sane petitioners in the town. Tharick's title is observed more in name than deed, however. Behind the Throne. Who can rule an assembly of madmen? The social contract barely exists, so it's every barmy for himself. Tharick only rules the people he can get to agree with him, while everybody else more or less goes about doing what they want. Still, a few bashers have managed to gain the attention of Bedlam's citizens. The most influential of these is Hrava, a shadow fiend. This monster's insinuated itself into the waking dreams of many of Bedlam's addle-coved citizens, becoming the little voice in their heads that gives them advice. The monster seldom shows itself directly, waiting in shadows and night to give its advice. Hrava works for its own ends, to attain power and domination over the town, although stronger fiends can force it to serve their dreams of Sigil's conquest. Hrava, Shadow Fiend: THAC0 13; #AT 3; Dmg 1d6x2 (claw/claw), ld8 (bite); AC 9, 5, or 1*; HD 7+3; hp 38; MV 12 and leap (30' to rake with four claws - 1d6x4 dmg); SA +2 attack bonus in complete darkness, 90% surprise in shadows, rake, darkness, fear, magic jar; SD immune to fire, cold, electricity; SZ M; INT very; AL CE; ML 15; XP 2,000Description. Bedlam's one of those burgs that defies description. Imagine a town where 5,000 strangers each decided to build their own places without talking to one another - the result's the sprawl of Bedlam. The town's usually described as a fan set on the side of a hill (called Maurash by the locals). The base of the fan rests at the bottom of Maurash, converging at the entrance to Pandemonium. The gate, a twisted arch of iron and stone, rises above the shacks clustered nearby. Eight dusty roads intersect in a tangle before the arch and then spread like the ribs of the fan, up Maurash's slopes. Here's a subtle detail: The farther up the hill a cutter goes, the saner-looking the buildings become. Halfway up the slope, the ramshackle shacks assume a semblance of order and become walled compounds, each still isolated but at least protected. Ultimately, at the top of the hill, in the center of the fan, is a Citadel - a small section of town surrounded by a curtain wall and lined with defensive towers. Here's where a cutter's going to find the least addled and best organized citizens in the burg. As a blood might guess, Bedlam's just about turned stag on the Outlands. Hrava's only got to spread his madness a little farther and the whole place'll slide through the gate and merge with Pandemonium. Militia. The government of Bedlam is too addled to organize a militia, but the town's not completely without law. Three groups serve as bodyguards and protectors of the petitioners in Bedlam. The most reliable, least corrupt, and sanest of the lot are the Windlancers, commanded by Erigyl Verrith (Pl/m/b/F13/TO/N). By Bedlam's standards, Erigyl is quite sane. His only obsession is keeping the madness of the town in balance. Madness creates chaos, so the Windlancers are dedicated to the principles of order. They guard against assaults from Pandemonium and serve as the city watch, more or less. A typical Windlancer patrol has 2d6 fighters of 3rd-5th level, accompanied by a wizard of 5th-7th level. Windlancers are most active in the Citadel section of town, rarely venturing down to the chaotic end by the gate. The other two groups serve more as bodyguards, either for money or just because. The first is called the Sarex, which was formed at the urging of Hrava. Its members are planars from Pandemonium and those Bedlamites most touched by that plane's screaming winds. The Sarex operates in gangs of three to four, usually with a mix of classes that range from 7th-9th level in ability. Under Hrava's control, the Sarex keeps to the gloomy edges of activities, striking at the shadow fiend's enemies when there's no witnesses. A sign is always left behind, though, making it clear to a berk just who's really in charge of the town. The last group, called the Misguided, is a hapless bunch of leatherheaded Outlander petitioners, led by Thoa (Pe/f/h/O/N). These sods are pretty much out of their depth and can only be doing this to right their little cosmic balance scales. As befits their cause, the Misguided are busiest in the dives near Pandemonium Gate. Services.. There's not much to be found in Bedlam, at least not much that can be relied upon. Craftsmen don't prosper here, since there's too many barmies to build up a dependable business. Still, the town does attract a few artists, seeking inspiration in madness, and there's always at least one bard to be found. The best place to track down artistic types is at Weylund's Inn, near the center of town. It's run by Pockmarked Weylund (Pe/m/d/0/N). The dwarf draws a mean mug of strong beer and is overly generous with those who seem down on their luck, especially those that he calls "artistes." His rooms are clean and run about 1 sp per night. Better still for most travelers is that Weylund runs a quiet house compared to some of the other taverns in town, which are overrun by noisome barmies. Folks from the Lower Planes favor the Eye and Dagger near Pandemonium Gate, run by Grist (Pl/m/tf/F5/T4/RL/NE), a cutthroat of respectable standing. Service here's not too quick, clean, or friendly, but Grist doesn't ask questions so long as he's well paid. A fair number of intriguers, fiends, and tieflings hang out here. The last place where folks gather is The Sanatorium, in the Citadel section of town. It's run by Althax Darkfleece (Pl/f/b/P(sp)12/SO/CG) (Spell Spheres - any). Darkfleece is a priestess of Shekinester (MM), and she's taken it upon herself to minister to the barmies of Bedlam. The kip she runs is a mixture of asylum, spa, and boarding house. In addition to room and board (with special guards) at 5 gp a night, a sod can also get cures for mental imbalances. Local News. No matter what's really happening, there's always rumors in Bedlam of
another invasion from Pandemonium. Most of the time this is just some bubber rattling his
bone-box. 'Course it sounds true - the fiends on the other side have tried often enough.
This time, though, it is true. A band of Fiends - 12 gehreleths led by a minor tanar'ri
captain - are planning a flanking attack on the baatezu. The scheme is to seize
Bedlam and then march across the Outlands to Baator. It's not a very good plan, but the
tanar'ri never were the best at plotting strategy.
(Realm) There are two answers
to every question: ours and the wrong one. - Harmonium rule ![]() Character. Too much energy, too much thought, the constant burn of brain-waves sizzles in the mind's ear. No secrets stay dark; no thoughts, no sickness that every berk won't know. The cursed illithid god's realm'll rip it all right out of a cutter, and if she's real lucky she'll leave with an intact mind. But only if she's real lucky. Power. Ilsensine (MM), god of the mind flayers, is the sole master of this realm. The great green brain that is Ilsensine rests at the very heart of the realm, with its tentacular nerves running through the earth, along cavern walls, and even into distant planes. There's no dark in this realm that Ilsensine doesn't know, no movement its nerves don't sense. It's Ilsensine's loathsome thought waves that batter a cutter's brain while she's wandering through the tunnels. It's Ilsensine who learns a berk's every secret and stores them away. Principal Towns.. There's no towns here because Ilsensine's petitioners don't have minds anymore, and those leatherheaded planars who wander here don't keep theirs long enough to build more than a wall. Out on the edge of the realm there's bits of walls and sometimes a little bed - the only remains of some poor sod's attempt to make a home here (probably a petitioner from the Dwarven Mountain, trying to spread its glory a little further). Whoever the little sod is that built it, he might turn up sooner or later, wandering the tunnels with his brain burnt out. Special Conditions.. There's only one condition here that matters: the brain burn. Ilsensine's about power, raw psychic power. Psionic waves flow with such force from the god-brain that only the brainless can ignore its power. And it don't matter if a cutter's psychic, psionic, or whatnot; everyone can sense the energy. Ilsensine's thoughts are relentless waves after waves of hatred, dark lies, perversions beyond imagining, and megalomania. The thoughts insist that illithids are meant to rule the multiverse, to enslave the "cattle" that overrun the lands, to use them, and to enjoy their conquest. That litany of hatred, barmy by any standard save an illithid's, hammers mercilessly at a sod's mind. At first it's only a whisper, when a basher's near the edge of the realm, but farther in the whisper grows to a gnawing buzz and, finally, screaming obscenities. There's no blocking it from the mind; a blood's just got to be strong and endure. Those that venture no more than a mile into Ilsensine's realm must save vs. petrification once per day. Fail the check and the character permanently loses a point of Intelligence. Venture in more than a mile but less than five and the same check is made twice a day. Five to ten miles in the buzz requires a check every hour, and psionics become useless. Probing more than ten miles into the realm calls for a saving throw every turn. Finally, those leatherheads barmy enough to step into Ilsensine's court need to make saving throws every round. When a cutter's lost all his Intelligence, he becomes like one of Ilsensine's zombie petitioners, all will and consciousness sucked dry by the god-brain. 'Course, a little brain-shielding magic might protect a cutter, but he won't want to be caught deep in the realm when the spell wears out. Description. The Caverns of Thought are a cold and heartless realm. The tunnels are black and slimy, not warm enough to be comfortable, but not so cold as to be chilly, either. The stone's slick with fungus except in those spots where it pulses warmly like a living thing. It could be that these are the god-brain's nerves. The chant is that sods who poke at them too hard get their brains fried in an instant. If a berk's got to go here, he'll have to be very, very careful. The caverns twist through each other, crossing and recrossing, but all paths lead to one place. Like the inescapable Mazes of Sigil, no matter where a cutter goes, he always seems to end up in Ilsensine's court. Those that get that far mostly never come back, or if they do, a blood'd be wise to question their wits. No being can stand before the god-brain for long without changing even a little. Principal Nonplayer Characters.. The only berks in this realm are mindless zombies, so a cutter's not going to get much from them. As zombies go, this group's tough, though. They're absolute slaves to Ilsensine's will, so clerics can't turn them and their morale'll never break. If a cutter could find a way to cut off the god-brain's psionic link, then all that'd be left would be a collection of lifeless husks. Ilsensine's Zombies (all): THAC0 19; #AT 2; Dmg 1d8/ 1d8; AC 7; HD 2; hp varies; MV 6; SA psionics*; MR 10%; SZ M; INT non; AL N; ML n/a; XP 175Services.. So why would a berk ever go to Ilsensine's realm? Knowledge - knowledge is power. If a cutter can make it to the god-brain and prevail upon Ilsensine's favor, he can gain the answer to a question. There's almost no place on the planes that Ilsensine's neurons don't reach, and every one of these neurons is feeding on everything it senses. Ilsensine remembers it all and knows more of the dark of things - especially the things a berk never wants anyone else to know - than probably any being out there. Need a way to get at a blood, find her weakness? The god-brain probably knows one.
'Course, how a sod prevails upon the favor of a giant brain is a question. Most likely,
the seeker must agree to give up part of his mind as payment, resulting in memory loss
(loss of proficiencies) and/or insanity. It's a steep price, but there's always a Sensate
or a Bleaker who thinks he can try it and give Ilsensine the laugh.
The Court of Light Character. This realm, with its gloomy and mysterious divisions, is the embodiment of the Rule of Threes. There's the Loom of the Weaver with its threads and paths, the Hall of Tests, and at the very heart of it all there's the Arching Flame. As realms go, this one's quiet, almost deadly still. Power. Shekinester (MM). Sometimes known as the Three-Faced Queen of the Nagas, Shekinester broods within her realm, testing and guiding the fates of her children. The goddess doesn't go courting strangers, planar or not. Any cutter going here had better have good reason, because Shekinester'll put every visitor through one of her tests (see "Special Conditions," below). Principal Towns.. The Court of Light's a small realm, not very populated by either planars or petitioners. It's not that the Naga Queen doesn't have worshipers, it's just that her beliefs encourage either reincarnation or testing. Petitioners that don't get reincarnated and sent back to their Prime worlds are given near-impossible tasks and sent to wander the Outlands until they complete them. This is Shekinester's way of testing a cutter's resolve and character. Those that succeed transcend and merge with the plane, and those that fail simply aren't worthy. The closest thing to a town in the realm is a scattering of nests where some of Shekinester's proxies live. Most of these are snake-folk or nagas, and most aren't to be trusted. It's not that they're particularly evil, it's just that a cutter never knows when one of them's going to be part of a test of the Naga Queen. Special Conditions.. The Naga Queen's tests are the special hazards of this realm. High-up as she is, Shekinester's always trying the character of any stranger in her land. She's got a fascination with trying to purge and improve those who come to visit her, intentionally or otherwise. The tests range from heavy-handed to subtle. The Naga Queen's not interested in a blood's skill with his sword or the book-learning he's absorbed; she's after the moral qualities that make a sod tick. She'll give a pack of hell hounds free reign with a berk on an open field, not to see how good he is with his sword, but to see if he's got the courage to face them down - or the sense to run. If a berk's got a fiend as an enemy, Shekinester might call it to her realm and let it try to even up the score. At a branch path, she may offer a choice between unheroic safety and valiant peril. In another place, there may be a book promising power - for a price. Another sod could be faced by two old loves, unable to progress without making a choice between them. Whatever form they take, there's always more to the goddess's tests than meets the eye. First, a berk's got to figure out what she's testing, then he's got to succeed. The price of failure's high - oblivion more often than not. The rewards for success are equally lavish. No berk just walks to the heart of her realm, at least not without earning it. Description. The Court of Light's got three clear areas, one for each face of the Naga Queen, and they're all nested inside of each other like a child's stacking dolls. The outermost layer is the Loom, a forest of thorns and paths where dark gloom can suddenly give way to an open clearing. Nothing goes in a straight line here, and trail markers left behind mysteriously vanish or multiply. Paths intertwine, merge, and end without meaning, so a sod can see places he'll never be able to reach. There aren't any secret routes through it because it changes every time. Within these woods is where a cutter finds most of the naga petitioners of the realm. Some are guards and agents of Shekinester's will, while others rove, still seeking their way to the heart of the forest. It's said the only way to find a way through the Loom is to forget where you've been and where you hope to go. In plain words, a DM can lead a party through the Loom, introducing as many adventure elements as desired before revealing the exit or the Hall of Tests. Mapping is strictly extemporaneous. Inside the Loom is the Hall of Tests, Shekinester's palace. It's not a large palace, but the rooms mystically become the expectations and fears of those who go there. Poor sods! Imagine opening some door and finding all those buried regrets returned as dinner guests. Some rooms offer temptations, others visions of what a berk could be if things were just a little different. It gets to the point where a body can't tell friends from visions or petitioners from planars. The innermost chamber of the hall is the actual Court of Light, which the whole realm is named after. Here's the last aspect of Shekinester: the Arching Flame. According to belief it's the flame of preservation, the thing that keeps the multiverse going (but that tale belongs to a score of other "eternal flames," all guarded by other powers on other planes). The Flame is supposed to be the light of the dead, too, and the hall's filled with undead who feed off the energy of that illumination. At any rate, it doesn't cause them harm, and it seems to pacify the dangerous types. The Flame's the final test because it burns the spirit clean. For a character who's exposed to the light, this means rolling a saving throw vs. death with a -1 penalty applied for each time the character strayed from his chosen alignment (which the DM must adjudicate). Those that pass are healed and refreshed, and those that fail are completely disintegrated. That's the way it is with Shekinester. Principal Nonplayer Characters.. Shekinester's realm is lonely and isolated. The goddess doesn't surround herself with servants and advisers, and no cutter ever comes here for the conversation. Folks found here tend to be nagas, imperious and disinterested in the concerns of other planars. Petitioners perform the few household tasks needed in the realm. Services.. Except for self-revelation and purging of the spirit, a
cutter's not going to find anything of value here. Those that survive the pure light of
the Arching Flame are cleansed though - all damage is healed, madness and disease
cured, charms broken, even crimes atoned for. And all a berk's got to do is survive it.
Curst Character. Bleak and dusty, Curst's little more than a collection of shanties perched on the edge of Carceri, where those exiled from elsewhere on the Outlands dream out their bitter lives. Ruler. Burgher Tovus Giljaf (Pl/m/gz/W(N)13/At/ LE) is the absolute master of Curst. Once factol of the Athar, Tovus was cast out by his own followers when he attempted too much. He strove for the glory of his faction, but his followers were shallow and could only see doom in his edicts. The ungrateful berks turned stag against his bold vision, his plans to once and for all make the philosophy of the Athar absolute truth for everyone, and they threw him out of the Cage. But they can't lock the doors against him. He'll be back... someday. Until then, he'll just have to bide time in this birdcage, building up power for his grand return. Behind the Throne. Bitter revenge: It's the true power of Curst, the thing that makes the wheels go. Every sod in this gate town is here because of one reason: They've got nowhere else to go. They've been driven from power, cut off from those they once thought loved them, and stripped of all their vanities save ego. Now, the thing that makes the town work's the collective desire to crush those unbanished. The saddest thing is, it's a vain dream for them all, because if they could've had vengeance, they would've gotten it long ago. Instead, they just stay here, trapped by their bitterness and fear. No basher wants to be in Curst, but many have nowhere else to go. Description. Curst is centered around the symbol of its rejection, the four-pillared arch to Carceri. Made of living razorvine, the black-petaled gate stands at the center of the town square. The five main streets of the city form concentric circles around the square, and the entire town is enclosed by a well-maintained wall that forms the boundary of the sixth ring. Razorvine covers the inside of this wall, as if to keep the inhabitants from climbing out. Four gates, aligned with the four posts of the arch to Carceri, allow entrance into the city. Each ring of Curst houses structures that serve a separate function. The outermost ring, within the razorvine-covered wall, holds houses, taverns, stables, and inns. The next ring in contains nothing but the workshops of craftsmen. In the third ring are the houses of merchants, along with their warehouses and stores. The fourth ring in accommodates the homes of those with such wealth and title that they no longer work. Finally, around the square are clustered the few buildings of Curst's administration: the burgher's house, the treasury, the watch barracks, and the town jail. The buildings of Curst are black and colorless, devoid of humor or warmth. Razorvine - a minor irritant in Sigil - is predominant here, covering walls, trees, and even creeping into streets. It's not the most notable feature, though. Fact is, travelers never fail to comment on the guard policies at the gates. Unlike other towns, little effort is made to screen those who come in. Those leaving Curst, on the other hand, are required to state reasons for wanting to go elsewhere and show proof they can make it. Unlike many other gates to the Lower Planes, the four-sided arch at Curst is seldom used by folks leaving Carceri. Perhaps it's the nature of those in the dark plane to feel trapped and unable to leave, and perhaps the gate is too hard to find. Whatever the cause, Blood War incursions here are rare and never expand beyond the town. Curst's still fairly solidly planted on the Outlands, although it's showing more and more of Carceri's grim character. There's still enough bodies in town who haven't given up hope for atonement and forgiveness. So long as they hold out, Curst'll remain on the Outlands. Militia. Curst is vigorously patrolled by the Wall Watch. In addition to guarding the town walls (as the name implies), the Wall Watch mans the gates and keeps relative peace within the town. As noted earlier, the Wall Watch is mostly concerned with people leaving, but it maintains careful records of all comings and goings through the gates. A typical Wall Watch patrol has 3d4 petitioner fighters, led by a 5th-7th-level planar fighter/wizard. The overall commander of the watch is Baron Yurel Zarnthaskar (Pr/(m/h/F10/Fa/LN), a deposed lord who dreams of the day he can hang the ungrateful berks who drove him from his prime-material fief from a leafless tree. Services.. With so many cutters plotting their glorious returns, Curst has always been a good market for bashers ready to sell their swords. Most mercenaries gather at the Quartered Man, a smoky ale-house in the outermost ring. The owner, Abascis the Sweaty (Pr/m/h/TS/Du/CE), ran a fine shop in Sigil until he short-changed the factol of the Mercykillers. Quick packing got the leatherhead out of the city before the guard arrived, but the Mercykillers have a standing warrant for his punishment. Abascis likes to keep a few bravos around, just in case the Mercykillers come to collect their warrant, so he gives swordsmen and wizards a good price on drinks. Everyone else pays a coin or two higher than normal prices. Brasicol's, a dingy shop in the second ring from the wall, specializes in traps and infernal devices - little presents that can be sent to enemies. Brasicol (Pr/m/g/0/NE) has a whole list of enemies, those who stole his inventions and made fortunes from them. He'll make poison-prick jewelry cases, wind-up spell bombs, and other devices, all starting at just 1,000 gp. Also, he'll do free jobs for any wizard who'll open a gate to his old prime-material world long enough for Brasicol to send a "gift" through. Although it's a bitter cage, Curst makes good wines, probably so a bubber can flush out his sorrows. The best of these is heartwine, a slightly sour and heady drink made from razorvine. It sells for 100 gp a bottle and is prized by gourmands in Sigil. The production process is a secret known only to the Cilenei Brothers (Pr/m/e/W8/S2/CN/, both), two elves from the Prime Material Plane. Both are wizards, so figure the process is magical in nature. Heartwine's the only useful thing ever made from the cursed weed, short of barricades. Local News. The biggest chant in the district is that Baron
Zarnthasker's hit upon a new scheme for his return to the Prime Material, where he'll
finally avenge himself. He's been gathering a band of mercenaries and could still use a
few more. He's also looking for a wizard or priest willing to open a passage back to the
Prime Material - one large enough for himself and his band. 'Course, he'll want the
spellcaster to stay on and help with the dirty work that follows, and it's very
dirty work indeed...
(Realm) ![]() Character. This is an underground world of roisterous merrymaking, belching smoke, and sweaty labor - all the things that make a crusty dwarfs life complete, carried to the excess of joy. Power. Three dwarf powers share the Mountain: Vergadain, Dugmaren Brightmantle, and Dumathoin (MM, all). Vergadain's a lord of wealth and luck, Dugmaren Brightmantle parcels out the rewards of invention and discovery, while deepest in the realm is Dumathoin, master of mines and exploration. The three've divided the tunneled realm into thirds, each reflecting the interests of that particular power. Principal Towns.. There aren't any towns in this realm, a least not according to a human berk's understanding of things. The dwarf powers don't give notice to the surface world. What lives, eats, and expires on the icy slopes of their mountain is strictly outside their realm. Not much is found out there anyway, since the slopes are so high, rocky, and freezing that any sod wandering out there is likely to end up in the dead-book. Even so, it ain't completely barren. Humans, being like fleas (at least as dwarves see it), can plant their cases anywhere, and sure enough they've managed to stake a settlement, called Iron-ridge, right on the doorstep to Vergadain's realm. It's not a big place, but it holds about 500 bodies, mostly petitioners with a few primes and planars mixed in. Ironridge is tolerated - only barely - by the petitioners of the realm. Most of the cutters in town are there to trade, or they're miserable gamblers hoping for a chance to play in Vergadain's fabled halls. There's a few bloods looking for admission to Brightmantle's libraries, but these cutters are rare indeed. Underneath the Mountain, towns become halls, because hall to a dwarf means as much as city to a human. In fact, it's more; a hall is community, identity, and family locked into one birdcage. The important halls of the dwarf realm are Strong-ale Hall, Soot Hall, and Deepshaft Hall. Strongale's known far and wide for its gambling and drink. The chant is that a cutter can put anything on the cloth here, betting even things a sod's not supposed to be able to part with, because there's major fortunes to be won. (But for those who lose there's always a way to collect that stake.) Drink is strong and poured freely, but it ain't free; petitioner or no, a dwarfs not going to pass any chance to part a cutter from his jink. Soot Hall's crowded with workshops and libraries. The name's literal, as the caverns are covered with chalkyblack soot from millennia of laboring. The noise here is continual, "24-hours-a-day" as the primes put it (except there's no day or night deep beneath the surface of the plane). Soot Hall's best products are finely crafted hammers and breastplates - many magical in nature - that often end up on the gaming tables of Vergadain's halls. Deepshaft Hall plunges into the cold, dark depths of the earth. The air here is icy and stale with the smell of the dwarves who toil here - no treat for the average berk. It's "miner's air" and it's just the way the dwarves like it. Aside from its odor, Deepshaft's best known for the ores and gems that the petitioners coax from its rock. Most of the kip goes straight to Soot Hall, but some of it does make the trip to Ironridge, where it's traded for luxuries from the surface world. A basher'd better have good reason to come down here, because the tunnels of Deepshaft are almost as twisted as the Lady of Pain's Mazes. Strangers coming here had better spend some jink on a good guide if they ever want to see the surface again. Otherwise, they just might get lost in the tunnels and end up in the screaming caverns of Ilsensine's realm. Special Conditions.. What makes the Dwarven Mountain unique is more its attitude than anything else. Every petitioner here's a dwarf, and they don't care much for anyone or anything. Any human, bariaur, tiefling, githzerai, or other's going to find it hard going. The locals see strangers as generally leatherheaded sods who ain't worth the time or trouble, and it'll take some strong persuading to get them to see things differently.
Each division of the realm's got some important laws a berk's got to know, too. Up in
Vergadain's layer, cross-trading at cards and dice ain't viewed too kindly. In fact, any
knight caught at it is lost for sure; his name'll be in the dead-book and there's no
appeal. In Brightmantle's domain, a berk'd better have a trade. A body's expected to have
a skill, and those that can't prove themselves useful get quickly booted into other realms
- like Ilsensine's. Down in Dumathoin's home, a cutter's likely to be tempted by the
glory of the raw gems that can be just pulled from the earth, but he keeps his hands and
feelings to himself if he's smart. The stones are part and parcel of the petitioners who
toil there. They're more than just rock - they're the entire goal of existence. Each
stone found and treasured brings a petitioner a little closer to oneness with the realm.
Even touching a gem without permission ruins its usefulness to the petitioners, and that
upsets them greatly.
The halls nearest the surface, in Vergadain's domain, tend to be brightly lit and noisy. Dazzling and occasionally rude frescoes line the walls. The passages are filled with bubbed-up dwarves who will cheerfully challenge any passing basher to a drinking contest. It's not a good idea to take them up on it, though, because the petitioners here can swill a prodigious amount of strong ale. Gambling of every type can be found here; dice, cards, even pea-and-shell games are played without trickery. No wager's too small or too large, as Vergadain's treasuries are well stocked, and the proxies of the dwarf power, who run the games, can use these to cover any bet. The second layer, Brightmantle's domain, is sober and earnest. The bright paintings of women, drinking, and amusement are gone, replaced by endless bas-reliefs of work and industry. The light here is the ruddy haze of smoky glass. Bells clang and whistles screech out the hours. The dwarves here are always in motion, hurrying to their tasks, hurrying to their homes, hammering and singing furiously. They work at a pace that'd make the hardiest smith heave and curse. Brightmantle gives his petitioners unlimited endurance to labor at the forge and smelter. In the very depths of the realm, dressed stonework gives way to rough-hewn mine shafts with runes and markers crudely chiseled into the walls. The shafts echo with a mystical monotonous drone - the chanting of the petitioners - punctuated by the harsh chimes of steel on stone. A cutter's breath hangs in the air, and frost glazes the deepest shafts. Lanterns and torches are far between, creating pools of light where dwarfish workers cluster. Shattered wall sections open onto dank passages that lead to Ilsensine's realm; a berk can sense the humming brain waves near these. Principal Nonplayer Characters.. Guides are essential to navigating the dwarf realm, and Iron-ridge's full of them. The best of the lot's Sedus Backbreaker (Pl/m/d/F10/Mk/LG), a bald-headed dwarf who'll brag he can guide a sod out of the Lady of Pain's Mazes if the pay is good enough. He's got the entire underground realm mapped out in his head, and anything he doesn't know he'll learn from the petitioners inside. Being the best, the blood's expensive, and cutter's shouldn't figure on getting his services for less than 50 gp per day. Also in Ironridge is Melias Fairherd (Pl/f/b/W7/ S2/CG), a trader with the dwarves. She's the best source of dwarf-smelted ores and dwarf-forged weapons. The bariaur's not interested in money; her price is always some service, like bringing back a fiend's skull to decorate a friend's wall. In Vergadain's domain, Lzuli Clearfacet is the proxy that the player characters are most likely to meet. Lzuli's an einheriar, a wispy figure of a scarred dwarf warrior. He's always accompanied by a translator, and it's his duty to see that the gaming tables are honest and all bets are paid. Lzuli Clearfacet, einheriar: THAC0 6; Dmg ld4+7 (Strength bonus, warhammer +3); AC 2; HD 15; hp 120; MV 6; MR 5%; SZ M; INT high; AL N; ML 17; XP 8,000 In Brightmantle's workshops and libraries, characters may need to consult the domain's curator, Pyrus Chertchip (Pe/m/d/0/N). Pyrus, an easily winded old dwarf, is a blood when it comes to locating old tomes and answering questions on dwarf lore, but he's not friendly to those who follow nondwarf gods. Dumathion's territory isn't noted for its hospitality, and the mostly likely things characters will find here are maruts. Ilsensine has brain-wiped a hapless petitioner, Steelblade (Pe/m/d/0/N), and returned him to the mines as a spy. Through Steelblade, Ilsensine can see and hear what happens in the mines, and the power can even talk through the possessed petitioner. Does Dumathion know what's happened to his petitioner? Maybe not, or maybe the power just doesn't care; Steelblade could be just another petitioner who failed to ascend. Services.. A body goes to Ironridge for one reason: to get weapons and
armor. The material's got the best dwarf magic a cutter's going to find, and since it's
made on the Outlands, it's the least affected by the magic-stifling elements of the Outer
Planes. 'Course, the dwarves don't just set up shop and sell the stuff; a body's got to
earn his gear. This works out fine for the dwarf powers because it commands a steady
stream of bashers, willing to do the powers' bidding in exchange for a good hammer, axe,
or breastplate.
(Town) ![]() Character. Life's all blood and thunder here, glory or death. What else is a berk supposed to try for in the shadow of Ysgard, after all? Here's a burg where a cutter's word's his honor, and folks don't take insults lightly. Ruler. Flatnose Grim (Pl/m/h/R15/FL/CG) is the chieftain of Glorium. Nicknamed for his spreading nose that's been broken in far too many fights, Grim's a short, bear-chested warrior of fiery moods. His strength is legendary, and he takes great sport in showing it off by bending horseshoes, staging throwing contests (with a 50-pound boulder as the ball), and wrestling with guests. His capriciousness is legendary, too. He might take a liking to one cutter, just based on his duds, or mark another one down for a careless word. For those who are his friends, Flatnose is a staunch ally, but his enemies find it wise to leave town quickly. Behind the Throne. Only a addle-cove'd dare hint that Flatnose Grim ain't running things here; he doesn't care for that sort of insulting. On the other hand, he'll listen to good advice, and he's got a few folks round who are willing to give it. First off, there's his wife Kostbera (Pl/f/he/W7/FL/CG), though some bashers figure she's a bit of a nag. Another pair of importance is Thoric Foolsgold (Pr/m/g/T8/Os/NG) and Harry Farwalker (Pr/m/ha/F6/Os/N). This unlikely little pair showed up in Glorium one day, and they won Grim's confidence with a quick jest and a good tale. It seems they took a liking to the town and have stayed ever since. Description. Glorium's nestled on the shore of a great fiord, with its back to the craggy peaks that lead to the Dwarven Mountain. All told, the burg's pretty small - just a collection of longhouses, smokehouses, workshops, and shipsheds of the 300 or so folks that live here. Glorium doesn't bother with walls or stockades, as nature forms a natural defense in the walls of the fjord. There's only one road out, a rough track that leads into the mountains. That trail crosses glaciers and skirts cliffs to get to a back door of the dwarf realm, and it doesn't see much traffic. The only other way into Glorium is by sailing a ship up a little-known tributary of the River Oceanus. Glorium's gate situation is a bit more unusual than most. First off, it's got two. The best known one leads out of town, near the mouth of the fiord. There, a berk'll find a big swirling maelstrom, an arch of sorts. To get to Ysgard, all a cutter's got to do is sail his ship right down its maw. Twice a day the Water-gate (as the locals call it) reverses itself and a cutter can then come through from the other side. Glorium's other gate is one of Yggdrasil's roots. This path's found in the mountains behind the town. There, a cutter'll find the arching gap of a cave mouth, and somewhere inside the cavern is one of Yggdrasil's plane-spanning roots. The problem is there's lots of side passages, some of which lead to unpleasant places like Ilsensine's realm or Gzemnid's Maze. Most sods in Glorium spend their lives fishing and hunting. Some farming gets thrown in, but it's not enough to stake a living on. They conduct only a little business with the dwarf realm, mostly because the track leading to the mountains is too difficult to traverse and carry much in the way of trade. In general, the local petitioners are a proud lot, touchy about things like courtesy and respect. While they're not as battle-crazed as the bashers on Ysgard (their resurrection's not a possibility), they'll not eagerly turn the other cheek either. Most of the time in Glorium, a sod gets challenged to duel until first blood is drawn or unconsciousness occurs - it does make for lively visits. Folks in Glorium know their town's drifting toward Ysgard as they pick up more and more of the habits of that plane. Still, knowing that doesn't seem to matter to them. In fact, Ysgard looks appealing to most of the Glorium petitioners. Militia. Every petitioner in Glorium's part of the local hird, a militia of freemen. Flatnose Grim is the leader, of course. When a war-horn is sounded, the hird assembles as quickly as possible, while one member of the hird stands in the town's sole fortification, a wooden tower, and watches for incoming ships on the fjord. Other than this, every man's expected to fend for himself, with the help of his neighbors if needed. About the only times the hird is summoned in full are those rare occasions when Ilsensine's or Gzemnid's petitioners decide to stage a raid. Services.. Planars from Glorium are pretty eager to go out and make a name for themselves, so a cutter can usually pick up a willing hireling or henchman here. Most of the lot are fighters, though it's possible to persuade some youthful cleric of the Norse gods to come along. There's a small temple to Odin and the Norns on the edge of town, and a blood might get the local godi (priest) to give aid in the form of spells. Unlike a lot of other towns, Glorium's got no inns or taverns. Anyone planning on staying here's got to prevail upon the hospitality of the locals. Glorium is noted for its shipbuilders, the Freki twins (Pe/m/h/0/N, both). The pair makes longships in the Norse fashion, with twice the seaworthiness rating of a normal ship. The cost of each craft reflects their skills, which is half-again the cost of a normal long-ship. Local News. What's got people rattling their bone-boxes here are rumors
that Gzemnid the beholder-god is trying to annex their burg. Strange things have been
happening in the mountain caverns. Fyri the Charcoal-burner claims he's seen unwholesome
creatures near Yggdrasil's roots, and a few sods have found marks carved in the rocks that
could be the secret signs of Gzemnid's priests. The threat's put everyone in town on edge.
(Realm)
Beat it, berk!
There's
a brace of hardheads coming this way, and any bubbers bobbing for jink'll be scragged. - Slig 'the Cheapster' on his daily run through the hive ![]() Character. Surrounded by foreign barbarians, the Palace of Judgment is the first stop of the truly civilized. There is no hate here, no sympathy, only judgment. Power. Yen-Wang-Yeh (LL), Illustrious Magistrate of the Dead, is the sole ruling power here. Those hoping to see him are almost invariably disappointed, because he's protected by ranks of lesser bureaucrats under his command. Principal Towns.. The Palace of Judgment's a burg pretty much in itself. The realm's not big, but within its walls is everything a cutter'd expect to find in a good-sized town. 'Course, the Palace isn't open to everybody, so there's a little colony just outside the main gate. Not really a town - not really named - it's most often called the "Place of Waiting." However, it does have a few inns of differing quality, a pair of restaurants in competition with each other, and both day (goods and produce) and night (food stalls and entertainment) markets. Special Conditions.. What makes the Palace different from, say, Sigil is the way it's run. Nothing happens on a whim here. The Palace is a huge bureaucracy, so every request, audience, hearing, or petition must be cleared through ranks of sodding officials before anything happens. Worse still, these petty bureaucrats are sticklers for courtesy and etiquette. Problem is, their definition of proper behavior doesn't match that of most cutters on the planes. There's a lot of bowing, reverential respect, and not doing much of anything else. Impatient berks usually manage to do something rude and get themselves snubbed by the officials of the court. Description. The Palace of Judgment's a small name for a place as big as this. It ain't really a palace proper; it's more like a small, fortified city. Sure there's a palace, but there's also walls, gates, promenades, courtyards, gardens, granaries, libraries, towers, kitchens, stables, residences, storehouses, and workshops - all the features of a proper burg. The whole thing is built of red brick, carved stone, and wood. The roofs are covered with half-moon glazed tiles. Everything here's refined and artistically done, even the smallest and meanest of buildings. But the Palace isn't a town, which is something a basher shouldn't forget. A cutter can't wander the streets at will or go down to the market and buy something. Anybody coming here's going to get a factotum, an official guide and guard. Factotum's are usually matched to the importance and power of the visitor. A go-zu oni's a typical factotum. More important visitors get assigned go-zu-oni or men-shen guides. Other guardians found at other places in the palace include foo creatures, spirit centipedes, pan lung, shen lung, t'ien lung, and stone spirits. (All these creatures are described in the Kara-Tur monstrous compendium® Appendix. If this appendix is not available, the following substitutes are suggested: go-zu oni - rakshasa; men-shen - ogre mage; foo creatures - ki-rin; spirit centipede - intelligent megalo-centipede; pan lung, shen lung, t'ien lung - naga; stone spirit - stone guardian.) A factotum's job is to keep visitors out of danger and out of places they're not supposed to see. Most folks coming to the Palace of Judgment are newly arrived petitioners. There's a steady stream of them appearing on the road just outside the gate. Flanked by Yen-Wang-Yeh's bashers, the dazed arrivals get herded through the Iron Gate and sent off to one of the Thousand Greeting Halls. There, some low-ranked proxy passes judgment on the petitioner. Then both petitioner and judgment get passed on to a clerk, who enters it all in the scrolls. In another chamber, another scribe makes a placard that gets hung round the petitioner's neck, listing the sod's virtues and vices along with his assigned plane. From there, the palace guards sort everybody out and head them off to the proper waiting hall. Each of these halls contains a conduit to a different realm of the Celestial Bureaucracy, and a representative or two from that plane. Thus, the Palace's also got a few fiends, einheriar, aasimons, and even modrons wandering about. While they're in the Palace, they won't break the peace that holds everything in place - at least not overtly. There's a lot of behind-the-scenes action to all this. If there's 1,000 greeting halls, there's probably 5,000 clerks who need rooms to work and sleep in. Then there's quarters for visiting proxies from other powers, infinite libraries to hold the scrolls recording each petitioner's fate, and much more. The Palace is constantly in a bustle, with proxies and planars escorting petitioners to and fro and occasional processions arriving or leaving. Music, chatter, moans, and screams mingle in the air. Once a year, there's a slight change in the routine. That's when Yen-Wang-Yeh leaves to appear before the Celestial Emperor and report on the previous year. Without him around, his proxies get careless, lazy, confused, and overwhelmed. Mistakes are invariably made, some as simple as a petitioner wandering around unprocessed or a body getting assigned to the completely wrong plane. There's no ambition to expand the Palace realm currently. That decision's up to the Celestial Emperor, and he's content with keeping things the way they are. Principal Nonplayer Characters.. The Palace is full of cutters to talk to and deal with, from lowly clerks to high-up proxies. Short of Yen-Wang-Yeh, himself, the most important berk here's the Chamberlain of the Interior Palace, General Pien, a men-shen. He's an honest being, although he seldom says directly what he thinks. That's more a matter of proper behavior than deceit, though - it's impolite to criticize or directly refuse another being, after all. General Pien is utterly loyal, vigilant, and unwavering in his duties. General Pien, MEN-SHEN: THAC0 11 (+4 with sword); #AT 2; Dmg 1d8+4 (x2); AC -2; HD 10; hp 60; MV 12, Fl 12(A); SA continual 30'-radius ESP (negates possibility of surprise within that area), invisibility (per improved invisibility), astral at will, polymorph self twice/day, fierce countenance*; SD immune to fear, charm, and hold, half damage from all spells; SZ L; INT very; AL N; ML 15; XP 4,000Even the general is beyond the reach of most characters. It's more likely they'll deal with a lesser official, perhaps someone like the Secretary of the Third Rank, Pao (Px/m/h/P(sp)/Be/N) (Spell Spheres -major: All, Necromantic, Protection; minor: Divination, Summoning), a priest of Yen-Wang-Yeh (LL). Pao spends his days entering the judgments of the lesser magistrates into the Scrolls of Destiny, noting who goes to what plane and who is reincarnated. Pao accepts his work as part of the great scheme of things, hoping to become a high-up man through diligent effort. He'll industriously apply himself to any task assigned by his superiors, which could be useful to a band of adventurers. Services.. Second only to Sigil, the Palace of Judgment's got more gates concentrated in one place than any other burg. Better still, the gates here are one of the few places that are officially "neutral" territory. Because any disruption of the Judge of the Dead's work would bring down most all the powers of the Chinese pantheon (good, evil, lawful, neutral, and chaotic), fiends and aasimons are forced to coexist here without fighting. Nobody tries to sneak armies through the gates to seize the Palace. It's not uncommon for negotiators of the powers to meet here, particularly for exchanges between tanar'ri and baatezu in the Blood War. A cutter could use these gates to hop around from plane to plane quickly and safely - if permission was granted. Yen-Wang-Yeh's not likely to be so generous, though. Any blood hoping to use them better have a real compelling reason.
Another "service" of the Palace comes from all the petitioners passing through.
Sometimes a sod's past life isn't completely forgotten. There's a chance that a cutter,
needing some information, can find what he needs among the thousands who pass through the
gates. It's a chance, but only a slim one at best.
Plague-Mort Character. Plague-Mort's a festering boil always threatening to burst, a place overripe with treachery. In fact, the town has been pulled bodily into the Abyss on numerous occasions, though a new town of the same name always promptly arises on the same site. Nothing lasts, and death lurks behind every corner. Ruler. Plague-Mort is ruled by a cutter called the Arch-Lector, currently Byrri Yarmoril (Pl/m/tf/ P16/Mk/CE). The Arch-Lector is always a militiaman who ousted his predecessor through strength or cunning, and Byrri is more paranoid than most about a successor rising from the ranks. His dungeons are full of real and imagined traitors and spies. He angrily questions anyone suspicious, and he routinely attempts to weed out the strongest members of the town militia to forestall a coup. Some say he's slowly losing his grip and a bloodbath is sure to follow. Behind the Throne. In fact, the Arch-Lector answers to the Abyss, and woe to him should he should fail to deliver more land across the shifting borders! The tanar'ri are not patient, yet the Arch-Lector depends on their forbearance. It's said that the only ruler who ever failed to deliver a boundary shift and lived to say so is the Lady of Pain, herself, who is whispered to have once have held the title of Arch-Lectress. Others say, "Bar that! The story's just a way of bringing attention to a desperate town." 'Course, no one has dared ask the Lady the truth of it. Description. Plague-Mort is a gray set of ruins, ill-kept hovels, and open sewers huddled around the grand and gilded spires of the Arch-Lector's residence. Its streets are ridden with grime and disease, and the air is usually filled with late-autumn chill and the sound of hacking coughs. Little grows here, and what does is feeding on the life's blood of something best kept dark. Weeds, bloodthorns, and viper vines are the most common forms of vegetation. The best part of town is Merchant's Row, an old street that maintains a set of glittering facades. Street stalls and small shops sell dubious goods and suspect meats. A blood should keep a sharp eye out for militiamen practicing a bit of the cross-trade. The weapons sold in the Row are of very high quality, and most prices are lower than usual. Merchant's Row is always crowded because it's a safe haven where no blood may be shed by unspoken agreement between the town's power players. The gate to the Abyss is the leftmost of three arches leading into the Arch-Lector's residence at the center of town. It leads to the Plain of Infinite Portals. Enough of the Abyssal stench of death and betrayal bleeds over to affect magic in Plague-Mort. All necromancy spells function at maximum effectiveness within its walls, and saving throws against their effects are made with a -3 penalty. Militia. The Plague-Mort militia is simply an extension of the Arch-Lector's bodyguards, a group of rowdy tieflings, alu-fiends, and cambions who take what they want and damn the fool who tries to stop them. The militiamen are called the Hounds, and like all good hounds they're fawning, servile, and totally loyal to their master - until they sense weakness, at which time the leader of the Hounds tears down the Arch-Lector and tries to take his place. Some say the phrase "turn stag" (to betray) comes from Plague-Mort, but others claim it's just used more often there than most places. The Hounds sleep either on the floor of the Lector's residence or in the tavern where they spent the night carousing. The Hounds are both judge and jury in Plague-Mort. Anyone they catch or dislike is usually dismembered on the streets, on the spot. The Hounds routinely thrash suspicious characters or anyone foolish enough to insult them without even realizing it, and sometimes they'll just pick out some poor sod to beat up on general principle. Plague-Mort has no jail or courts (no one ever leaves the Arch-Lector's dungeons). Failed usurpers and the Arch-Lector's personal foes are always taken before the Arch-Lector; everyone else is meat for the Hounds. Services.. Unlike the Abyss, Plague-Mort has a very tolerant attitude toward merchants. As long as they bribe the right berks and are loose with their jink in the taverns, everyone loves a trader. 'Course no one likes a miser, but merchants rarely leave Plague-Mort with much of their profits still in their pockets. Barter is popular in town, and indentured servitude is encouraged. The trade in town also supports other vices, some of them in the streets and alleys, others hidden in the summoning chambers and smoky thieves' dens of the tieflings who seem to run the burg. Quite a few of Plague-Mort's petitioners want to leave, but they fear being run down by the Hounds unless they have a patron. Plague-Mort's full of rogues and rowdies that make good henchmen, as long as they're kept in check with a firm hand. The best inn for bloodsuckers, freebooters, mercenaries, and mad mages is The Eye of the Dragon, a smoke-filled chamber of vipers that serves watered wine, burnt soup, and stale bread. The owner is White Scar (Pr/m/drow/F12/M10/BC/CE), a silent, brooding elf who collects ears (he's missing one of his own, though he won't tell why). Scar doesn't listen to anyone rattling their bone-box without his calculating gaze shifting to the sides of their heads. The prices at his place are cheap, and no one complains about the food. Bloods who like their skins should avoid The Golden Griffon, which the Hounds have claimed as their own. They don't appreciate visitors. The best food available on Merchant's Row is Sweet Larissa's Sausages, a butcher shop known for sweet, rich meats and a number of secret recipes. Horse and dog meat are often proposed as the secrets of her success, but Larissa will grin enigmatically at the suggestion of other, "secret ingredients" (but as every sods knows, those that like sausage shouldn't be present at the making of it - especially this sausage). Larissa (PI/f/h/T9/Fa/CE) stands behind her chopping block with that knowing smile and sells her wares to anyone with the jink. Plague-Mort is also home to a shop called The Poisoner's Phial, where Laran Susspurus (Pl/m/tf/T12/ Dg/NE) dispenses medications, poisons, acids, and venoms. Laran sells antidotes as well, some magical and others mundane. The cost is twice that of the toxin they neutralize. Local News. Recently, a pack of mercenary primes calling themselves the
Illuminated has shown up in Plague-Mort, harassing the town's petitioners and taking The
Bell and Whistle Tavern as their meeting place. Their leader is a brash young man
named Green Marvent (Pr/m/h/W11/Os/CE), a cruel mage who dresses all in green silks and
satins. His followers have painted a green eye in a pyramid over the shingle of the Bell
and Whistle. Marvent demands instant obedience from petitioners, tieflings, and tanar'ri
alike. Those who hesitate are reduced to ashes or magically ensnared to become members of
the Illuminated. Everyone in town is bracing for the war between the Hounds and the
newcomers, though no one knows who will triumph, the Clueless being a bit unpredictable.
If the Illuminated prevail and claim the Arch-Lectorship, Green Marvent will be the first
Outsider to take the rulership in generations.
(Town) ![]() Character. Upward mobility - climb the ladder through the ranks, but don't break the rules unless you won't get caught. Or better yet, fix the blame on someone else. That's the way the world really runs, but in this burg just outside Baator there's no illusion that life is any other way. Ruler. Lord Quentill Paracs (Pl/m/tf/F13/W15/ At/LE), Baron of the Great Pass, Guardian of the Gate, and Lord of Ribcage rules the burg, and every law that's passed is loudly done in his name. Paracs makes sure the militia remains loyal to him, holds the key to the treasury, and sees that rising stars on the Council owe him for their continued success. He's master of the town because he's master of the politics it takes to rule. Behind the Throne. Nobody challenges Lord Paracs's right to rule, although nearly everyone would like to. Doing so, however, requires money, troops, and the vote of the Council. The Council of the City consists of five senators, one for each ward of the town. They propose and vote on all ordinances, approve Lord Paracs's taxing and spending policies, and monitor his dealings with foreign powers. Theoretically, the council can override the Baron, but in truth Lord Paracs always makes sure that at least three senators remain on the council at his say-so. Given that, even a bariaur basher can tell which way the wind will blow: in whatever direction Paracs points. Here's the chant. Nobody's elected here. Sure, a senator's supposedly picked as a free choice, but everyone knows the whole thing's a peel. Pure fact is the powerful families do the actual choosing. Most of the time this means Paracs's choice is approved, but even he's got to make concessions sometimes, and he don't always win. There's a lot of hidden deals, garnishing, and other things less honest going on behind the scenes, but it's all still done "according to the law."
The strongest opposition to Lord Paracs is the Ivlium family. They're the high-up men
among the porters and carters of the town, and on their say-so everything could grind to a
halt - no deliveries, no food shipments, nothing would happen. For now they're cozy
with Paracs, but only because he's bought them off with several offices. It's a sure bet
they'll be wanting more power, and pretty soon it's all going to come to a head. Both
sides know it, too, and they're getting things in order for that day.
Actually, Ribcage doesn't look like such a terrible burg to live in. The streets are paved with stone and are fairly clean, the layout's orderly, and most of the houses are well tended, if a little dour. The bodies hung from the gibbets over the main gate serve as notice to the criminal element, so a bubber's not likely to get thumped in an alley. In general, folks speak well of their neighbors. It all looks pretty good until a basher notices the soldiers lounging at nearly every corner, and learns that the transgression of some of those executed "criminals" was only that they protested the living conditions a little too loudly. The dark of it is that folks live in fear and hatred of their neighbors, because the sod who expresses himself a bit too liberally may be asked to explain his point of view to Paracs's guards, even though he wasn't talking to them in the first place. Ribcage's divided into the Citadel and five city wards. The Citadel's the home of Lord Paracs. It's also the site of the armory, the bodyguard barracks, and the city treasury. A gate to Baator's there, too, though a cutter wouldn't call it part of the Citadel. It's in its own walled-off section that can be reached only thorough the Citadel. In fact, the whole place is walled and towered to separate it from the rest of the city. In the shadow of the Citadel's walls is the Senate and the other city buildings not claimed by Paracs. That way, nobody forgets who's really in charge. The five wards of the city aren't divided according to a pattern, they're just the blocks that each influential family could grab. They're like fiefs in some of those medieval prime-material worlds. If it weren't for Lord Paracs, they'd have divided the city with walls long ago. As it is there's unofficial checkpoints where a cutter gets looked over by the bashers of this family or that. Most of the houses here are made of stone carved from the Vale of the Spine. The majority of them are two stories high, with a single entrance that leads to an inner courtyard. The amount of decoration on the entrance shows the wealth and power of the owner. In the outer wards, the homes are smaller and cheaper, and sometimes they're just wooden shacks. While the high-ups do well for themselves, the common folk of Ribcage suffer. Lord Paracs's household guard patrols the streets, ready to deal with any "troublemakers." Taxes are oppressive and there's always garnish to be paid. The quiet joke goes that it's an "assurance" against accidents - don't pay and a sod's assured of an accident. The city's laws are designed to keep the five families in power and everybody else out. 'Course, the rulers have to be careful; too much law and the city might rise in popular revolt. As it is, there's sometimes small riots that are quickly and brutally crushed. Then there's the slaves of Ribcage. Most of them are criminals serving out their sentence, but a sod also can be enslaved to pay a debt. Once a berk becomes a slave, it's not easy breaking free, so a cutter's got to be careful of knights who'll lure him into debt, just to call it in. "Borrow money, borrow chains," goes the old line. Still, most folks in Ribcage struggle to live happy and well, and they do so mostly by getting a powerful friend. Commoners get ahead by getting a senatorial ally. Bribes, favors, and flattery all flow freely here. Being so close to the Cursed Gate, a cutter'd think Ribcage was in danger of drifting into Baator. That might be, but not with Lord Paracs's help. He hates and fears domination by the baatezu as much as any good-hearted man would. It'd mean a loss of his power, and he's not about to sit for that! There's often agents of Baator in town, but they have short lives when Paracs's guards find them. Militia. There's only one militia in Ribcage: the household guard of Baron Paracs. The guards are easy to spot, lounging on nearly every street in their black and gold livery. Most folks fear them because the Blackguard (as they're called) has pretty much unlimited powers. They can arrest anybody for any cause they care to invent. The best way to stay out of Paracs's dungeons is to keep the Blackguard happy - with payoffs, favors, or information. Such deeds are semi-secret, as a Blackguardsman's only concern is being charged with corruption by an enemy. A typical patrol is made up of two troopers (Pl/var/F1-3/var/LE), while a raid'll have six guards led by an officer (Pl/tf/F/ W6-8/var/LE). While Paracs has the only official army, every senatorial family and most of the wealthy merchants hire bodyguards to protect their lives and properties. These groups are no better than the Blackguards, extorting and muscling the commoners. There's also standing mercenary companies that'll fight alongside the Blackguards in times of trouble. 'Course, every high-up man's careful not to let himself get either too weak or too powerful. Either'd attract the attention of his enemies. Services.. Ribcage's not noted for its cheer, but the town does sport a number of excellent hot baths just outside of town. These are built over volcanic springs that bubble up through cracks in the stone slopes. The best run of these is The Gymnasium of Steam, run by (Pl/f/tf/P(sp)7/F0/LE), a priestess of Sung Chiang (LL). An ordinary bath costs 100 gp, and healing baths can cost 1,000 gp or more. The healing baths are magical in nature, able to cure any disease of the skin. Those customers angering Shandrala are sent to a special spring where the water's filled with toxic minerals, causing 3d10 points of damage per round of immersion, but a body won't notice the burn for 1d4 rounds because of the soothing temperature. Ribcage's also the best place to look for guides to Baator. A berk who's barmy enough to want to go there can either try for an official visit or he can slip in unannounced. Ribcage's got guides who handle both. Official visits require a written pass, which is a warrant of safe passage, from one of the Lords of the Nine. The advantage of this method is that the baatezu'll not harm a berk carrying such a warrant - usually. However, getting that sheet requires: 1) a sound reason for going (by baatezu standards), 2) knowing the right fiends to contact, and 3) lots of jink to garnish the right palms. There's folks in Rib-cage who'll help in this (for a good fee, or course). The smoothest of the lot is Barius Sharpsplinter (Pl/m/tf/BS/S2/NE), a quick-tongued and satirical poet who somehow has managed to not lose his head yet. Sneaking into Baator requires a whole different set of skills. The best man for the job in this case is Surefoot, a bariaur (Pl/m/b/R11/FL/NG). The ranger's got no love of the fiends next door, and he'll take any job with good pay and a reasonable chance of hurting them. Local News. Although things seem quiet on the surface, rumors are spreading that Baron Paracs is about to be challenged by Senator Fiquesh's faction. Certainly the Senator's guards have been more active in the last few weeks, while Baron Paracs has been courting several of the lesser factions in town. The sword is supposed to strike at the Grand Ball of the Masquerade, three weeks from now.
Proxies of the baatezu are gathering in the third ward and are said to be looking for a
small black statuette. Extraordinary sums are promised for its return, but it's hard to
trust such agents in these things.
(Town)
And enjoy my stay, to
traveler! Welcome your - A xaositect named Sival... for today ![]() Character. This kip's like weeds floating on a pond. Fire boiling from the earth. Red, green, purple, black - rainbows falling from the sky. It's day, it's night, it's both, it's neither, it's Limbo - not. makes no !! sense that town is a This. Ruler. Every Theorin Glim-flicker (Pe/m/he/0/N) body Astuc Xantin (Pl/f/gz/W9/RL/CN) in Mnall (a slaad proxy) Xaos Oblesh (Pe/n/ beholder/N) is Harmon Yars (Pe/m/h/ 0/N) in Andrea Lister (Pl/m/h/R7/BC/CG) charge Rantash (a quasit) sooner Drewton the Hanged (Pe/m/g/0/N) or Tomvas Bivellton (Pr/m/ha/B4/NG) later. Behind the Throne. Anarchy chaos clutter confusion disarray disjunction disorder formlessness jumble muddle tumult Xaos. Description. Every day, every second, things could be different. Those with strong will impose their own order on the town. The weak-willed eat with frantic speed, before their soup changes to lead. What's life like in a town where a cutter could change in a glance? Marriage bonds vanish, allies and enemies can no longer recognize each other. Every day, every minute, the bodies of soXa have to create their world all over again. Who does one hate? Who does one trust? A stream of water becomes molten fire, then shifts to a fish-filled river. Little streams of pure Chaos leak from the gate. Houses are built where people want them and damn all others. Streets cross each other at random. There's no social contract, no pretending to all fit together. The whole mass spreads out like a writhing mass of spaghetti dropped on the floor. Somewhere in the tangles is the gate to Limbo, but its location is never the same. It washes over the town, warping distance and meaning, sense and matter. Wherever it sits, the gate radiates out the raw energy of Chaos. Today it's at the edge of town, tomorrow jammed like a broken knife in the heart. It's a town without order, ready to slip away any day. Forward, never straight. Militia. Live free and die. The life or death of another is of no
concern. The life or death of the town is of no concern. It's the right of every citizen
to reject the iron chains of order. This is a concept that implies order and organization.
Therefore, it's the right of every citizen to reject the iron chains of order.
The chance to tap the true power of existence. The chance to sleep in daylight. Strong drink at any hour. Freedom from the chains of patterns, release from the endless where to be and when to be. Local News. They're building a wall of chaos stuff, and when they're done, nobody'll be able to come or go. aoXs will be theirs. They slip through after nightfall, carrying a little more chaos stuff with them. There's things in your dreams that'll hurt you. I didn't sleep well last night. Slaad are building a wall down near the gate in the dark. The weather's (?) nice today. |
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