Team Tsathogga / City of Spires setting primer, for Severed Fane

Severed Fane asked for a 'small campaign bible' for my current campaign, City of Spires, which shares a setting with my previous Team Tsathogga campaign. This campaign world started as a kitchen-sink-y science fantasy setting, suitable for running short, casual games over beer with players new to D&D. To my utter astonishment, I'm still running games set in the same world six years later, and it has now accumulated a staggering level of background lore. 

What follows is a very zoomed-out version of the setting. Obviously I can't include anything that my PCs haven't discovered yet, but this post provides a snapshot of the discovered regions of the setting as they currently stand, fifteen years of game-time after our first campaign began!

Deep history: City of Spires, like Team Tsathogga before it, takes place on the world originally known as Research Planet Alpha Three. It was colonised thousands of years ago by a spacefaring empire of serpent men, who used it as a research base for something called 'The God-Mind Project': this seems to have involved going to other planets, capturing the various god-like psychic 'hyper-intelligences' they found there, and bringing them to Alpha Three in a limbo state of [sleep / death / non-existence] for research purposes. Presumably this was eventually going to lead to some kind of pay-off for the empire, but their civilisation was destroyed in an interplanetary slave uprising before their work could come to fruition.

Even before their empire fell, the serpent-men on Alpha Three were not much involved in the day-to-day running of the colony. In the part of the planet in which the campaign is set, the various species they imported or created were ruled for them by three client states: the Zaant Imperium (ruled by island-dwelling ape-men), the Omen Kingdom (ruled by one-eyed giants), and the Nameless Empire (ruled by human magicians - its name is genuinely lost, having apparently been burnt out of history by some terrible magic). When the empire fell apart, a rebel space fleet obliterated the main power centres of these loyalist states from orbit. The rebels were then meant to land and liberate their enslaved subjects, but something happened and the liberating army never came. What went wrong with the rebellion, like the purpose of the God-Mind Project, has been one of the major mysteries behind both campaigns.

The game is set 1300-ish years later. 

The Chaos Ages: The destruction of the serpent man power structure, coupled with the non-appearance of the rebel army, ushered in an age of chaos. The magitech infrastructure of the old empires fell apart, and the world was ravaged by the various war machines, monsters, and bioweapons released, intentionally or otherwise, during the war. Power in many regions was seized by local warlords who managed to salvage fragments of functional magitechnology from the general conflagration: these included the Witch Queens, the Cannibal King, the Scavenger Lords of Aram, and the Kings of Ruin. Other regions fell under the sway of cults worshipping the alien hyper-intelligences kidnapped by the God-Mind project, whose containment systems were shattered by the war, leaving them leaking incoherent psychic distress into the surrounding world. This was a pretty grim era, remembered in most places as a dark age of strife now thankfully surpassed. 

The modern era: In the end the various Chaos Age despotisms mostly destroyed each other, or were overthrown by their subjects, or simply disintegrated when their scavenged relic technology finally degraded into uselessness. In their place came more stable polities, unified by pro-social religions such as the worship of the Bright Lady (a deified folk memory of the original rebel commander), the Shining Ones (pure-energy beings imprisoned by the serpent folk to power their magitech infrastructure), and the Golden Lotus (a transcendent embodiment of cosmic Law). The God-Mind cultists, who despite their formidable supernatural powers tended to be a crazy and dysfunctional bunch, were mostly driven into the wilderness.

Today a range of nations have arisen in the more habitable areas of the old empires. However, the areas beyond their borders are still littered with radioactive ruins, magical dead zones, and the lairs of weird creatures who escaped from the prisons and laboratories of the serpent men. 

Regions visited so far

Qelong: Based on the (excellent) supplement of the same name, this Khmer-inspired nation was saved from utter ruin by the PCs during the first campaign and is now staggering back towards something resembling normality, although vast swathes of the hinterland remain effectively post-apocalyptic. The Naga who empowers the river flowing through it was one of the victims of the God-Mind project, and is presumably imprisoned somewhere beneath the nation.

The Cold Marshes: Freezing expanse of marshlands inhabited by mutated marsh giants, and by human tribes who ride upon great swamp beasts and drive squirming masses of bog mummies into battle by beating on enchanted drums. The PCs in the first campaign kidnapped one and forced him to give them drumming lessons.

The Stonemoors: A windswept land of sheep-herding crofters brought to crisis when the perpetual snowfall ceased on its holy mountain, denying meltwater to its rivers and causing a serious drought. (This turned out to be due to the theft of an enchanted maiden from the mountain, who had been slumbering in suspended animation within a magitech casket.) In desperation, the hardest-hit clans turned to a cave-dwelling monster, the Blood Fiend, for power to extort food their neighbours. In the first campaign the PCs found the casket but kept it as a power-source for their flying ship, and 'solved' the problem by sending the Blood Fiend and his followers off to reclaim the Fiend's birthplace in the Grey Uplands.

The Plateau of Yeth: Inspired by Minotaurs of the Black Hills by Raging Swan Press. Plateau inhabited by minotaur clans, who arrived here as invaders, but whose power was broken by the terrible heat-weapons of the bat-folk who lived within the citadels of vitreous stone at the plateau's heart. Since then they have lived humble lives as tributaries of the bat-folk, whose skill in technology remains great, but whose numbers have now waned to the point that their citadels are almost empty. The PCs from the first campaign adopted one who had aspirations of reversing the decline of his people, but then apprenticed him to a mad scientist and forgot about him.

The Great Northern Wilderness: Vast expanse of hills and forests inhabited mostly by savage cave dwarves and mad vulture-men, who once ruled as death-priests of the necromantic Carrion Kingdom until their defeat by the bat-folk of the Plateau of Yeth. Hidden here are the Pools of Life (loosely based on Dwimmermount), an ancient complex where the serpent men originally created their 'demon' shock troopers. An attempt to duplicate this feat by a sorcerer in the Chaos Ages led to the creation of the minotaurs, who were the closest he could manage to the real thing, but who soon turned on their creator. Later still the Pools were looted by a magician in the service of the Church of the Bright Lady, who went rogue and used his stolen technology to create the creatures of the Grey Uplands. In the first campaign the PCs shut down the complex and its malfunctioning monster-engines, and led the creatures trapped within it back into the light.

The Grey Uplands: Remote upland region inhabited by the various monsters created using magitechnology stolen from the Pools of Life - including the Blood Fiend, who later ran off to the Stonemoors. In a castle at its centre lived an isolationist settlement of humans with transparent skin, bred for medical testing purposes. The PCs in the first campaign evacuated the humans to a haunted valley they'd found earlier, and sent the Blood Fiend and his followers back to reclaim their homeland.

The Purple Islands: Inspired by Islands of Purple-Haunted Putrescence. Taken over by the PCs during the first campaign, now the home of a motley assortment of humans, apemen, and undead practising a syncretic religion that the PCs invented. Contains a lot of relatively intact ruins due spending most of the last four hundred years outside the timestream. There was once a hidden Serpent Man science base here, but the PCs invaded it and killed most of them, with the ones that got away vanishing into the jungles of the south.

Reval: This temperate agricultural kingdom is the seat of the Church of the Bright Lady, which is run by mysteriously similar-looking 'Angels' and an all-female council of Elders who appear to be mutants of some kind. Site of Glasstown, home of the setting's leading magical academy, which has some kind of sinister dealings with the Mirror Men. Recently ravaged by a plague of 'demons' falling from the sky - these turned out to be genetically-engineered warriors created by the serpent men, who had been floating in orbit in their cryo-chambers since the empire's fall. In the first campaign the PCs discovered their ancient command codes, and managed to free some of them from servitude.

The Underworld: A vast expanse of caverns beneath Reval inhabited by many strange monsters, including goblins and toad-folk loyal to Tsathogga, who was one of the beings kidnapped for the God-Mind project and is presumably imprisoned somewhere down there. The dominant underworld powers were previously the Science Fungoids and the Navigator Houses of the Nightmare Sea (which I lifted from They Stalk the Underworld and False Machine, respectively), but in the first campaign the PCs inflicted terrible damage upon the Science Fungoids, allowing the Navigator Houses to establish trade relations with the surface and press everyone nearby into debt slavery.

The Grand Duchy: Cold northern nation, remote and agriculturally poor, a centre of the fur trade. Plagued for years by the Devourer cultists hidden in the mountains, who secretly served the serpent men of the Purple Islands, drawing liquid time from a sleeping titan buried in the earth (another God-Mind project victim) and using it to keep the Purple Islands isolated from the timestream. It was the fall of this cult that precipitated the reappearance of the Purple Islands and the rain of 'demons' in Reval. The PCs in the first campaign ransacked the cult temple, and adopted the undead cultists they accidentally awoke while doing so, leading them back to the Purple Islands. 

Ingra: A fertile land of shady, forested hills and valleys, once a stronghold of the Witch Queens until their defeat by the followers of the Bright Lady. Witch-cults and beastmen still lurk in its deeper forests. Its cities are famous as centres of learning, and especially renowned for their schools of medicine. A secret society, the Cult of the Divine Surgeon, commands the loyalty of many senior doctors and academics, revering an obscure golden-armed hero figure from the early Chaos Ages. 

Aram: Once a hub of trade between the eastern and western nations, now in decline since the Howlers cut off the roads to the east. Centre of the faith of the Shining Ones, whose holy city was once the capital of the Nameless Empire. Reliant on alchemically-modified warriors to keep the Howlers at bay. Its nobles telepathically link themselves with psychic golden serpents, and are served by Gearsmen, clockwork automata animated by human souls. The kingdom was wracked by internal discord until the PCs from the second campaign mostly resolved the situation.

The Southern Desert: Wandered by pastoralist tribes who live in fear of a terrible devil of the wastes, the Black Jinn, who dwells in the House of Tarnished Brass somewhere deep in the desert. This desert was once the home of a cult revering a god whose name is both 'Fire' and 'Hunger' - the ruins of its sacred sites still dot the desert, haunted by firenewts and other servitors of this vanished faith. Ancient obsidian warriors roam its southern reaches. This whole region was menaced by the sinister schemes of the Red Architect until the PCs in the second campaign blew her up. 

The Far Towns: Marshy region of isolationist farmers, recently brought back under the control of the City of Spires by the PCs from the second campaign. Threatened with annihilation by the Howlers until the PCs saved them with the aid of a giant robot snake and an order of ninja death cultists they founded by accident. Deep in the marshes live a matriarchy of hags, the remnants of the once-terrible dynasty of the Witch Queens, hiding from the world and served by loyal ogre clans who live in enormous halls woven from reeds. The PCs are currently working with them to find a way to neutralise the Howler threat.

Wastes of the Cannibal King: These once-fertile lands desertified as the weather control satellites of the Nameless Empire ceased to function - getting these back online has been a long-term goal of the PCs from the second campaign. In the Chaos Ages they were ruled by the fearsome Cannibal King, from whose tyranny the ancestors of the Tajarim fled long ago. Today they are dotted with haunted ruins, though the PCs have managed to clear out most of the worst ones.

The Howler Territories: Once a centre of sheep farming, this upland region was overrun by the Howlers - aggressive, territorial humanoids created by the dwindled Witch Queens, who hoped to use them as an army with which to reclaim their empire. The Howlers fled their makers and infested the hills and forests, driving out the human population and cutting off the roads between Aram and the City of Spires. The PCs from the second campaign have been trying to work out how to deal with them for years.

The Old Road and the City of Spires: Trade route that runs through the deserts north of the Pale Mountains, connecting Aram to the lands of the Tajarim and the kingdoms beyond. The major waystations along this road are the oasis-cities of Halwa, Wasat, and the City of Spires - this last is much the greatest of them, though it has fallen into accursed ruin since the closure of the road by the Howlers drove its merchant oligarchs to desperation and despair. In the days of the Nameless Empire the city was bombed flat, but immense underground complexes survived beneath the surface, and the treasures and horrors stashed within them have played a pivotal role in the city's history. The PCs in the second campaign seized power in a coup and now govern the City of Spires with the aid of a variety of freakish allies, including cyborg cultists, reformed diabolists, rat-man mechanics, and the remnants of the local nobility. 

The Pale Mountains: These towering mountains are fought over by hardy human clans and furry abhumans with a fondness for gunpowder, which they manufacture from stinking nitre pools. One peak was hollowed out by the Nameless Empire as the resting place for its honoured dead, and a vault beneath it held the egg of the Great Worm, a larval hyperintelligence which presumably had something to do with the God-Mind project. It has since hatched, giving rise to a worm-cult which the PCs from the second campaign destroyed so that they could turn the whole mountain into a worm farm for their giant rat-breeding side-project. 

The Lands Beyond: South of the Pale Mountains stretch lands that were once part of the Nameless Empire, but which were so devastated by bioweapon releases and orbital bombardments that civilisation here has never really recovered. One blasted city is inhabited by a nation of ghouls; other regions are home to wandering cattle-herding wagon tribes, or clans of hidden people who watch over the ruins of the doomed cities from which their ancestors once fled. Further south these lands are apparently ruled by lords who call themselves the Barons of Rust, but the PCs have never visited their territories. 

Elements of incongruity

I've written before about the dangers of simply doubling down on the same ideas ad infinitum, leading to extremely one-note characters, settings, and situations: barbarians primarily characterised by their barbaric barbarism, rogues notable for their roguish roguery, and so on. Not only does this tend to make scenarios more boring on a conceptual level, it often also leads to less satisfying actual play. If the Pyromantic Fire Coven of the Burning Flame Witch are totally all in on fire magic, then once the PCs have developed viable anti-fire-magic countermeasures they really have no reason to respond to each thing the Coven throws at them with anything other than 'the same again, but more'. But the best play thrives on complexity, on situations fraught with tensions and contradictions that the PCs can get their claws into and turn to their advantage. 

One easy way to create this is to ensure that each creature, community, organisation, or whatever includes at least one element of incongruity. This is the wrinkle in their otherwise smooth conceptual facade: the thing that not only makes them more interesting and memorable, but also provides hooks for more nuanced play, making them resistant to the overconfident and vulnerable to the well-prepared. 

So here are some examples. To come up with one for your next NPC or faction, try rolling 1d3 and 1d6...

Incongruity type (roll 1d3)

1. Incongruous character trait.
2. Incongruous individual.
3. Incongruous nature.  

Incongruous character trait. Children's fiction uses this sort of thing all the time. ('It turned out that the dragon secretly loved dancing!') This sort of thing can serve to trip up players who make over-hasty assumptions about how such characters will behave, while also providing resources for those who bother to get to know them properly, allowing them to be more easily befriended or manipulated by the PCs.

Assign an incongruous trait by rolling 1d6:

1. Incongruous belief. This person has one sincere and deeply-held belief that could not easily be predicted from their general worldview or ideological position. Maybe an otherwise-rational person has one superstition they take really seriously, and cannot be argued out of; maybe an otherwise-conservative traditionalist has one topic on which they have surprisingly liberal views, or vice-versa. An important sub-type is the incongruous moral position, whereby an otherwise-decent person turns out to harbour some horrible prejudice or moral blind spot, or a seemingly-wicked or amoral person turns out to have at least one moral line they genuinely will not cross.
2. Incongruous personality trait. This person has one character trait that is apparently out of keeping with their social role. Immense personal vanity is predictable among aristocrats, but perhaps more surprising in an orc raider; tremendous interpersonal aggression might be common among street thugs, but is more unexpected in a librarian. They may have found a way to make this trait work for them - maybe the librarian has terrorised all his rivals into submission! - or it may form a barrier that they need to work around in order to fulfil the role expected of them. 
3. Incongruous interest or hobby. This person is fascinated by something unexpected, like an absent-minded sage turning out to be a bare-knuckle boxing enthusiast, or a brutal ogre who actually has a deep and genuine appreciation for music. They may be ashamed of this interest and keep it secret, which will only make them more eager to share it with non-judgemental fellow enthusiasts.
4. Incongruous background. This person wasn't always the way they are now. Maybe they've experienced a massive rise or fall in social status (e.g. the street thief was actually born into a noble family, or vice versa), or maybe they've undergone some huge cultural shift, moving into a religious, cultural, or ideological position very different from the one they originally held. They consequently possess a body of skills and knowledge incongruous with their current position - that street thief may actually have a surprising knowledge of aristocratic etiquette left over from their privileged childhood!
5. Incongruous relationship. This person maintains a relationship (personal, familial, or romantic) which connects them to a sphere of life otherwise remote from their own. Maybe the bandit chief's sister is the city archivist. Maybe this weird, smelly hermit was once the baron's childhood friend. The relationship means a lot to both parties, even though they might feel some embarrassment about it. 
6. Incongruous ambition. This person has always aspired to something utterly different to their current life. Maybe they wanted to pursue a very different career, like a sailor who always wanted to be an artist instead, or vice versa; or maybe they harbour a secret crush on someone from a very different social sphere, and dream of running away with them and living happily ever after. Depending on context, this ambition may be something they talk about all the time, or something they keep carefully hidden. 

Incongruous individual. When it comes to individuals in groups, lots of RPG adventures tend to go for the 'chocolate ice cream with chocolate sauce' approach: so if the group are violent savage, their leader or champion will be notable for being even more savagely violent. But you can get much more mileage out of having a difference, instead: something that sets them apart in kind rather than just degree, a difference which can serve as a source of strength or as a wedge to drive them apart. Assign an incongruous individual by rolling 1d6:

1. Incongruous ideology. The group all do the same things - they wouldn't be much of a group, otherwise - but one of them does them for different reasons to the rest. Maybe, in a band of outlaws otherwise motivated by greed, one actually sees their criminal activities as a way to strike back against the unjust social order. Maybe most of the soldiers are fighting because they actually want to win the war, but their commanding officer is only here to pursue a private vendetta, or out of a sense of religious obligation. Whatever the split is, it's not enough to stop them from working together on a day-to-day basis (or they'd have gone their separate ways ages ago), but it might well come to the forefront in moments of crisis. 
2. Incongruous quality. One person in the group is just much better or much worse than the rest in some significant way. Maybe the thieves are mostly mere brawlers... except for one of them, who's the best knife-fighter anyone's ever seen. Maybe the hobgoblins are hardened warriors... except for one of them, who's someone's little brother out on his first campaign. Either way around, this difference probably arouses a complicated mixture of positive and negative feelings in the others: unusually strong characters will be regarded with mingled respect and envy, while unusually weak ones may be viewed with a mixture of protectiveness and resentment.
3. Incongruous culture. One individual in the group has a very different social or cultural background to the rest. Maybe they're part of a different ethnicity (or a different species, in a fantasy setting); maybe they follow a different religion, or were born into a different culture or social class (e.g. one member of a band of aristocratic rakehells who was actually born poor, and is extremely self-conscious about it). This difference may be a source of strength, providing skills and knowledge that the group would otherwise lack, but can also be a source of tension that scheming adversaries may use to pry them apart. 
4. Incongruous ability. One individual in the group has some surprising ability that the others lack: a scholar in a band of beggars, a skilled diplomat in a gang of orcish raiders, a talented huntsman in an office full of bureaucrats, etc. For fantasy games this may also take the form of a magical talent. 
5. Incongruous virtue. One person in the group has some important positive quality - e.g. mercy, loyalty, tolerance, courage, compassion - that the rest of them lack. This virtue can't be something that gets in the way of the group's day-to-day activities - a pirate who refuses to steal isn't going to be a pirate for long - but may well surface at crucial junctures, when one member of the group unexpectedly breaks from the rest to take some kind of moral stand.
6. Incongruous vice. One person in the group has some important negative quality - e.g. sadism, cowardice, deceitfulness, addiction, greed - that the rest of them lack. Depending on the context, this vice may be something they perform openly or something they try to keep secret, but it's a big enough part of their personality that anyone who observes them closely is likely to pick up on it. As with virtues, such vices are particularly likely to reveal themselves at crucial junctures, when one member of the group abandons or betrays their comrades or otherwise gives way to their worst impulses. 

Incongruous nature. The character is not who they seem to be. The face they present to the world is a performance, but their true nature is very different to what they pretend, and at moments of crisis the real them shines through. Their true nature could be anything as long as it's sufficiently distinct from their public facade, but to pick one that'll work for almost anyone, roll 1d6. (And, yes, these are all Natures from the old World of Darkness system...)

1. Covert monster. Whatever the person pretends to be, the reality is far worse. If they pretend to be good, it's sheer hypocrisy. If they pretend to be normal, it's protective camouflage. If they pretend to at least be loyal to their mates, then they're actually just waiting for the right time to sell them out. Everything they do is actually intended to multiply their opportunities to benefit themselves at other people's expense. Even the things that seem most benevolent. Especially the things that seem most benevolent. 
2. Covert caregiver. Whatever this person appears to be, they're actually a real softy at heart. They might still do harmful things, but it's only because they believe in tough love, or because they hope that the ends justify the means, or because they're trying to protect their friends or to teach you a lesson. At the end of the day they will always try to nurture their allies and minimise harm to their enemies, although they might pretend otherwise for appearance's sake. 
3. Covert conformist. This person only acts the way they do because they feel it's expected of them. They might appear to be cruel, or kind, or artistic, or scholarly, or shy, or whatever... but it's all just a show, a performance for other people's benefit. Put them in a different social context and they'd act completely differently. Put them in no social context and they might even start the long and painful process of working out what they want, instead. 
4. Covert judge. This person is actually a moralist at heart. They might pretend to be anarchic or forgiving or amoral or nihilistic, but secretly they are always, always judging. Everything they do is secretly a test, even when it's disguised as an act of mercy or sadism or hedonism or indifference, and when it comes right down to it, the way they treat you will depend on the secret score they've been chalking up for you in their heads this whole time. 
5. Covert child. This person never really grew up. They can manage a passable performance of adulthood, including pretending to have proper adult motivations, but underneath it's all just childish curiosity and clinging and tantrums and I WANT THE THING NOW! Such characters will often gravitate towards substitute parent-figures, although they'll usually claim that these relationships are romantic or political or professional, instead. 
6. Covert idealist. This person really, seriously believes in some kind of big ideal: Freedom, Justice, Faith, Honour, that sort of thing. They probably don't make a big deal of it, because they know most people will either laugh at them or assume they're lying, but when push comes to shove they are actually, genuinely willing to kill or die for their ideal, in a fashion that is likely to be equal parts inspiring and terrifying.

Incongruity in Action: the Backwood Bandits

Let's apply all these possibilities to that most uninteresting of fantasy cliches, the bandit gang. Hopefully it will be clear how any or all of these could lead to more interesting actual play! (And yes, if you wanted to, you could apply all eighteen at once...)

• Boring version: The bandits are robbers who live in the backwoods. Their leader is the biggest, meanest robber of all.
• 1.1: The bandits are, in their own idiosyncratic way, deeply religious. They refuse to rob on holy days, and will not harm members of the clergy.
• 1.2: The bandits hate lying. They may kill and rob you, but at least they'll be totally honest about it.
• 1.3: The bandits love music. Their rousing sing-alongs echo through the backwoods, and they'll go out of their way to steal musical instruments and kidnap musicians.
• 1.4: The bandits actually started out as a bunch of university drop-outs who took to robbery after being expelled. For a band of forest-dwelling robbers they're a surprisingly learned bunch.
• 1.5: The bandit chief is in love with a local cleric, whose temple he's been surreptitiously visiting by night, though both men are deeply conflicted about the relationship.
• 1.6: The bandits actually intended to become legitimate merchants - the robbery was just intended to raise enough capital to start a business. But one thing led to another and now they're all wanted by the authorities and stuck living in a wood...
• 2.1: Most of the bandits are just in it for the money, but one of them really believes that robbing people is her holy duty, and that she is the instrument of heaven's vengeance upon an unjust society.
• 2.2: One of the bandits is so much better at woodcraft and archery than the others that it's positively obnoxious. All her comrades hate her.
• 2.3: One of the bandits is a goblin, who acts as the group's scout, but is acutely conscious that the others will never really regard him as one of the gang.
• 2.4: One of the bandits has natural magical talents, though he's totally untaught and has little control over how they manifest.
• 2.5: One of the bandits is totally committed to the gang, and would happily lay down her life for them. (They would never dream of doing the same for her.)
• 2.6: One of the bandits is an awful alcoholic, unable to resist the lure of alcohol even when he knows that he really should.
• 3.1: One of the bandits is a sociopathic monster who is just biding her time, waiting for the chance to sell out her 'friends' and escape with all the loot.
• 3.2: One of the bandits always secretly tries to make sure that no-one on either side gets hurt during their robberies - he claims his motives are purely pragmatic, but actually he just genuinely hates cruelty and violence.
• 3.3: One of the bandits only got roped into a life of crime because of peer pressure. He talks a lot about the love of freedom and the injustice of the law, but would happily resume a blameless life of honest labour if given half a chance. 
• 3.4: One of the bandits is secretly testing the rest of the gang to see if they're truly worthy of her loyalty, willing to dedicate her life to them if they pass, or to betray them to the authorities if they fail.
• 3.5: Beneath his ferocious exterior, one of the bandits is secretly a mass of insecurities, clinging to the bandit chief for reassurance in a world he's never really learned to understand or deal with.
• 3.6: One of the bandits is an absolute true believer in personal liberty, and would rather kill or die than accept any kind of restriction or restraint. 

Image archaeology: Paladin Girl

Who knoweth not of Paladin Girl?

M:tG card art for Knight Exemplar, by Jason Chan (2011). Exemplary in more ways than one!

Paladin Girl has become a cliche of modern fantasy art. She always looks the same. A young, slender woman in plate mail armour (often improbably form-fitting), no helmet, straight hair usually worn long and loose, conventionally-attractive face. On horseback, she might have a spear or lance. On foot, she usually carries a sword. 

Paladin Girl is a fairly straightforward combination of traditional masculine and feminine signifiers. Her weapons and armour convey traditionally masculine power and 'hardness'; her face, hair, and figure convey traditionally feminine 'softness' and prettiness. The optimistic reading would be that strength and heroism are compatible with femininity. The pessimistic reading would be that women only get to be powerful as long as their strength remains compatible with conventional standards of female beauty. Either way, she is clearly associated with a particularly chaste and non-threatening form of sex appeal, with her armoured body symbolising her guarded sexuality. Unsurprisingly, she mostly turns up in works targeted at predominantly male audiences.

I became curious about where this image came from, and did a little digging. Here's what I came up with.

One obvious source is Joan of Arc. A sketch from her own time depicts her like this - 

but by the later fifteenth century she was being painted like this - 

- and by 1505 like this:

Then there's Bradamante and Clorinda, the original 'female knight' characters, who appear in Arisoto's Orlando Furioso (1532) and Tasso's Gerusalemme Liberata (1581), respectively. Around 1600 they were being depicted like this:

Paolo Domenico Finoglia. Clorinda's the one on the right.

Antonio Tempesta, Bradamante Valorosa.

This, in turn, is not dissimilar to the way Joan of Arc was being depicted in the early seventeenth century:

Reubens, Joan of Arc (1612)

William Marshall, Joan of Arc (1642)

So 'attractive female knight in armour' is clearly not a foreign concept in Renaissance art. But the armour looks like real armour, and there's little sign yet of the extravagant hairstyles that are so much a part of contemporary Paladin Girl imagery. Reubens shows Joan with long hair, but that's because she's literally letting her hair down. In battle she's obviously going to be covered beneath the black helmet on the ground beside her, relying on her plumed crest rather than her bare head to ensure she stays visible in combat. 

Like most of modern fantasy iconography, Paladin Girl derives much more from nineteenth-century art than from anything actually medieval. As late as 1856, Delacroix was still painting Clorinda pretty much in the Renaissance style - 

But three years later he also painted this image, of Ermina, also from Gerusalemme Liberata :

 
Classic Paladin Girl, right? Except the whole point of this image is that Ermina isn't a female knight: she's a princess disguised as a knight. (More specifically she's disguised as Clorinda, whose armour she's 'borrowed'.) Thus the long hair and the skirt: this is less wargear than cosplay. Clorinda, who's the real deal, wears full armour, has a more practical haircut, and carries a rather unfeminine bearded axe.

The real shift comes with the Pre-Raphaelites, whose chocolate-box medievalism lies at the root of most modern fantasy art. Here's Millais 1865 painting of Joan of Arc:

We're getting very close, now; and Walter Crane's Britomart, from his 1895-7 illustrations to The Faerie Queene, gets us even closer. Note sword, long hair, armoured skirt, and the large rondels on her chest that give the impression that her armour has breasts.

Leighton's 1901 painting The Accolade isn't a Paladin Girl image as such, but it clearly fed into the subsequent iconography.

There are plenty of other late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century examples:

Charles-Amable Lenoir

John Gilbert

Albert Lynch, 1903 - surely the secret inspiration for the haircuts used by 40K's Sisters of Battle!

Paul Antoine de la Boulaye, 1909

Note that more form-fitting armour is becoming the norm, here, with tapered waists and armoured skirts allowing these painters to display a classically feminine 'hourglass' figure even in full armour. (Contrast this with the armour in the sixteenth- and seventeenth-century images, which would mask the wearer's gender.) It's this iconography that fed into the 1948 Joan of Arc film starring Ingrid Bergman, although the need to make a costume that was actually wearable clearly led to some concessions to practicality.

Ingrid Bergman as Joan of Arc, 1948.

Bergman again, in the 1946 play the film was based on.

Paladin Girl went into abeyance somewhat during the 1970s, when warrior women in fantasy art tended more towards the 'valkyrie' or 'amazon' archetypes. (E.g. Red Sonja, Valkyrie from Marvel Comics, Hildebrandt's interpretation of Eowyn, every woman Franzetta ever painted.) She only started to make her way into D&D via Larry Elmore's illustrations of everyone's 1983 fantasy waifu, Aleena the Cleric.

BARGLE YOU FUCK DON'T SHOOT HER FOR SHE IS MY ONE TRUE LOVE!

NOW ALEENA IS DEAD AND I HAVE ONLY MY EIGHTIES HAIR TO CONSOLE ME!

It took much longer for her to become the default, though. In the very same book, Elmore's other female cleric - an idiosyncratic reworking of the 'valkyrie' type - looked like this: 

Most 'female fighter' illustrations in 1980s and 1990s fantasy media tended much more towards 'sexy' designs with lots of exposed skin, and armoured female fighters in D&D-adjacent media were more likely to look like this - 

Clyde Caldwell, cover illustration to Dark Heart (1992). 

When D&D 3rd edition came out in 2000 there was a self-conscious push against this kind of imagery, with Elmore's influence rejected wholesale in favour of the 'dungeon-punk' iconography for which the edition is famous (or notorious). Its iconic female paladin, Alhandra, looked like this:

However, in 2004 World of Warcraft launched, and all its female paladin-types looked more or less like this:

What had happened in the interim, of course, was an explosion in the popularity of anime, manga, and JRPGs in western geek circles. Manga and anime had a long preoccupation with 'female knight' characters, from the original Princess Knight manga series in 1953-6 to the epochal Lady Oscar (1972-3), and modern Japanese fantasy media is littered with 'cute female knight/cleric' figures. From the female priest in Dragon Quest III (1988), whose chainmail bodysuit, tabard, boots, mace, and haircut seem to have been directly based on Aleena five years earlier - 

to the iconic figure of Saber from Fate / Stay Night (2004), who basically defines the type going forwards. 

These Paladin Girl types grew out of the older pre-Raphaelite Joan of Arc figure reinterpreted through a manga filter, and in the early 2000s they were reimported to the West, with immediate effect. This anime-by-way-of-World-of-Warcraft style was everywhere in the fantasy art of the period. Tellingly, the 9th Edition of Magic: the Gathering (2005) saw the art for the iconic white card Serra Angel shift from this cone-bra stripper-samurai horrorshow -

To this - 

And that's where we've been ever since, basically. In 2009 Pathfinder even made it quasi-official by having their actual goddess of paladins, Iomedae, look like this:

And finally we end where we began, with Joan of Arc.

Art from the Joan of Arc board game, released 2019 by Mythic Games.

So what does it all mean? Paladin Girl, I'd suggest, represents a compromise between the sexualised 'warrior woman' designs of the 1980s and 1990s, with their loincloths and armoured bikinis, and the ideals of equal-opportunities empowerment that most modern fantasy media pays at least lip service to. She's 'empowered' - she wears full armour! She's got a sword! - but in a way that emphasises her 'good girl' femininity, rather than clashing with it. (The armour emphasises her breasts, waist, and hips rather than hiding them, she's obviously wearing make-up, and her power is clearly wielded on behalf of the existing social order, not against it.) She stands for female empowerment in its most non-threatening, least socially-disruptive form. Probably this is what led male artists to develop the type in the first place, against the backdrop of the original women's suffrage movement of 1897-1918, which presented them with much less comfortable models of what female power might look like.

But I wouldn't want to paint too bleak a picture of Paladin Girl. She can get pretty silly in her more fanservicey incarnations, all bare thighs and miniskirts and breastplates with cleavage windows: but, despite this, I've known several women to whom this iconography really appealed. As I mentioned early on, the optimistic reading of the archetype is that femininity is not incompatible with martial fantasy heroics. Think of it as the Legally Blonde of fantasy art cliches. 

Because if Elle Woods ever played D&D, you know her PC would look something like this...

The Undercellars - a playable dungeon for Patrick's Dungeon Poem challenge

This is my (characteristically late) contribution to Patrick's Dungeon Poem challenge. It's not especially artpunk, but it is functional. Pdf version available here.

The Undercellars – to be placed beneath the next house your PCs visit the basement of…

(For PCs of levels 2-4)

1: Rotting door in the darkest and least-visited corner of the basement, three-quarters covered in heaps of old junk. Ignored by the current residents, who assume it leads to an old cupboard or something. Crumbling carvings of horned figures and winged animals just visible in the surrounding stonework. Held shut by seven locks, once strong, now rusted almost to nothing. One good kick would smash it wide open.

On the other side are stone stairs leading steeply downwards and a skeleton in rotted rags, arms desperately outstretched. Ancient scratch-marks show it died clawing frantically at the door.

2: Six rusted cages along south wall. Five hold ancient skeletons. The door of the sixth hangs open.

As soon as the PCs enter the room the skeletons animate and begin rattling frantically in their cages, shaking the doors and clacking their jawbones in agitation. (Note that the width of the room means PCs are likely to hear them before they see them.) If their cage locks are smashed they run out of the room, up the stairs, and leave the building via the nearest door or window, attacking anyone who gets in their way. They disintegrate into dust the moment sunlight or moonlight touches their bones.

For each minute the rattling noises continue, or each time a loud noise is made in this room (e.g. a cage door being smashed open), there is a 1-in-10 chance that the beast in 3 awakes. 1d6 rounds later, it will crash through the door to its chamber and begin hunting the PCs.

Rusted iron hooks on the north wall hold the rotted remnants of dozens of green robes. The pocket of one holds a silver necklace set with small garnets (120 GP). The eastern wall is carved with a long list of names – several hundred in all, including the ancestors of many prominent local families. Wooden wreckage fills the middle of the room, warped by time and damp. Rusted iron door leads east to 3. Gaping, dripping hole leads south to 7.

3: The iron door that leads into this room is rusted shut. Bashing it open requires a Strength check. Each attempt made has a 1-in-3 chance of awakening the beast.

At the bottom of the stairs a huge creature lies sleeping, curled up on itself. Resembles an immense horned snake with six clawed legs. A glint of gold can be seen protruding from beneath its bulk: a white gold idol of a bat-like beast (500 GP). The beast can be woken by loud noises, or by taking damage: otherwise it sleeps through virtually anything, including having the idol slipped out from under its coils.

Once it wakes it tracks intruders by scent, patiently pursuing them around the complex. It isn’t fast, but it is very persistent, and once it has cornered someone it will methodically rip and bludgeon at them with its teeth, claws, horns, and sheer scaly mass until they are dead. The only ways to escape are to kill it, to leave via the stairs at 1, or to escape along the river. It cannot swim, so if anyone leads it to the river and then swims or boats away from the shore it will abandon the hunt and return to its lair.

4: Alcove holding heap of rubble that was once a statue. Clawed outstretched hand now the only part still recognisable. Wedged behind it is a rotted corpse in a tattered green robe, with a copper and malachite ring around one finger (25 GP). The present residents of the building above can identify it as having belonged to an eccentric great-aunt who went missing several decades ago.

5: Six stone pillars hung with rusted chains. Ancient bloodstains splatter the floor around each pillar for a range of several feet. Bone slivers wedged between the flagstones.

Clinging onto the ceiling are six black-winged murder-birds, in a state of deep hibernation. They will awaken 1d6 rounds after the PCs enter, and attack anyone not wearing a green robe. If routed they fly off to the river and away, not returning to their roosts until 1d3 days later. The beast from 3 will stop and eat the corpses of any dead murder-birds it comes across during its pursuit.

6: Walls engraved with crude carvings of human figures engaged in improbable-looking sex acts. Floor strewn with rotting pillows and bedding. Rack of cracked white clay pipes in northwest corner, beside a dented copper bowl containing a black tarry sludge, dried-out and unidentifiable. In the northeast corner are broken wine bottles, battered pewter cups, and a still-intact copper flask containing 8 doses of potent laudanum laced with hallucinogenic herbs. (Drinking a dose induces 1d6 hours of deep sleep filled with vivid and disturbing dreams – worth 10 GP per dose to an artist or insomniac. The whole flask at once would suffice to knock out the beast from 3, if it could be somehow tricked into swallowing it.) A shelf on the wall holds two silver goblets engraved For the Champions (15 GP each), and a golden chalice engraved For the Queen (160 GP).

At the bottom of the pit to the south lounges Dryden, an immortal violet-skinned youth in tattered orange rags, dozing away the centuries on a pile of rotted silk. His long purple fingernails are still immaculate, even after all these years, and he wears a golden bracelet set with topaz jewels (240 GP) around his left wrist. He is beautiful, flirtatious, sexually omnivorous, and utterly incurious, answering all questions about himself and the complex in the vaguest possible terms. (‘It was built by… people… who’ve been gone for… quite a while?’) He would like the PCs to help him escape, but if they don’t then he won’t push the matter. He can always just sleep until someone else comes along.

Anyone who comes into skin-to-skin contact with Dryden will feel temporary elation followed by a strange sense of weakness, and will lose 1 HP per hour for the next 1d3 hours.

7: Irregular tunnel, damp and dripping, rocky floor slick and uneven underfoot. Three spindly pale-skinned proto-humans wedged into cracks in the rock, sleeping – they can sleep through all but the loudest noises, but bright light will bring them stretching and blinking from their crevices, long white limbs unfolding themselves from the walls, pale tongues licking across wide mouths full of needle-like teeth. They have no language, but can be placated with offerings of food – otherwise they will attack the plumpest-looking PC, seeking to drag them off into the darkness and drown them in the river before eating them. If routed they flee south and along the river to 8 – they are unaffected by the ghosts at 10. If the PCs pursue them to 8 they will make a final stand and fight to the death. Their crevices contain a haul of old, cracked bones and a rusted dagger with a large pearl set in the pommel (120 GP).

8: Smuggler’s camp. Corroded lanterns, rotted barrels, a crate of packed with bottles of contraband brandy (400 GP, but far too heavy, bulky, and fragile to carry around while adventuring). A rowboat has been pulled up onto the shore here. Its timbers are warped and leaky: it could be used to travel between this location and areas 10, 12 or 14, but would undoubtedly sink if used on a longer voyage.

9: A bare stone span crosses the river, its wooden handrails rotted to nothing. Ancient clawmarks on the stone. An undead smuggler named Redmud Bill crouches on the bridge, clutching his burned-out brass lantern. He wears threadbare work clothes and a jaunty black tricorn with an opal bead at each corner. Will not let anyone pass, threatening to ‘rouse the river’ if anyone tries it.

Bill’s mind is so eroded that all he can remember is that he came here in search of treasure, and he’s meant to wait here and guard the bridge ‘until his mates get back with the loot’. Nothing can induce him to leave his post, but he will permit the PCs to pass if bribed with treasure worth 100 GP or more. If shown the corpse of the smuggler-chief from 15, he emits a grief-stricken wail and leaps into the river. He will not resurface.

If the PCs attack or push past him, Bill rips one of the beads from his hat and throw it into the river. Moments later, massive blasts of freezing water mingled with stone and bone start exploding upwards, causing everyone standing on the bridge (including Bill) to save every round or take 1d6 damage and be knocked into the roiling, churning water below. Anyone in the water takes an additional 1d6 damage per round from crushing and drowning, and is permitted a Strength check each round to fight their way onto the shore. (If Bill falls into the river, he takes only half damage and automatically clambers back onto the bridge after one round.) The river remains roused for 1d8 rounds, and then falls quiet, though if Bill is still alive and fighting at this point he’ll throw in a second bead to rouse it again.

PCs who obtain Bill’s hat may find it a useful way of getting rid of the beast from 3, as once knocked into the river it will simply thrash around helplessly in the water until it drowns.

10: Graveyard. Along the side of the river stands a row of uniform grey headstones marking the graves of illegitimate children, secret spouses, disowned relatives, and murdered rivals, engraved with cryptic symbols meaningful only to the hands that carved them. The ghosts of those buried here are desperate for acknowledgement, but over the centuries their stories have all become jumbled together, an endless tangle of scandals and secrets without beginning or end. Anyone approaching them will find their mind filled with pleading whispers, and must save or stand, transfixed, listening to the stories of the dead until they are physically dragged away. Anyone left among the graves for more than an hour will be possessed by a confused composite ghost, and will flee the scene on an impossible mission to prove that they were covertly murdered by their illegitimate father who was also secretly their wife, or something of the sort. This possession lasts for 1d6 months, or until a Bless spell is cast on them.

11: The river is slow-flowing, icy cold, and deep enough to swim (or drown) in. The riverbed is covered with drifts of ancient bone – several hundred skeletons worth in all. Diving beneath the surface with a waterproof light source (e.g. a Light spell) will reveal light glinting off a suspiciously pristine greataxe still clutched in the hands of a skeleton encased in rusted armour, its copper haft engraved with astrological symbols. This is the axe Starshine, which normally functions as a Greataxe +1, but serves as a Greataxe +4 when wielded in starlight beneath the open sky.

12: A lone proto-human (as room 7) sits here, singing wordlessly to itself in the dark, casting nets woven from the sinews of strange subterranean beasts. If approached by PCs bearing lights it abandons its nets and dives into the water, swimming rapidly downriver. Its nets are especially effective against winged creatures such as those in 5 and 15, which if hit with them must save or crash, wings entangled, to the floor.

13:  Tattered parchments nailed to the walls in flapping sheets, bearing mostly-illegible genealogies and family trees stretching back through the centuries. Warped wooden tables heaped with dried-up inkwells and mouldy parchment. Skeleton sprawled on the floor in rotten green robes, its skull staved in by a blow to the back of the head. A wide flight of stairs leads eastward down to 14, strewn with the remains of another two hacked-up skeletons in green robes.

A huge coffer made from beaten black iron stands in south-west corner, packed with centuries worth of accumulated blackmail material: documents bearing witness to false marriages, forged inheritances, land grabs, rigged elections to civic offices, etc, etc. Most are so old as to now be of only historical interest, but a patient sift would yield enough material to ruin 1d6 prominent local families if revealed. All would be willing to kill to prevent this information becoming public.

14: Three crudely-carven statues of horned figures. Those to the left and right are male. The one in the centre is female. All are enfolded in drapery and depicted reaching outwards with long, clawed hands. Bronze bowls at their feet, stained by centuries of offerings in wine and blood.

Anyone pouring wine or blood into the bowls before the male figures gains +1 strength permanently, and is filled with belligerent and vengeful urges. If they ever back down from a fight, or fail to avenge a slight or wrong done to them, then the next time they sleep they are tormented in their dreams by terrible horned figures, gain no rest, and suffer 1d6 damage. This curse can only trigger once per day.

Anyone pouring wine or blood into the bowl before the female figure gains +1 wisdom permanently, and is filled with impulses of pragmatic cruelty. If they ever make a decision that causes material disadvantage to themselves in order to benefit someone to whom they are not directly related by blood, then the next time they sleep they are tormented in their dreams by terrible faceless beings, gain no rest, and suffer -1 to all saves for 7 days. This curse can only trigger once per day, but it does stack with itself, to a potential maximum of -7 to all saves.

A Bless spell removes both the positive and negative effects of these blessings, but the recipient takes 2d6 damage as the dark forces within them burst bloodily out of their body, leaving gory stigmata.

In the southernmost corner is huddled a skeleton, its once-green robes black with ancient blood. Its bony hands clutch a silver talisman engraved with a horned figure (10 GP).

15: Immense vaulted subterranean hall, the product of incalculable labour. Rotting divans litter the floor. Walls engraved with bass reliefs showing robed men prostrating themselves between a horned female figure. Floor strewn with ancient corpses spitted upon one another’s swords, some in the drab clothes of dockworkers, others wearing rotted green robes. Corpse of the smuggler-chief lies at the foot of the stairs to 13, rusted cutlass still clutched in one skeletal hand. His leather backpack contains a miscellaneous tangle of looted coins and jewellery worth 370 GP. Before him lies a sundered skeleton in a green robe, a heavy gold chain glinting around its neck (140 GP).

In the centre of the room a huge brass brazier hangs suspended from the ceiling on an iron chain, and on this brazier the Winged Guardian – a great leathery bat-like beast with a single huge yellow eye – dozes over the bones of its dead masters. It will not attack PCs who hold up the idol from 3: otherwise it launches itself up with an ear-splitting shriek and assails them, buffeting them with its wings while spraying them with the searing, tar-like venom it drools continually from its maw. It will pursue fleeing PCs as far as the river, but not beyond. If routed it flies up to the ceiling and clings to the roof, but if the PCs continue to persecute it with missile fire it flies back down and fights until slain.

The Winged Guardian and the beast from 3 are mortal enemies, and if they ever encounter one another they will fight to the death.

Three pits in the east lead down to 16, coils of rusted chain heaped next to each one. In the south-west corner stands a broken-down divan: a green-robed skeleton sprawls beside it with a crossbow bolt wedged between its vertebrae, clearly shot in the back in the act of trying to crawl underneath it. Beneath this divan is a concealed trapdoor leading to 17 – anyone opening this can look down onto the Queen’s bier without awakening her, potentially allowing a round of surprise attacks.

16: Dank dungeon scattered with rusted chains, slumped skeletons in rags fettered to walls, a faint smell of ancient human waste. Two mutant shame children lurk here, wordless and feral, too warped to die, their mottled skin dotted with patches of scale and hair. Skilled trapmakers, they have set up a line of hidden snares across the room that snap taut when triggered, entangling victims legs in lengths of weighted chain: the children then leap forth to garrote their immobilized victims. If routed they run and hide in dark corners. Child-like in intelligence, they respond positively if shown any kind of affection, and will loyally follow anyone who feeds them or treats them with kindness.

17: Here the Horned Queen sleeps through the centuries on her bier of bones, resplendent in shimmering robes of green silk embroidered with golden thread (120 GP if intact, 12 GP if hacked and stained). She wears a golden circlet set with three cut emeralds (950 GP). Her two champions lie curled up on the floor beside her like dogs, naked save for a few rags of clothing, huge rusted greatswords lying on the ground beside them. All three are horned and clawed, their bones clearly visible through their leathery grey-brown skin. Their yellow fangs are very long and very sharp. On a stone table next to the bier stands an engraved silver flask (30 GP) containing nine doses of dreamwine, which – if swallowed – place the imbiber in a dreamlike and disorientated mental state for the next 3d6 hours, during which they are extremely suggestible. (Trying to make someone do something heinous or self-destructive allows them a save to break the effect.) Dreamwine is worth 50 GP per dose to criminals or cult leaders.

If the PCs enter the chamber the Queen will awaken instantly. She is unaware that her followers have perished while she slept, and will assume that the PCs have come to worship her if any of the following are true:

·        The PCs are all wearing green robes.
·        The PCs all have blessings from the statues in 14.
·        The PCs come bearing offerings of blood and/or wine in the goblets and chalice from 6.
·        The first PC into the room holds up the silver talisman from 14.

If the Queen believes the PCs to be worshippers, she will enquire after the state of her followers: whether their numbers are growing, whether their bloodlines are strong, whether their secrets remain secure, etc. If the PCs give plausible-sounding answers she will bestow a ritual blessing and dismiss them before returning to her sleep. (They can then attack with the benefit of surprise, if they choose to do so.) She will become increasingly suspicious if reawakened by the same group of ‘worshippers’ more than once. PCs who tell her that the complex is under attack may be able to trick her and the champions into a trap. She is unaware of the snares in 16, and will blunder straight into them if lured there.

If the Queen does not believe the PCs are here to worship her, she gives them a stark choice: follow her or die. PCs who submit will be relieved of their weapons, and required to drink one dose of dreamwine each: they will then be subjected to a nightmarish initiation by ordeal, which they will never subsequently be able to remember except as a confused nightmare of scorching flames, icy waters, and monstrous faces looming out of the dark. Any PC who is affected by the dreamwine for more hours than their Wisdom score will succumb, and become a dedicated cultist of the Horned Queen. Others may save once per day, with a cumulative -1 penalty for each day that passes: success means they emerge from their fugue state of terror and trauma for long enough to try to escape. Cultist PCs who are rescued from the Queen may eventually recover after 1d6 months of systematic deprogramming.

The Queen is utterly ancient, and believes in little save the sanctity of bloodlines and of secrets. In battle, her champions attack with their greatswords, while the Queen uses her curses. If her champions are killed, the Queen will offer the PCs her circlet and dreamwine in exchange for her life. If they refuse this offer, she fights to the death. 

Monster Stats

5 Skeletons (room 2): 1 HD (3 hp), AC leather, claw (1d3), morale NA.

The Beast (room 3): 8 HD (37 hp), AC plate, move as dwarf, morale 9. The beast has enough teeth, claws, horns, and coils to attack everyone adjacent to it every round for 1d8 damage. Its blood is deathly-cold and horribly poisonous: anyone wounding it in hand to hand combat must save to avoid being splattered, suffering crippling, burning agony (-4 to all rolls) until the venom is washed clean. Characters with no exposed skin are immune to this. (The robes from 2 may be useful, here.) If the beast is killed, 2d10 doses of blood may be collected from it, usable as blade venom or contact poison.

6 Murder-birds (room 5): 1 HD (4 hp), AC chain, beak and claws (1d4), morale 6. Anyone wounded by a murder-bird just keeps bleeding, losing 1 HP per round until they take a round to bandage their wounds. Magical healing instantly ends the bleeding.

Dryden (room 6): 2 HD (11 hp), AC unarmoured, poisonous fingernails (1 damage, but save or take 3d6 damage when the poison kicks in 1d10 rounds later), morale 5. Regenerates 1 HP per hour unless dead. Between 0 HP and -5 HP he will look dead, but will actually continue to regenerate until fully restored – only at -6 or below does he actually die.

Proto-Humans (3 in room 7, 1 in room 12): 2 HD (8 hp), AC unarmoured, bite (1d6), morale 6. If two proto-humans hit the same target in the same round then their victim has been swarmed and grabbed. They may make a Strength check to break free – if this fails they will be yanked off-balance and dragged off helplessly into the darkness.

Redmud Bill (room 9): 3 HD (13 hp), AC leather, rusty hatchet (1d6), morale 8. Has three Beads of River Rousing, which, if dropped into a freshwater river or lake, rouse it into furious, churning waterspouts for 1d8 rounds for 1 mile in every direction.

Winged Guardian (room 15): 5 HD (21 hp), AC chain, wing buffet (1d6), morale 8. Whomever the guardian is currently attacking must save each round or be seared by the rain of sticky, burning venom that pours constantly from its mouth, taking 1d8 damage – this damage is halved (rounding down) if they have a shield to shelter under.

2 Shame Children (room 16): 3 HD (11 hp), AC leather, chain garotte (1d8 – if max damage is rolled the victim passes out for 1d10 minutes), morale 5. Experts at hiding and sneaking – if you lose sight of them, you’ll never find them. Attack only from ambush.

2 Horned Champions (room 17): 4 HD (17 hp), AC chain, greatsword (2d6), morale 10.

Horned Queen (room 17): 5 HD (23 hp), AC chain, teeth and claws (1d6), morale 10. Once per round can call down a random curse on a PC, who must save or suffer (roll 1d4: 1= blindness, 2 = fear, 3 = madness, 4 = paralysis) for the next 1d6 rounds. Anyone wounded by the Queen starts bleeding secrets, and will uncontrollably start confessing whatever they most want to keep secret for as long as the blood continues to flow from their wounds.