Master Pett’s

(So much more than just another bloke in a dress.)

[previously]

“Grotsward, what time is it?”

“Six Threbs beyond Tulward, your corpulence.”

“Normal time, Grotsward.”

“But master, what exactly is ‘normal’ time?”

“I can see the time has come for the teaching stick to be applied to your hide as a reminder of impertinence. Stick number eighteen today, I think. The one with points—fetch it.”

“Number eighteen, master, as you wish.”

Sadly, we all need to know the time, and even for those who dwell below ground, knowing the correct time of day can be crucial to certain arcane matters and astronomical observations. More than just humanoid creatures need to have an idea of the passing hours, days, and seasons, although the more civilized races have made an art form of conforming to time.

Here is a selection of timepieces—some crude, some cunning, some weird—to slip into your adventures.

1. A waterclock made of pumice carved into the likenesses of dodos

2. A huge hourglass made with the ashes of basilisks and held in the arms of four petrified warriors with distended jaws holding sundials

3. An incense clock, consisting of a dozen peacock figures standing side by side—as each hour passes the next peacock incense holder begins to burn

4. A tally stick of ogre bones carved with scrimshaw figures of days and passing seasons

5. A vast candle fully thirty feet high graded for the passing of a month and made of black wax

6. A blackened tree carved like a totem with pictures of screaming devils rises in a circle of twelve stones

7. A series of descending pools and waterwheels that power a huge clock face made from dragon scales

8. A miniature brass clock moved by a tiny homunculus that resembles a spider

9. A gold and platinum pocket sundial in a leather case

10. An elaborate chamber with a gushing waterfall that slowly turns a crude yet very old mossy timber face upon which are carved the number of days in a year; a single metal bar points to the number of the day

11. A graded candle made of dragon fat that burns for a year and a day

12. A clock in a large wooden case depicting faceless figures marching around the sun and moon

13. A sundial made from fey bones and elf teeth

14. Twelve homunculus ravens caw the hour endlessly from their perch upon a goblin skeleton

15. A chamber containing elephants that power a temple clock high on the roof that strikes the hour with gongs and is preceeded by a procession of mechanical camels

16. A tower thirty-three feet high containing a water clock powered by water elementals that keeps the time and displays the zodiac and astronomical bodies

17. A silver and bronze oil lamp clock with a silver crow’s head figure and graduated times set in gold strips

18. A bored imp that looks like a pig with wings swallows jade timepeas from jars marked with hours

19. An hourglass set in the gripping mummified hand of a gargoyle

20. An oil clock filled with floating fingers

21. An elaborate water clock that drops a metal skull into a bowl below a rusty guillotine on the hour

22. A zombie cockerel that crows at dusk and dawn

23. The Shepherd’s Devil—an infamous timepiece said to be haunted by its own grim reaper and housed in a bell tower surrounded by traps to prevent it escaping

24. A clock within an armillary sphere powered by attendant imps that track the passing heavens

25. A sundial made of dragon skin

26. A fine case clock depicting dancing sun and moons in long cloaks being eaten by rampant stirges and powered by a trio of permanent unseen servants

27. A clock made entirely of mice skeletons

28. A water clock of bronze and ivory powered by an enslaved water elemental that beats a gong every hour

29. A fine gold and bone clock that keeps track of the passing seasons on magnificent landscape paintings

30. A geared water clock connected to a stuffed dancing bear that dances a circle every hour

31. A clock made entirely of animate zombie rats

32. A goblin warlock’s tally stick depicting beheaded horses and dogs

33. A stirge’s head hourglass

34. A huge giant’s tally stick made of whale bones and mammoth tusks

35. An oil clock held in a trio of glass flumph

36. A dwarf miner’s lamp clock carved from figures of mutilated goblins

37. An imp holding a huge circular tally stick made of imp teeth that counts the seconds, minutes, and hours of the day

38. A water clock depicting sultry mermaids eating lobsters

39. An immense oil clock some twenty feet high that marks the passing days shown by silver moons and gold suns

40. A carved choker shadow clock

41. An incense clock fills a chamber; it has intricate statues of dancing songbirds and wind chimes

42. A sumptuous dwarven water clock with cogs of finely carved gemstones

43. A perpetually turning prayer wheel powered by an unseen servant; the wheel clicks off the hours

44. The Mummer’s Fright—a haunted timepiece made of driftwood and iron said to have a resident wraith that eats children at midnight if any walk by

45. A petrified gnome clasps a hourglass that is decorated with cockatrice feathers

46. An homunculus resembling a fat two-headed toad endlessly licks off the minutes on an abacus

47. A clock made of iron and the animated hands of skeletons

48. A chained trio of trolls lacerate each other on an hourly signal given by a flesh golem bearing a scythe

49. An elven oil lamp that burns for a hundred and one years

50. An animated object with three metal heads screams the hours

Adventure: Midgard Adventures: Madman at the Bridge

• System: Pathfinder
• GM: Ben McFarland
• Time: Thursday, 9:00 AM (4 hrs)

Adventure: Midgard Adventures: Old School Redux

• System: Old School Hack
• GM: Wade Rockett
• Time: Thursday, 2:00 PM (2 hrs)

Adventure: Midgard Adventures: Journey into the West

• System: Pathfinder
• GM: Christina Stiles
• Time: Thursday, 2:00 PM  (4 hrs)

Panel: RPG Freelancing 101

• Time: Friday, 9:00 AM (1 hr)

Panel: Creating and Improving Your Homebrew RPG Setting

• Time: Friday, 10:00 AM (1 hr)

Adventure: Midgard Adventures: Grandmother’s Fire

• GM: Ben McFarland
• System: Pathfinder
• Time: Friday, 1:00 PM (4 hrs)

Panel:  Meet the KQ Minions!

• Time: Saturday, 9:00 AM (1 hr)

Panel: How to Start an RPG Publishing Company

• Time: Saturday, 10:00 AM (1 hr)

Panel:  Everything You Don’t Need to Know about the RPG Industry

• Time: Saturday, 11:00 AM (1 hr)

Adventure: Midgard Adventures: Who Watches the Watchtower?

• System: AGE
• GM: Wolfgang Baur
• Time: Saturday, 8:00 PM (3 hrs)

* “Wolfgang and the Minions” would make a great band name.

The elder gods run into trouble when they collide with heroic fantasy. Mighty warriors and wizards battle supernatural horror all day, every day. What makes Tsathoqqua and Shub-Niggurath any more frightening than a lich or a dragon?

Heroic FRPG adventures tend to be framed in terms of good versus evil. Villains strive to bring about some earthly manifestation of evil—greed, violence, hate, destruction. In Lovecraft’s brand of horror, evil and good are largely irrelevant. Boiled down to essential salts, this type of tale relies on four tenets.

The cosmos is huge, and humanity is small. Humans and demihumans are big fish only in their laughably small pond. On the grand scale of existence, our spot is near the bottom. There are creatures so far beyond us and our gods in age, understanding, and power that the ant/human analogy fails. We at least notice ants and find them interesting. The gulf separating us from the top of the scale leaves us more akin to dust than to ants.

Gods are not what we think they are. The beings that mortals revere as deities in typical fantasy worlds are nothing of the sort. They are above us on the power scale, but they’re just more of the same in the grand order (or disorder) of the cosmos. No entity of any real consequence watches over or protects us; we are alone and defenseless against an uncaring universe.

Reality is beyond our comprehension. Reality extends far beyond what we perceive; our limited senses barely scrape its surface. Far from being a curse, this is a blessing in disguise, because the human mind is too small, weak, and primitive to safely embrace anything beyond the sliver of existence that it sees.

And yet . . . There are creatures with knowledge and perception superior to ours with whom we can interact. Under the right conditions, they can even teach us things, but what we learn probably won’t be to our benefit. It’s more likely that they see us only as obstacles, rivals, or tools.

How can those principles be worked into a fantasy setting where the monstrous and the supernatural are encountered on a regular basis?

Some of the monsters that adventurers clash with undoubtedly are among those creatures that have a fuller grasp of the universe’s true horror than we have. Mind flayers, beholders, liches, sorcerers, the drow, even dragons might have pushed their consciousness into realms that are better left alone. This should seldom play to their or anyone else’s ultimate benefit. There’s a reason why it’s called forbidden knowledge.

Even in a heroic campaign, cosmic horrors need to remain beyond mortal comprehension and beyond mortal power to defeat. Anything else removes them from the realm of cosmic horror. Characters armed with fireballs and vorpal swords should never triumph dramatically over creatures that supersede the laws of human magic.

Instead, heroes must claim their victories by defeating the earthly minions and servants of such creatures and thereby forestalling their plans, temporarily. Characters can kill a dragon or destroy a whole city of beholders, but they should never get the idea that they’ve beaten an elder being from beyond the spheres of thought. It’s always out there, waiting and hungry, unknowable and unkillable. Does it want revenge? Probably, but not in terms that we would understand.

Its servants, however, are an entirely different story.

Next week, I’ll consider ways to punish heroes for crossing swords with the unknowable other than scooping out their minds or popping them like bubble wrap.

About the Author
Steve Winter has been involved in publishing Dungeons & Dragons in one capacity or another since 1981. Currently he’s a freelance writer and designer in the gaming field. You can visit Steve and read more of his thoughts on roleplaying games, D&D, and more at his website: Howling Tower. If you missed the first of these entries on the Kobold Quarterly site, please follow the Howling Tower tag to read more!

Clockwork Dead

This corpse moves erratically, and each step it takes is accompanied by spasms and twitching. Wearing what appears to be leather armor stitched into its skin, it has rotting flesh that is held together by a mixture of moving metal gears and strange tubes. The creature’s lower jaw has an amalgamation of grinding gears that drip a black fluid.

Clockwork Dead    CR 2

XP 600
NE Medium construct (clockwork)
Init +5; Senses darkvision 60 ft., low light vision; Perception +0

DEFENSE
AC 17, touch 13, flat-footed 14 (+2 armor, +1 Dex, +2 dodge, +2 natural)
hp 36 (3d10+20)
Fort +1, Ref +3, Will +1
DR 5/slashing; Immune construct traits
Weaknesses vulnerability to electricity

OFFENSE
Speed 40 ft.
Melee Slam +6 (1d6+4)
Special Attacks Gear Strikes, Breath Weapon

STATISTICS
Str 17, Dex 12, Con —, Int —, Wis 10, Cha 10
Base Atk +3; CMB +6; CMD 19
Feats Improved Initiative, Lightning Reflexes
Special Qualities Winding

ECOLOGY
Environment any
Organization any
Treasure none

Gear Strikes (Ex) Whenever a clockwork dead takes a full attack action, it can make one additional slam attack at its highest base attack bonus.

Filth Burst (Ex) When a clockwork dead is destroyed, it explodes in a burst of gore-covered springs, gears, and other clockwork parts. All creatures adjacent to the clockwork dead take 3d6 damage and must make a Fortitude save (DC 12) or contract the disease filth fever.

Breath Weapon (Ex) Once every 1d4 rounds, a clockwork dead can cause the superheated fluid that lubricates its rotting body to spew forth from its mouth of spinning gears. This liquefied filth targets any creature in a 15-ft. cone. Any creatures caught in the attack take 3d4 fire damage and are allowed to make a Reflex saving throw for half damage. Once sprayed, this filth covers the ground and acts as the spell grease (DC 11) to any who enter or pass through the area.

The recent appearance of the clockwork dead is the realized dreams of foul necromancers and artificers alike.

While seeking a way to combine technology and magic, a number of members of various disciplines within a secretive guild created several failed prototypes before they finally discovered a way to fashion clockwork dead. Though none know what goal the guild sought to accomplish by creating these constructs, the creatures can serve different roles depending upon the needs of their owners.

Tactics/Strategy

The appearance of a clockwork dead might lead the common adventurer to assume that he or she faces nothing more than a strange variation of simple undead. This case of mistaken identity has been the career-ending error of many adventuring groups. Without knowing the exact nature of these organisms, confusion has caused many adventurers to waste spells and item charges as well as expend other combat-based abilities without any effect.

Clockwork dead have no mercy in combat. When in battle, it makes use of its powerful slam attacks against any who are unfortunate enough to become a target. The clockwork dead is not intelligent enough to make tactical choices in the use of its breath weapon, so it sprays the foul black liquid as often as it can. When a clockwork dead reaches 0 hit points, it explodes, sending a mixture of rotting flesh, gears, bone fragments, and other shrapnel flying at anyone unfortunate enough to be near the creature at the time of its demise.

Society

Although the most commonly encountered clockwork dead are of the standard type presented above, others possess a variety of different traits. Some are customized with multiple arms or other elaborate clockwork grafts—only the creator’s imagination and wealth limits the potential options that such a construct might have. Clockwork dead are, for the most part, unthinking automatons, and they can do little more than follow a short list of orders. When left unattended and given no specific tasks, clockwork dead act much like common undead and mill about in search of living creatures to slaughter. Clockwork dead always follow their controller’s orders and have no regard for their own safety.

Encounters

Since all clockworks need winding, it is not uncommon that clockwork dead are accompanied by a group of controllers who remain hidden until these creatures complete their tasks or are in need winding. If a clockwork dead is destroyed, those accompanying it collect the parts with the intention of using them in new constructs.

CONSTRUCTION
The creator of a clockwork dead must start with a fresh corpse and specialized clockwork pieces worth 425 gp. The price listed is for the animation of a full-sized adult corpse; this cost is halved if applied to a small creature such as a child.
CL 10th; Price 5,950 gp
Requirements Craft Construct, geas/quest, burning hands, creator must be at least caster level 10th; Skill Craft (clockwork) DC 18; Cost 3,425 gp

For more monsters to add to your campaign, explore the Creature Daily site!

As ever, readers who are new to the diary, please scroll down a bit to where you see the Thppgrg tag. Click on it. Yeah, that’s right. Otherwise, if you missed part fifteen, you can just click here. (Art by Chris McFann.)

DAY FORTY-FIVE

And with that, finally, it’s done. The stupid play . . . is complete. We got the bugger.

It took hours, and hours, and HOURS, and tears, and sweat, and blood, and cursing, and several bouts of rock-paper-scissors (including a round-robin tournament to settle an argument about the exact rules of rock-paper-scissors) and one semi-brief semi-hostage semi-crisis when Vladamir VanO’Shaughnessy Blah-blah-blah #3 freaked-the-hell-out from the stress of re-editing (for the 8th time) the mute yeti lab-assistant Nigel’s interpretive-dance soliloquy about the evils of gambling and horse theft in Act 2 . . . he was also, in his defense, using an old brain that once belonged to a large and angry hillbilly tap-dance instructor at the time—and he locked himself and Jimbo in the closet. Although, apparently, the involvement of Jimbo in the crisis was completely accidental. Also, it took twenty-three pots of coffee and a handful each of complete rewrites and powerful prescription amphetamines, along with cutting the entire script into strips and throwing it into the air and letting Princess Leafirellha reassemble it, twice, and all nine uses of quickened wish that Mr. Bliss had and some stealing from Wikipedia (that one was my idea), and—in the end—the assistance of Dead-Neck McGee the stupid cleric ghost in coming up with a catchy rhyme for the word “cromulance” during the reprise of the show’s opening number during the penultimate car-chase gun-fight in Act 3 . . . but the rock-opera romantic-comedy/mistaken-identity musical action/love-story extravaganza Margin of Errors: +/-L.OV[E] is finally finished.

And it’s actually really good. I’m honored to have written it. Even if that stupid ghost gets his name in the credits along with me. In his defense, it’s a really good rhyme for “cromulance.” And he did also help resolve the “B-Plot” with the gnome-cloning machine and the mohawked bikers vs. Japanese schoolgirls knitting-school rivalry.

If I had to name the part of the final work I’m most proud of, I guess I would probably say it’s the role I wrote for myself as “Maxx Thrust-Gofast”—the enigmatic, handsome, and mysterious (but sensitive!) goblin secret-agent/billionaire owner of Thrust-Gofast Ultimate Designs and brilliant inventor of the revolutionary Steel-Thrust Go-Fastinator. He’s the sponsor of the plot-central pit-trap-building competition, and a jet-setting playboy and world-class karate expert, and I even wrote myself a “bit” where I get to do a deus ex machina sort of thing at the end, where I set everything right: reward the good, punish the wicked, and get the girl.

It’s sort of my signature shout-out to Shakespeare.

The best part is that because it’s a play and—as the writer—I get to control the whole world and everyone in it and their dialogue, I never actually have to explain exactly what the Steel-Thrust Go-Fastinator is or what it actually does. It just makes me look super cool and smart.

Also, my character gets all the best lines and doesn’t have to sing OR dance—just, like, lean against things and give witty comebacks to perfect joke set-ups and look cool in the awesome costume I designed and will subsequently have an entire professional costuming department make for me by hand. Writing is the BEST.

With a little luck, I can even spin-off the character of Maxx Thrust-Gofast into other work and maybe other venues. I think he’s a really inspiring figure. He certainly inspires me. My first thought, just off the top of my head, is a video game; maybe kind of a 2-D old-school side-scroller like Mega Man X meets Donkey Kong Country, with the exploration elements of Castlevania: Symphony of the Night with a Double Dragon thing, and racing sections like in Mario Kart 64.

Then, I think, a tie-in cartoon. Maybe a cereal.

I’m currently looking into Kickstarter funding.

To help facilitate expansions of the property, I subtly worked into the script a bit of a rags-to-riches, intrigue-heavy backstory, with him growing up as a gifted gold-medal Olympian jiu-jitsu swimmer and astronaut heart surgeon who gives it all up when his father—the simple jet-pack repairman, Lance Thrust-Gofast—is killed by a former student from his old laser-sword dojo, who later turns out to be his own twin brother. It’s all mapped out on a napkin.

The part I would say I’m least happy about is that my idiot writing partners cut pretty much my entire character, and most especially all his backstory, scenes, entrances, and the parts where other characters reference him. I only get one line at the very end and I don’t get the girl. Also, they laughed at me when I confided to them that I have kind of a crush on Abliguritia Thundersmasher-Roth, who is apparently WAY out of my league. Editors are the WORST.

Now, the greatest question on my mind is whether humble Greg the vampire amateur-singer and professional male-model/middle-manager of Accounts Receivable for the Exceptionally Evil Corporation can accurately embody the true, brooding pathos of Dr. Horatio Ivoryvice and his quest to build a perfect spiked pit trap, find a cure for his stutter (spoiler alert: he learns that he doesn’t stutter when he sings from the heart) and—with the help of his astigmatic yeti lab assistant Nigel—both clear his name and find true love.

Actually, no. The greatest question is if the special effects department is going to convincingly make Chris the Maintenance Yeti’s toupee look even semi-realistic. He aced the audition, and he’s perfect for the role, but . . . gah. Who the hell has ever heard of a balding, bespeckled yeti who’s THAT good at dancing?

Also, I’m kind of wondering if there’s money in the budget for the pyrotechnics we wrote in.

Well, I suppose we find out tonight at first rehearsal. Until then, I’m going to bed.

St. Whiteskull of Bratislor

Legion Lord, Dwarf Slayer, He Who Chooses War over Hunger, the Skull of Bratislor, the Sword of the Imperium, the Warring Ghoul
Domains: Death, Glory, Nobility, War
Subdomains: Heroism, Leadership, Tactics, Undead
Alignment: Neutral Evil
Favored Weapon: Greatsword
The subterranean-dwelling ghouls and darakhul of the Ghoul Imperium worship St. Whiteskull as a masterful god of war, one who, as a mortal ghoul, brought about the decimation of many of the Imperium’s enemies, including dwarves, svirfneblin, and dark creepers.

His leadership and tactics against larger forces brought him fame and fast promotion, for he excelled at using his enemies’ own troops to destroy them—few ghouls could overcome their hunger to convert the dead to legions, and yet he had managed to control both his and his army’s hunger to meet the greater goal of victory.

The Skull of Bratislor’s tremendous exploits for the Imperium gained Morgau’s attention above, and soon the shroud-eaters recruited Whiteskull and his ghoul followers to aid their wars against their neighbors, particularly the Ironcrag dwarves. With his assistance, they captured the Grisal Marches, which now belong to Morgau.
He led several more successful campaigns against the dwarves before his luck failed.

The dwarves called upon their Ravan connections and sent forth an army of clockwork soldiers immune to the army of ghouls’ paralyzing attacks to destroy them. Furthermore, Whiteskull’s army could not raise any destroyed soldiers against the Cantons, nor could they or the other undead among their ranks subsist upon the metal men. Soon the undead were starving and their ranks in disarray. This troop solution proved very wise for the dwarves, and it was the one tactic the savvy Whiteskull had not counted upon. He fell to his death in battle, and the clockwork solders routed his army.

Worshipers: Darakhul, ghouls, shroud-eaters, and the human followers in the Ghoul Imperium and Morgau and Doresh. Soldiers, nobles, and mercenaries turn to St. Whiteskull to beseech his wisdom in battle.

Symbols and Books: St. Whiteskull’s symbol is a greatsword embedded in a white skull with glowing eyes upon an obsidian disc. His copious journals and maps have been copied prolifically, and his followers compiled them into one vast tome. His servants call this compilation the 26thMartial Book of Mavros, but the priests of the God of War and Thunder so far have refused to accept the text as holy canon.

Famous Shrines and Priests: The most famous Temple of St. Whiteskull lies in Bratislor in Morgau, and it is a small-but-growing temple, for the shroud-eaters and the nobles among their lands still find Whiteskull’s tactics admirable and worth revisiting in their continued goals to expand. Another temple lies in the White City of the Ghoul Imperium, St. Whiteskull’s former home.

Masks: St. Whiteskull is considered a Mask of Mavros as he would appear in undeath. No other known Masks are associated with him.

Other Faiths: The deity is on good terms with the church of Mordiggian, the Hunger God, as well as Marena, the Blood Goddess. His worshipers often work in conjunction with these other faiths to bring battles to victory.

What the Whiteskull Demands:The ability and perseverance to overcome one’s weaknesses to ensure glory and victory, heroism in the face of vast numbers, and nobility in one’s leadership.

If you want more new gaming goodness, head over to the Midgard Tales Kickstarter page and consider becoming a backer!

A statue of a kneeling angel stands in the room’s center. The angel’s arms are stretched out before it; the statue’s hands hold a flask of sorts.

Anyone coming within 5 feet of the statue must succeed on a DC 13 Will save or feel compelled to take and consume the contents of the flask as per the beguiling gift spell.

Gift of Angels Trap    CR 3

Type magical; Perception DC 27; Disable Device DC 27
Trigger proximity (alarm); Reset none
Effect spell effect (heightened beguiling gift, DC 13 Will save negates)

The true danger of the gift of angel trap is determined by the gift it offers. Some suggestions are listed below. Each suggestion describes how the CR of the trap changes.

• The flask holds blinding sickness; increase CR of the trap to 4.

• The flask contents are vile, resulting in filth fever. CR of the trap remains 3.

• The flask is filled with a sweet concoction, and imbibing it results in the shakes. The CR of the trap remains 3.

• The flask is filled with arsenic. The CR of the trap remains 3.

• The flask is filled with hemlock. Increase the CR of the trap to 5.

If you’re interested in seeing more traps to add to your encounters, please do speak up and make your wish known!

(This post is Product Identity.)