When I was a lad, my mother said
"You dry your tears and go to bed,
I know my son will travel far,
Born beneath a shooting star."
In after years, my father said,
As he pulled my hair and knocked my head,
"They mustn't whimper at a scar,
Who're born beneath a shooting star."
The woodsman sighed and stared at his calloused hand, worn from contact with ax-haft and sword-hilt. Conan reached his long arm for the wine-jug. The forester stared at him, comparing him with the men about them, the men who had died along the lost river, comparing him with those other wild men over that river. Conan did not seem aware of his gaze.
"Barbarism is the natural state of mankind," the borderer said, still staring somberly at the Cimmerian. "Civilization is unnatural. It is a whim of circumstance. And barbarism must always ultimately triumph."
Beyond The Black River [63]
PRIMEUMATON came up with a writing challenge: make a seven-hex adventure set in your bespoke TTRPG setting. I like this. Similar to eating your vegetables or properly disposing of a corpse, forcing yourself to write gameable content (instead of pages and pages of lore) is always a good idea.
I've been toying with a setting idea (Book of Enoch meets Ancient Greece meets Book of the New Sun meets DEAD gODS meets the Lovecraft Mythos meets Ogre Gods), so I'll be picking up the gauntlet. Any good project needs a name, and given my inspirations GRAPES OF WRATH is a strong contender.
"They were terrible in a fashion I am not certain I can explain - like apes in that they had hairy, crooked bodies, long-armed, short-legged and thick-necked. It was something in their faces, perhaps in the huge pale-irised eyes. It told me they were as human as I."
The Claw of the Conciliator [303-4]
SIN EATER
Skill: 1. Brewer. 2. Combat Engineer. 3. Metalsmith. 4. Stonemason.
Starting Items: A mattock (heavy), or a war pick (medium) and a buckler shield, a flask of mushroom wine, a jar of pickles, a pouch of iron nuggets, coat of plates (medium) and two Tools of the Trade.
The Sin Eaters are a slave race of troglodyte labourers. In centuries past, feuding Nephilim demanded huge sums of copper, gold, iron and silver to satiate their war machines. When their mine slaves couldn't meet quota, the impatient godlings perverted them into something that would.
DEODAND
Skill: 1. Herbalism. 2. Butchery. 3. Handcrafts. 4. Astronomy.
Starting Items: An applewood flask of water, a dense brick of pemmican, a heartwood bow (medium) and a quiver of two dozen arrows, a chert spear (medium), an obsidian knife (light), the tanned skin of something you killed (light), cabachon jewellery and two Wyld Trinkets.
The Deodands are to humans what wolfhounds are to wolves. Something that looks like you, but twisted into a form better suited to kill you. Elongated limbs and clawed hands. Massive saucer eyes and distendable jaws with too many fucking teeth. A race selectively bred by the Nephilim into bipedal killing machines with a divine mandate to bring the wild places of Urth to heel.
Dragoleaf's Directory now has all of my work in one place. I'll be linking it under "My TTRPG Content", as well as on the N@TO Discord. If you're a player of mine and notice something is missing, let me know via a comment here or a direct message through Discord.
In addition to compiling all my content, I've also gone through and updated everything to the unified format I mention prior. I haven't revisited any unfinished scenarios yet, that's on the backburner until I complete the projects I'm currently working on.
Thanks for stopping by!
The blog is called "Federal Agent Make-Believe", yet it never posts Delta Green content.
How curious...
Two adventurers and their hirelings reentered the FLOODED FORGE, eager to finish the fumigation and claim loot of the highest craftdwarfship.
Alan Lee
The Brood Snatcher lay anchored in the demesne of Ingmaind the Ascending, counting their coin and mourning their losses. An outrigger from the Shattered Islands approached, the grinning captain bringing adventuring supplies to exchange for hard-earned treasure.
Also aboard the karakoa was a somber Axedwarf from the Mountainhomes. He said he was a friend of Father Dewyd, journeying on a quest to slay the daimones that killed his drinking buddy. The party eagerly welcomed their newest recruit and arrayed themselves for further adventure:
Five adventurers arrayed themselves on the SINKING TOWER's third floor, ready to descend to the penultimate layer of the dungeoncrawl.
Having hired Perry the Homunculus, the gang quizzed him for information. The mutant said the second level was a flooded library; where the skinkmen fled after he tortured them in self-defence. The party used the monotreme's alchemy skills and Dewyd's brewing expertise to bottle some clerical miracles, distilling monster organs into draughts of wound closure and liquid courage.
