Lords Of The Last Days: 21 Encounters In A Serpent-Ridden Apocalyptic Pass

Here's another encounter table based on the lyrics to a song. All credit for the idea goes to Joseph Manola and his excellent Against The Wicked City blog. This one is a bit more focused than my last one, but it's based on a song by the same band, The Sword. Unlike the pretty disjointed encounters I made from Ebethron, I used this song, Lords, to make a more coherent setting. It has an adventure hook, rising tension, and a mechanic to make the journey into chaos a gradual change over time.

Click here to listen to the song.

THE HOOK

If you want to skip all the backstory (little though it is) below you easily can. The important thing is this: An ancient evil has been accidentally released in a mountain pass. Are you a bad enough dude to head up through the rapidly deteriorating highlands and return the stolen golden seal before it's too late?

EXCESSIVE BACKSTORY

Seven centuries ago, Mereshehad, high priest and worldly avatar of the Seven Serpents, was defeated and sealed in a tomb in the largest pass over the Barrier Peaks of the east. Seven seals were placed upon its door, and the door itself was guarded by seven stone balbals, golems imbued with the spirits of warriors who fell in the battle against him.

Seven days ago, a wizard's apprentice from Brimistead, bored while his master Grybia was in a weeks-long trance to commune with elder gods, used a spell of invisibility to steal the largest seal, one made of molten gold. Six hours later the others had all failed, releasing the malevolent ghost of Mereshehad – driven mad by centuries of isolation – upon the unsuspecting inhabitants of the pass. Its foul magic is as horrible is it is powerful.

Seven minutes ago, Grybia awoke, slew his apprentice immediately, and hurried to the tavern in which the PCs are currently staying. The elder gods with which he spoke recommended the party's services, and so he has charged them with heading up into the slowly unraveling pass. He promises a freshly made golden seal (worth 1,000 coins) to each PC if they merely put this one back where it belongs. But a week is a long time. The pass is already in open war, one which it is losing; getting there will be anything but easy.

You'll want to click this one to embiggen it.

HOW TO PLAY

As the party heads up the pass, roll a D6 and count that many entries down this list below, skipping any entries already seen. How long it takes them is up to you, but Grybia stresses to the party that it's only a matter of time before the avatar can fully free itself from the mound. They should have two or three days in systems where healing happens overnight before Mereshehad is free, and should be easily able to climb the pass within that time.

1 The lords of the passes are arming their vassals. A crowd of peasant men are gathered near a crossroads, being armed and armoured with spears and shields by their aging lord and his two knights. There are about 20 in total. They may try to strongarm the PCs into joining them, or offer to aid their passage north – the peasants will break quickly when fighting anything supernatural and one of the knights will flee at the first sign of trouble, but the lord and other knight will fight to the bitter end.

2 You'll find no shelter that way. Several peasant families walk slowly down the road, heading the way the PCs came. Some of them are visibly sobbing, a few injured, and they carry all that they own with them or on their few mules. They will try to convince the party to turn back, claiming that serpentine monsters attacked their village, but that it was the soldiers who defended them who turned suddenly and madly back to burn the settlement to the ground.

3 The conscripts they've taken have never returned. A handful of armed soldiers, five or ten in total, hold a few women at the centre of a village. They are trying to force the village, which has hidden most of its men, to give up its conscripts. It already gave up half of its male population a week ago, none of whom have returned. The soldiers are unwilling to search door to door with their numbers and want the PCs to either search for them or convince the men out of hiding. If the soldiers aren't stopped or aided, they will kill one, then two of the women in a few minutes before the men give themselves up.

4 And our hopes fade with each passing day. At the centre of a village, several tables covered in food and what few fineries the peasants possess have been set up. The whole settlement is revelling over the feast, which contains most of their food. They cheerfully invite the PCs to join, explaining that, with no hope for the future, they are trying to make the best of the present. Convincing them to hope, even with the evidence of the golden seal, will be very difficult – but if they don't stop the feast they won't have enough food come winter.

5 The gates of the keeps are all closing. A small but clearly formidable keep is surrounded by a camp of tents, filled with deserted soldiers and displaced peasants. The lord inside is letting in visibly competent soldiers, beautiful women, and wealthy survivors, claiming the keep was sanctified against evil magic like Mereshehad's. A few soldiers will attempt to rob or extort the PCs to buy access. The keep's wards won't hold out even the weakest demon, and it will be the site of a massacre if the seal is not replaced.

6 And broken men wander the road. Stumbling down the road towards the PCs are a few soldiers led by a knight. They are armoured and hold their weapons drawn, but seem dazed, confused, and completely oblivious to the world around them. One falls, stabs his blade deep in his arm, then stands up and pulls it out before continuing as if nothing happened. Only if directly approached and jostled will they awake from the stupor, their last memories being of an attack in the night by a man with three snakes instead of a head.

7 The farmers have fled to the forest. A farming village lies completely abandoned save for a young girl wandering through it in tears. The populace fled for the nearby forest almost on a whim, leaving her behind in the confusion. She is too afraid to head there on her own and the villagers are too afraid to return to the village to retrieve her. If the PCs bring her to the villagers they will be ambushed by D4+1 wolves with the heads of snakes (still count as normal wolves though), but will be rewarded with trinkets worth 100 coins.

8 Burning their fields as they go. Several men and women march through fields of wheat, holding torches and setting the plants on fire. One man catches on fire as the party watches or approaches, neither stopping nor screaming until he is fully engulfed and falls down dead. If the PCs near them or watch for more than half a minute or so, they will see them and attack, attempting to set them on fire instead (their torches only deal D4 damage but set the target on fire on a roll of 4).

From the Hindustan Times

9 The dukes of the marches have ordered their archers. A large group of soldiers, about 30 to 40 in total, mostly archers, are camped on the shores of a small creek. Only about a third of them have been possessed, but crucially so has their leading lord. He is feigning caution and cowardice in order to wait for the possessed to outnumber the unpossessed, before turning on them. If somehow convinced to travel with the PCs, the corrupted soldiers will wait until a fight before turning on their former comrades.

10 To shoot all outlanders on sight. A village lies in mostly smoking ruins, but as the PCs approach they can hear cries for help. Four hunters, the only survivors of the chaos that destroyed their home, are trying to lure them near before shooting bows from the windows of the town's meeting hall. They are not possessed, but believe it to be the end of days, and it will be hard for the PCs to convince them they aren't demons in disguise.

11 Turn back your horses before it's too late. Five well-armed men, skilled wandering mercenaries from northern lands, ride horses down the path towards the PCs. They fought against the serpents and possessed soldiers of Mereshehad valiantly but lost. Now they're living to fight another day. They are talkative and friendly, particularly eager to talk of the man they fought who had three serpents instead of a head, but if they learn or suspect the party is wealthy (IE they see or are told of the golden seal) they will risk an attempt at robbing or extorting all but the most obviously dangerous parties.

12 There'll be no safe crossing this night. A wide river crossing has several beached rowboats on the PCs side, and a visible horde of refugees on the other. No boat will cross the water for fear of a giant amphibious serpent within the river, which must be slain or otherwise distracted in order to make passage safe. One brave man will attempt to swim as the PCs arrive, cheered on by the watching crowds on both sides before being devoured halfway across. The serpent is strong but not that strong, but it must be lured onto land to be fought in any plausible manner.

13 Hear the horns, pounding hooves. The PCs have just enough time to a see a host of 100 to 200 soldiers and a dozen or so knights in front of them before a horn sounds and an equally large army charges down a ridge towards them. The battle will turn in favour of the side opposite the PCs unless they intervene. However, the nearer army is in fact the possessed one, a fact only revealed by their silence, occasional hastily-made serpentine heraldry, and violence towards the party if their unpossessed nature is revealed. The battle is close enough that whichever side wins will only have about 50 survivors.

14 Visions of cities aflame. The smoke can be seen before the glow, and the glow before the city itself – really a town, a thousand people at the most – engulfed in a raging fire. Some people are fleeing through the southern gate, but many more are trying to put out the fire. They would be able were it not for the to mobs of possessed townsfolk, fifty strong each, march from place to place lighting everything on fire. A trained force or larger mob of locals could easily defeat them. A wealthy merchant fleeing the city promises the five golden rings he wears (worth 200c each) if the PCs organizes a defeat of the mobs. Of course, they could always just chop his hand off and leave.

From The Banner Saga

15 Wailing cries, dawn of doom. A village lies in ruins, many houses smashed or collapsed, bodies of soldiers and peasants alike strewn about its limits. A huge serpent's corpse lies at the heart. A wailing woman kneels over the body of her fallen husband, a peasant conscript who died in the process of striking the deathblow against the serpent. The crowd gathered around them is being ranted at by an old man who claims the only rational response is submission to the "serpent gods". He will try to involve the PCs in the discussion and attempt to stir up violence against them if they reveal their quest.

16 Die by the sword or in chains. A group of captured peasants and defeated conscript soldiers is led up the path the same way the PCs are headed, guarded by a half dozen possessed soldiers and a priest in green robes, bearing a staff with a poorly carved snake's head at the tip. The possessed men will threaten to kill the captives if they notice the PCs before they attack, as will the priest threaten to turn the blood of the PCs to poison. These are both bluffs (the priest is quite harmless). If freed, the soldiers, three or four in number, will gladly (if poorly) aid the PCs in their quest.

17 Men kneel in temples of madness. A church has had the statues flanking either side of its door defaced, and serpentine heraldry hung above its door. A man at the entrance invites the PCs in to "seek salvation", where a priest in poorly-dyed green robes preaches about submission to a crowd of dozens. If the PCs enter, five possessed soldiers will follow after them, selecting a young woman from the audience to be dragged out and "converted" by Mereshehad. Half the audience will cheer, the other weep, while the woman struggles against the soldiers, who quickly overpower her. Intervening will draw the ire of the half that cheered, and the support of the half that wept.

18 False prophets spread discord and fear. An old woman in dark, ragged robes leads a procession of dozens of peasants and deserters, praying for salvation from the gods. Every few hours a pack of wolf-sized serpents kills one and spares the others, a fact the woman uses to both claim that their deaths are inevitable and that prayer is all that is saving them for the time being. In fact, the procession is left alive only because their despair pleases Mereshehad, and killing the serpents (who will come in just a few minutes by their reckoning) will cause a group of about seven soldiers guiding the snakes to attack.

19 Darkness descends once again. The sky reddens and darkens as if it were sunset or dawn, though the sun still hangs in the sky, now as black as night. There is a rustling from nearby bushes and trees, until a tide of snakes swarms forward like a tidal wave. They will not bite or harm anyone, but may cause horses, followers, and anxious PCs to panic, and will sweep away anyone who cannot find something to hold onto or otherwise be held down with, dashing them against boulders and trees or drowning them beneath the wave.

20 They say the lords of the last days rule here. Four possessed knights march in front of a man with three serpents instead of a head: the earthly avatar of Mereshehad. He can control one character per round (no save, or he can attempt to control someone else if a save is passed; though he cannot make anyone kill themselves), and his knights are fanatically loyal. He will taunt the PCs, and if made aware of the golden seal will use his mind control to have it thrown to a knight before attempting to flee with it. If killed, his spirit will rise from his body, cursing the PCs and insisting that he cannot be killed before dissipating with a mocking laugh.

Zohak by Norot

21+ Here it is, the tomb itself. Were it not for the stone entrance, slightly ajar and decorated with six seals, and the seven stone balbals in front, it would be nearly impossible to tell the mound apart from any other hill. The balbals fight as strong warriors or knights with incredibly tough armour, but cannot see past invisibility and cannot stop more than a dozen people at most if charged en masse. Fixing the seal is as simple as pushing the door shut (which even a weak person could do) and placing the golden seal over the crack. It will glow with a golden light, cause the runes written in each of the other seals to glow as well, and then destroy all traces of Mereshehad's presence outside the tomb. His serpents and avatar will fall dead and melt into black goo, his possessed followers will awaken from their trance, and if the sky has reddened and darkened it will return to its normal appearance. Replacing the seal may also cause the balbals to recognize the PCs as allies and halt their attack; it's up to the GM to decide.

AFTER THE ADVENTURE

Upon a successful return, Grybia will reward the party with the golden seals as promised (wizards work quickly and mysteriously), and even offer to teach any wizards in the party a spell or two in return for a month of aiding him as an apprentice, until he can find another permanent replacement. He could be a great source of future adventures if the party is willing to continue working with him.

If the party fails by fleeing, Grybia will send eldritch beings (such as Hounds of Tindalos, like blink dogs that can only teleport by appearing out of sharp angles) after the PCs as retribution or even pursue them himself. Whether they flee or are all killed, Mereshehad's foulness will spread unchecked for days until his kingdom's expansion slows to a halt, creating a decidedly evil nation ruled by a powerful sorceror right in the path of many important trade routes. Not the end of the world, but certainly a meaningful change.

Mothership: Two Classes, One Creature, And An Adventure Hook

Mothership is a really good game. And the excellent Throne of Salt blog has been putting out some equally excellent ideas for a Mothership setting.

I've always been a big fan of science fiction, and very interested in how it seems to change completely nearly every other decade. Contrast Asimov's robots to the Alien's androids to Eclipse Phase's TITANs. Mothership, and in particular Throne of Salt's setting, seems to be able to do this all at once. Computers are big and blocky but PC androids are completely normal. There are lasers and fusion engines, but people still use firearms and quickly draining batteries. There are cybernetics, but no downloading yourself into a new body. Alien life is as common as dirt, but to steal a line from one of my favourite videogames, intelligent life taunts with pointed absence.

Anyway, I love the game and setting so much it got me to actually write something for once, so I figured I'd put it up here. More specifically, it got me to write four things. Enjoy!

The Vatborn

The Vatborn are genetically engineered to fill the roles that are too dangerous or degrading for a human, but too open-ended or creative for an android. They're the deathworld labourers and disposable shock troopers of the future. Each and every one is grown in an exowomb, and kept in gestation until late adolescence (about three years in total). Once birthed, Vatborn are given carefully curated education and conditioning to mold them into pliable, obedient servants with little concern for their own conditions.

Physically, they are no stronger than a strong baseline human, but are all that strong or stronger. As personal freedom is suppressed wherever possible and appearances are far from important, Vatborn are grown with inhumanly pale skin, hairless bodies, and no sex – they are not even treated as gendered creatures, in order to eliminate individuality.

From Alien: Covenant

Every Vatborn is given the same creche-based childhood, one which constantly espouses loyalty, obedience, industriousness, and efficiency. They are taught they were made to serve, which is true, but also that this is good and right and something they should be proud of. Vatborn are taught only the bare minimum needed to survive before moving on to learning everything they need to know about the job they have been grown for.

The only true psychological difference that isn't just a result of their youth has to do with self-preservation. To keep them from committing suicide or taking too many risks they have the same fear of death and destitution that baseline humans have, but they have no fear or discomfort regarding bodily harm. A Vatborn can have their hand cut off without flinching – the pain is still there, they just can't force themselves to care about it. Their sense of fear is dulled as well, but far from absent.

Vatborn are commonly found on isolated planets with dangerous environments, or in military divisions that require soldiers that are extremely difficult to break. It is not uncommon for wealthy worlds with serious population shortfalls to purchase large "harvests" of Vatborn to supplement their existing population. They're good for when you need loyal, able bodies now, and not twenty years later or for a much higher price.

There are rumours of a civilization composed entirely out of Vatborn out there in the deepest reaches of the human sphere, an experimental society gone wrong when the subjects overthrew the researchers. The Hive, it is called, and it is very real and very frightening, for its cruel efficiency cares only about expanding. It grows stronger and stronger every year, and as its leader caste learns more and more about leadership (being untrained Vatborn themselves), they start to realize it's a lot easier to take what exists than to make something new. Entire colonies have disappeared in their first tentative raids, but so far, no one's put the pieces together.

The Hive by Paul Kirchner - Very good comic. I learned about it from the PorPor Books blog. Go and read it.

Stats: +10 Strength

Saves: Sanity 20 / Fear 40 / Body 50 / Armour 30

Stress: Vatborn suffer no Stress gain from suffering injuries or failing Body saves.

Skills: Athletics, +2 Points

Hellhounds

In a better age they'd be a gross violation of every right we give to animals, but in the dark future, even humans are only somewhat protected by international law. Each is an augmented dog of a breed descended from the stock of bloodhounds and mastiffs, filled to the brim with cheaply made cybernetics.

Deus Ex Concept Art

Most of the augments are just there to make them tougher and faster, and even then are mostly just stimulant injectors set to trigger when the hound enters a fight. Every sense is heightened, to make them better trackers, and the moment the augments sense fear they pump them full of anxiolytics. They're bred to be ugly, frightening figures of muscle, patchy fur, and bared teeth, with customizable colours to match any corporate aesthetic. Their effectiveness in combat is dubious, but they make good trackers and work wonders in terms of degrading enemy morale.

Higher-end models have a row of small subdermal bombs set to trigger when the Hellhound dies. After anarchist social networks made "shoot the dog first" a household phrase, the Company started assigning their houndmasters with failsafe implants of their own, designed to prevent Hellhounds from detonating within unsafe distances unless the houndmaster is dead themselves. Some give handlers the ability to trigger the bombs themselves, but this fell out of favour after studies found that most handlers would use the slightest excuse to justify setting them off.

The average dog lives 10 to 13 years, but Hellhounds have a life expectancy of 4 to 6. Due to the high chance of them dying in the field, their implants are not made to last, and Hellhounds that are rescued or purchased for non-combat use are sorry sights indeed. Not that those in Company packs are any better, but at least the Company doesn't try to keep them healthy – the sad fact is that even the best-treated ones live short, painful lives.

Combat 60% Bite: 2D10 or D6, Melee

Body 30%

Speed 60%

Instinct 15%

Health 20 or 5

Special Subdermal Bombs: Upon death, Hellhounds explode for D10 or D6+1 AOE damage, as long as they are not within 10m or Close range of a living handler.

A mangy dog that at first glance looks diseased, but upon closer inspection has exaggerated muscles and cybernetic implants. It bares sharp teeth and growls and howls with wild and powerful lungs, suddenly moving with alarming speed and grace. Its fur is a decidedly unnatural colour the same as the branding of the corporation it belongs to, and when not hostile it seems agitated, in pain, and on edge at all times.

The Cultural Exodus

During the early years of interstellar exploration, the tumult of the posthuman transcendency, first true corporate states, and full brunt of the Earth's climate crisis caused a mass exodus from the Sol system. This period of history is known as the Exodus, and is responsible for the many farflung and sometimes hilariously doomed to fail colonies that, in some cases, went for decades before being recontacted.

To the student of history, serious or casual, perhaps the most interesting part of the Exodus was the Cultural Exodus. One of the greatest corporations of the time was Vatersson Industries, headed by the mining magnate Vali Vatersson, a man who lived well beyond his years thanks to extensive gene therapy. A student of the arts and a history buff ever since he was a child, he bought up art and artifacts from the failing states of the pre-Exodus years, acquiring a vast collection of masterworks, classics, and an ample number of otherwise unexceptional contemporary pieces.

Late in his life, Vatersson began to regret the hand he had in exploiting the dying Earth, and in particular his hoarded collection of masterpieces. But Vatersson knew that the new world would not be one where the Company, even his own, could be trusted to keep its word; it may take a decade, or even a century, but his collection would inevitably be sold to the highest bidder who would likely keep it as tightly guarded as he had.

Believing he had no way to ensure his art would be available for anyone to see and appreciate, and unwilling to destroy it or simply let it fall into the hands of other magnates, Vatersson used his vast wealth to fund a solution. He chartered ships, hiring suicidal crews with the same promise – anything they wanted, for up to a year of life and a billion dollars in cost, if they would only sail their ships to distant stars and hide the art in secure, secluded vaults in the depths of space. After returning, they would have up to a year before, as part of their contract, being killed to ensure their silence.

It was difficult. It was damn difficult. The cost was in the hundreds of billions – but Vatersson was uber-rich, had no children, preferred to die before he was more implants than man, and saw his crusade as the ultimate form of charity. Three ships were never heard from again. Constant surveillance and isolation whenever possible prevented the spacers from fleeing after they returned for their reward, but two made such spirited attempts they had to be killed prematurely. Two ships had info leaks, their relics reclaimed within five years (and all by corporations, no less).

But by the end of the year, it was done. No one remained who could have known where the ships had gone, save for the mastermind, who died a year later of natural causes. After his death, only a single journey's itinerary was leaked, for a total of three out of dozens.

Every few years, they find one. You can search a system for months and miss a vault, but they're never in a truly random spot. The Mona Lisa was buried at the magnetic north of a tidally-locked life-bearing world. Goya's The Third of May, 1808, orbited the second Lagrange point of a world with a canyon the size of Mars' Valles Marineris all the way around. The funeral mask of Tutankhamun sat atop the largest vein of gold yet found.

Sadly, the plan didn't fully pan out. They're found by Company ships more often than not, and when they aren't the crews tend to sell them to the highest bidder, putting them back in Company hands. Those crews who do keep them squabble over who has what rights to it, often leading to them hiding it away once more only for the last living crewmember to claim it and, in their old age, die within a decade and have their kids sell it to the Company. (If the Company doesn't just steal it outright.)

But sometimes it does work. It's not common and not always much better than being nabbed by a Company CEO who'd at least hang it on his wall, if not show it off to the public – Van Gogh's Starry Night was burnt by rebels on the backwater world where it was found – but sometimes, sometimes, one falls into hands who deserve it. Some sell or donate them to public institutions who could never afford to beat the costs the Company would pay for them. Others keep them quietly hidden, hanging them on their wall and claiming it's a replica, safe in the knowledge they own a piece of history.

Starry Night by Vincent van Gogh

Bonus: Celebrities-for-Hire

I wrote this after formatting the above stuff, so I haven't gone and edited it or had a day or two to realize "crap, that idea is horrible because [insert reason here]".

Fame's not always all it's cracked up to be. Of course it's better to be part of the decadent elite than the downtrodden masses, but that decadency tends to bite people in the ass in the most unexpected ways.

All too often, skilled artisans - musicians, actors, artists, writers, chefs, even prostitutes and pornstars on some of the more liberal worlds - overextend themselves, taking bad deals and spending their money wildly. When their initial success wears off, they're left with long contracts and colossal debts, but enough skill and popularity that the Company won't simply funnel them into debt bondage. Or more accurately, will do it in a more insidious way.

Art is risky. Sometimes it fails. When an artist isn't quite popular enough for the Company to find it worth funding a dozen misses for that one big hit, it's a lot easier to sell something else: fame. Short term contract work for executives and other members of the elite sells well and always has a market. Imagine a world where Gordon Ramsey could be hired to cook you dinner, or your kid's favourite boyband hired for their birthday party.

Sure, it's expensive as hell, but the billions of underlings the Company employs have millions of executives, and the contracts are very short term: one dinner, one party, one portrait. A savvy middle manager or spacer captain could save up enough for a low level job every couple months. The only problem is that the Company has the celebrities on a tight leash. A high enough pricetag can buy you nearly anything, and since they're selling fame, not skill, they have no say over what they do. It's not about the art anymore. It's not even about selling the art. It's about selling the name, to as many people as possible.

It's not as bad as being a wageslave or literal slave. But for artists who got into the game to do what they love, and had a taste of true success before being turned into a corporate plaything, it's a soul-crushing job. The kind of gig that makes running away to join a ragtag spacer crew performing legally questionable jobs on the edges of human space start to sound like a good idea.

Stats: +5 Speed, +5 Intellect

Saves: 40 Sanity / 25 Fear / 30 Body / 35 Armour

Stress: Failing a test related to your celebrity skill incurs 1 Stress from impostor syndrome.

Skills: Art, Rimwise, Art Specialization, +1 Point

New Skill: Art Specialization. Like Weapon Specialization or Vehicle Specialization, but for Art. The Art skill encompasses a familiarity with everything from writing to drawing to acting to music. Being a poet or a guitarist is the realm of Art Specialization. Treat it as an Expert skill whose only prerequisite is Art.