#miscreated

[sapphim]

been spending like a disgusting amount of time thinking about how when alistair and rafael show up to take charge of vigil's keep in the middle of a coordinated darkspawn attack the first impression they make is that of scary-competent and preternaturally synchronized darkspawn killing machines and then the second impression they make is rafael healing wounded soldiers until he's on the verge of collapse while alistair helps haul around corpses and then the third impression they make is how alistair carts raf around piggyback style for the rest of the day bc he's seeby 😪 and they're both kinda giggly about it bc it is inherently pretty funny to be piggybacking your tiny speepy bf around while you're both supposed to be pretending to be Competent Adults In Charge and also you are SO deliriously tired and everyone present is like "oh! ok. so they are. babies, Actually."

[fieriframes]

[Miscreation.]

[onlyhurtforaminute]

faceless burial-seeping aberrational fissures

[nataliavandalia]

Miscreate, 2022

[thebeerthrillers]

Sign of the Horse Bierhaus is Closing

Sign of the Horse – Bierhaus Sign of the Horse Bierhaus is Closing Sign of the Horse Bierhaus is closing, they announced today, stating that today would be their last day of operation – January 20th, 2024. They took over the old Miscreation Brewing location in downtown Hanover, which we announced here: Sign of the Horse is Expanding – Taking over the old Miscreation Brewery – back in January…

[unlawfulgames]

SOOTY BEARDS IS OUT! Come get your dwarves and your beard oil! Help us slow fund a physical release! https://plusoneexp.com/pages/sooty-beards

What is Sooty Beards?

A setting zine about a fantasy dwarf-hold crossed with a decaying American coal town. People are leaving and things are falling apart. If something doesn’t change–if things can’t change–it’ll become a ghost town soon.

Sooty Beards Features:

8 Run-down urban and wilderness areas complete with “What Used To Be Here?” And “What’s Here Now?” tables to bring out the weight of ages.

8 Strange, Dual-Statted Creatures to populate your dying coal town with, whether your game uses d6 or d20.

Dozens of quirky, narrative items to discover, from screaming lanterns to steampowered ballistic sportballs.

A “Why Did You Even Come Here?” table to give your characters quick, easy, and miserable motivations for visiting the crumbling city of Vesallberg.

More than 20 evocative pieces of art and a beautiful map of Vesallberg by Charles Ferguson-Avery.

CREEPING DEPRESSION

Instant talking canaries! Just add booze!

A glossary of useful terms to get you speaking like a native ‘Berger in no time.

A supplemental bonus book with d66 backgrounds for Vesallberg locals, compatible with TROIKA!

What People Are Saying

“An evocative portrait of community decay in the form of a TTRPG setting -- the troubles of these dwarves in their failing mine resonate strongly with the concerns of the modern day. Bleak in the best way. One gets the sense that this text is just the tip of the Vesallberg, as it were; hints lurk throughout that there is much more going on beneath the surface. (What is up with those *cats*?)”

- Dr. Mac Boyle of The Maniculum Podcast and Marginal Worlds TTRPG

The Creators of Bridgetown have done it again. They’re created a grim, nay whimsical–nay grimsical – setting that makes me wish I could grow a beard.

– Asa Donald of Backwards Tabletop

Ah, Vesallberg, miserable rock, “titanic triumph and miscreation”, a dying city stripped of resources, but full of beards (and the ecosystems within them). A wonderfully horrid place to visit, from the Slag Hills to the Deep Delvings. Come for strange misadventures among the Koljar Dwarves, Big Folk, and Scrawny folk. Stay for the deep, dark, hilarious writing; the whip-smart Politics(™); and the amazing illustration. Once you arrive you may never be able want to leave.

—Adam STATION, An Infinity of Ships, Make 100 Bastards

"How do you communicate background and lore in an RPG without it becoming a slog through a textbook? Quotes, cool tables, beautiful maps, and evocative art. This book makes it easy to picture the dwarf-hold of Vesallberg!”

-Joshua McCrowell of His Majesty The Worm

“This is like Veins of the Earth but with more life and less crunch. I really dig it!”

-David Schiduan of Technical Grimoire

“Welcome to Vesallberg, the Phoenix of the Wetlands™! … How’d that sound? Too corny? It’s too corny, isn’t it. Oh, that’ll send ‘em running away even faster. Stupid, stupid…!”

-Dent Pigiron, Newest Head of the Visitor Center

From the Team

From Furtive Goblin

Like most of my projects, what would eventually become Sooty Beards started as a half-joking mashup of X and Y shared with my friend John. In this case the “X” and “Y” were “Khazad-dûm” and “a dying coal town”, which turned out to be the magic words. For the next year he and I threw ideas back and forth and built the doc up, but soon I found myself in my first ever leading role with final say on what our team did. A fun idea became my first test as a game designer. And if you find yourself interested in picking up a copy of your own then hey, thanks for helping me pass.

From John Gregory

Just like Bridgetown, Furtive Goblin came up to me and said “Hey, I’ve got an idea!” And I responded, “I shall assemble The Team.” And, well, once again some of the Very Vilest Viziers have come together to give you something weird and bleak, a mix of dark humor, social commentary and dwarves being dwarves. Pulling from somewhere between my Appalachian coal-town ancestors and Furtive’s literal experience living under a rock, I’d like to think we’ve made something that will speak to that yet burning coal in your soul.

From Tony

I had 2 people message me asking if I could help Furtive get a zine published. I was already interested and then… they mentioned beards. At one point they tried to give me a “developer credit” but really Furt, John & Charlie did all the work and it’s beautiful, grimm & whimsical all at the same time. Each level of design layering on the next, to create something more than the individual parts. At the end of the day, unlike Vesallberg, I think people will flock to this project because of the earnest love that the creators have for what they have made, and each other. It’s great to be the 1st fan of a project, but it’s just as good to be the 3rd fan.

Follow Up

If you have additional questions, would like to schedule an interview, set up a time to play with us, or have any other questions please feel free to reach out via email to Tony@PlusOneExp.com

[lesbiandisastergirlie]

Swan Queen in 109 - Come On Now...

First of all, I must say that I love how Regina trusts her little prince.

Second of all....

I'm not sure it's necessary to check out your sheriff when telling her to do her job.... then again I don't blame our little mayor 🤭

"Take care of those miscreats." .... she's so unserious, please 😭😭

[fourraccoonsinacoat]

WIP Whenever

Thanks for the tag @meowse! Just pecking away at the next MH chapter.

Now here he was, on a cot in the medical ward of the von Valancius flagship – consuming resources like a void parasite and hampering an already overburdened medic staff. As a biomancer, it was utterly mortifying to have to rely on extrinsic medical care. He was more than capable of remedying his injuries, and he’d do a far better job of it than any gawky hack-and-slash Chiurgeon. Besides, Heinrix’s body was his own – in a way that was difficult to describe to those who had not experienced the intimate, almost artful act of knitting together your own tissue and sinew. To understand oneself on a molecular level was a deeply private knowledge. He’d nurtured his own burgeoning nerves like budding seedlings and stitched together the very veins his blood now pulsed within. And it was the only thing he’d been able to rebuild after his life was blown apart – his body shattered and tossed aside like refuse. Carelessly discarded. He’d hated himself so…so much. Had allowed himself to rot and fester as a maimed miscreation – an outward reflection of his wretched soul. And yet, with time and temperance and training, he’d come to see a certain usefulness in his abilities. He’d been shown that he could still serve, even cursed and foul he could still try to achieve redemption by living honorably. For the Imperium.

Gently tagging: @vspin @spiritsong @roguelioness @ronqueesha @kshert @nadas-dirthalen @gingerfan24 and anyone else who wants to join - consider this your tag!

[clownsheepartsies]

My sheep Inanna and Narinder holding their little miscreation✨✨

[through-starless-skies]

🌟 THANK YOU FOR FOLLOWING THE BLINDING SCRIPT FOR ONE YEAR ‼️‼️ 🌟

As of the early morning of June 4th of 2025, it has been exactly a year since I first conceived the idea of this AU, courtesy of u/KuroNeko_San's artwork of an emo/villain Siffrin giving me the inspiration - see here;

https://www.reddit.com/r/InStarsAndTime/comments/1d7u6el/emovillain_siffrin_3/

I've technically had the thought for even longer, though it is with that post that the concept solidified fully.

This fanfic remains one of my proudest achievements online - even with my anxiety at the time probably rushing it some, I am so proud of how it's turned out and the impact it's made on the community. It was through this story that I've made some awesome friends, got some amazing fanart, and even learned many things about myself throughout this year, and I regret none of it at all.

See this message almost like Squibbin to the party - this wild goose chase through Dormont would never have been possible without you people. I truly am happy to have had this amazing opportunity to entertain you guys - and mayyybe annoy others >w0 /fond - with my sopping wet cat. I look back to see everyone's comments, bookmarks and so on day after day and it always brings a smile to my face, knowing someone out there loves my lil miscreation as much as I do. Special thanks to the following!

* @kuro-is-doodlin for giving me the very inspiration of this story. Your Villainfrin looks spectacular to this day and I absolutely want to see more of em! You are a very talented person and seeing your art is always a delight. This entire journey I credit entirely to you, for letting it begin at all. <3

* The ENTIRE Vengeful Conga Line AU server (which is not on Tumblr but art of it is here) for being the sweetest friend squad I've ever had in YEARS. I may be a tad goofy to get with but rest assured I appreciate every single moment we've had together, even the violent psychiatric evaluations you ran on me!!! (/vsilly) You guys have helped me learn so much about not only Squib, but also myself - and that newfound awareness has helped me tremendously along my day to day life, and has given me a step forward to take, in aiding myself in the future. Love all of you! <3

* My best friend who I will not ping for their anonymity, unless they wish to come forward also. Watching you liveblog my story was absolutely wild and awesome, and to this day I still think about your comments on it. I'm beyond floored that you said this was one of the best fics you've seen - that is amazing to me and means so much to hear. I am so happy this fanfic turned out so well and I am doubly happy that you love seeing how badly I've massacred your fella. Truly!!! /fond <3

You will 100% see more content in the future, I got the jingly jangly bouncing in my headspace even now, and hopefully will continue for even more years!!Thank you all for everything, and as always, there's always room for you on MY stage. :3 hehehehehehe!

[dicenne]

Mercenary Prompt #2 Dicenne's Perspective

Nothing was going to get into the Incontinental Hotel if Dicenne had anything to say about it, but these Black Blood monstrosities were no joke. His weapons slashed into the viscous goop, threatening to get stuck or sucked in, and he wasn’t sure he was even doing any damage to these things. Freezing and shattering them seemed to work well, but the magic folk were quickly depleting their energy in an attempt to keep up with the swarm.

He took to chopping off chunks at a time, creating smaller blobs that were more manageable, but those had an easier time wriggling through the cracks to get inside the hotel. With a forceful, forward thrust of his sword, he pierced one of the more enormous humanoid-shaped monstrosities and sliced upwards - essentially cutting it from groin to head. Once the blade was freed from the substance, he bashed his shield against it with the full force of his unnatural strength. The miscreation immediately exploded upon impact, sending a downpour of syrupy black blood directly atop his person, then splattering in various directions.

There was no way they were going to do this without getting dirty. Maybe the effects would take a while to take hold. Maybe his thick skin would come in handy and he wouldn’t be affected at all. For now, he had to keep fighting, there was no other choice but to protect all the innocent lives inside the building. They were counting on him.

He wiped the back of his hand across his face to clear his vision, spitting out anything that may have gotten into his mouth as he kept pushing onwards. Squinting, he tried to spot the remainder of their group behind the crowd of monstrosities, but despite their slightly translucent appearance, he saw nothing.

He just had to keep going. He had to keep fighting and be strong. Eventually, it had to end. Nothing would get past him. He would protect them.

A flash of rainbow caught his eye across the street through a small break in the swarm. He blinked and returned his attention to the battle ahead of them. Talonoa had rejoined the fight at some point, a concerned look about him. Dicenne wasn’t certain if that look had anything to do with his current ooze-covered appearance, or what was going on inside that he was unaware of. He spotted the flash of bright colors once more in the same place as before, shaking his head a bit before rubbing at his eyes. Something was wrong.

The memory hit him like a truck when he realized what it was that he was seeing. He recognized that tacky, brightly colored shawl waving in the middle of the crowd. His wife Linalia donned the gift every time he returned home from war so she could easily be spotted. She was short in stature but loud in beauty, and as their eyes met he smiled and felt old, familiar emotions begin to well up. It had been so long. But what was she doing out here?! Enemies surrounded her and looked as if they were going to attack at any moment! He had to get to her, he had to save her!

Abandoning all sensibility, the black blood’s madness overtook him.

He dropped both his sword and his shield with a *clang* before he began to muscle his way through the crowd of…what was this? Who were these people? Why was everyone so resistant to him getting to his wife? She was in trouble, couldn’t they see that?! “LINALIA!” He cried out, ripping arms and legs free of whatever was trying to hold him back. Fists clenched at his side as he exhaled a bellowing *ROOOOAAAAAR*, fists pounding into the nearby obstacles, sending them flying backward. Lowering his shoulder, he dug the toes of his boots into the ground and pushed off, slamming forward into everything in his path and carelessly flinging it aside or trampling it with heavy footfalls.

These things grabbed and slashed at him, tried to knock him over and trip him, but it was to no avail. He had become an unstoppable force in this berserker rage and plowed his way through the throngs of things trying to stop him from getting to her. He broke free from the crowd and she opened her arms to welcome him home, only to vanish the moment before he made contact. 

He spun around in a panic, spotting the brightly-colored rainbow shawl on the ground nearby. He picked it up and held it to his chest, calling out, “LINALIA!” She was there again, ten feet in front of him, looking panicked. He dashed to her and she disappeared yet again. She was now atop a nearby building, screaming at him! In one giant leap, he was up on the second-story balcony and from there clambered the rest of the way only to find her gone. Now she was in the middle of the road crying, about to be run over by cars rushing past! With a running leap, he jumped! Feet SLAMMED hard against the ground, cracking the pavement where he landed what should have been a few feet away from her - yet she was not there. He was growing more and more frustrated, why couldn’t he reach her? Eventually, he would, he just had to keep going! But now he was growing so, so very tired. Feet began to drag as his vision blurred. Arms flailed out in front of him in another attempt to grasp his wife, but again just empty space. He stumbled and fell to his knees, legs too tired to work anymore. He began to crawl, but even that felt like an arduous task at this point. Collapsing onto his side, eyes focused on the rainbow shawl in front of him that wasn’t actually there. “I’m sorry…”, and then the world went black.

@themercenaries @talonoa

[gemidoriwillbarelyusethisaccount]

I might be obsessed with my own miscreation

I just found out the dev wanted to be @'d for art, so @insertdisc5 please enjoy my little monster ♡ (sorry I ruined them)

For added context, this is from my fanfiction AU https://archiveofourown.org/works/56458945?view_full_work=true

[homo-queerectus]

PSEUDOMONARCHIA MALAMERICUS

(My name Was Johann Weyer)

Answere me in this Hour, Lord of

Heaven and Earth and of all the monarchs of Ill-intent:

Delivere us from the hell-fires of clerical design.

Maker of all Good and Evil,

quell the flame of misplaced fury,

and delivere the bread of life unto the Damned and

Damnable. Lead us not to the pyre,

or oaken dais where hatred sitteth eager at the base.

Yet Should I find myself so condemned, let the cords of my longing

call out Thy Name long-past their liquefaction.

(I am a fag in America.)

Gracious Father above,

Spirit of Materialization,

Son of the Blood,

Triplicate in Divinity,

infinite of will, perfect of form,

save us of that roiling hysteria,

that maketh men pull children from their

bed-sheets and infant cradle. I have tend’d the

sickened and dying. I have seen the mortification of

the soul long before their blood leech’d into mortal

soil.

(I am a Fag in America.)

Let ev’ry man come clean

dressed in purest linens

so that I may show unto them the daemons from which they flee.

Let ev’ry man know the hour of the Evil on this Earth.

I call in the name of my Lord,

in the name of Solomon,

in the blood of David,

that pedigree which begot the Lamb of Destin’d Sacrifice to deliver our souls from eternal damnation.

Let Bael speak once more of your authority,

Lord of Love and Light and Laughter,

Heavenly Father above,

and conjure to intrepid coil

Belial and Beelzebub,

Stolas, Loray,

Farras and Furfur,

Astaroth and Eligos,

et cetera ad infinitum.

Call forth every foul creation of Thy Design

to be

witness’d by eye of fearfulled Man.

Assert once more your strength in these sinful hearts.

Dear God — we are dying and we are killing ourselves.

(I am a Fag in america.)

I have tended the ill and the needy,

those ravaged by wolf and cancer,

those by whose lights extinguished

no longer draw breath.

I have seen the gape of tender flesh

by boars’ tusk and boarspear and I no longer distinguish between them,

for the blood of Man weeps as Longinus weeps,

and weeps as the wounds he inflicted upon our Lord had wept from perfect skin split upon the Cross.

I have delivered by mine own hand the

soft and ready and the stillborn alike.

I see Thy Hand in all afflictions of Man,

Dear God —

(They are burning us in the streets.)

Preserve thy sacred spirit

in the suffering of each Woman

at the hand of oft-scarred-soldier

and the hand of long-enfeebled Man alike.

Let the heart of man, duplicitous in dichotomy

of soldier and Saint,

raised to office and granted Crown by thy Grace and thy Grave,

be softened at Thy touch upon his flesh once more.

Wicked man has drawn the mothers

of too-soon-Sainted infants

from their melancholic bed and laid them to rest

on staff of flame —

that terrible pillar of uncreation.

Dear Lord heal thy needy subjects

from the affliction of their spirit,

not miscreated, but misshapen by the hands of hate.

Dear God —

I beseech thee, hear me now, let my voice carry the destruction of ev’ry Hall in Heaven or Hell

(I AM A FAG IN AMERICA.)

Dear GOD —

I summon ev’ry spirit of ev’ry endless plain and cry before my tongue is consumed by flame:

(I AM A FAG IN AMERICA.)

DEAR GOD —

I AM DYING.

DEAR GOD —

I AM A FAG IN AMERICA.

[shabre-legacy]

UNNAMED PROJECT PART 1

The low light of sunset glints over the water of the pond and the darkened plants surrounding it. Any other pond would have the dark water be a trick of the low light and the dark plants merely shadows. But in the remaining light, the colors merely allowed clear details to be revealed, remaining darkened, not dead but dark and darker the closer to the pond, the plants crept. The ripples of the pond surround the man in maybe his late twenties, if that, laying in the water. Under the light, with his eyes closed, he appears nearly asleep. The darkness of the shadows should make him appear older, but instead it tempers his beauty, blurring his features and smoothing out the scar. His sleep bringing youth and peace to his face.

It is only when the night birds take flight with their song, that he stirs, pulling himself out of the shadows and dripping over to the water’s edge. As he approaches, the bird song cuts out as the ground shakes. In merely a blink, the man is partially dressed and armed. As he dashes through the trees, the ground rumbles steadily till finally, an old tree, tall and sturdy, pokes above the rest. The man leaps up the tree, jumping from limb to limb with seeming ease until he stands in the last light of day, looking out over the trees. The ground shakes as the creature moves through the trees, massive, it’s horns coming just above the trees and seemingly not quite corporeal, it’s heavy steps trudge towards a nearby village. The man narrows his eyes as he studies the creature. A Miscreation, one of many forms of malevolent spirit creatures that stalked the world. While not the most powerful, a Miscreation is certainly strong enough to destroy a village alone and too strong for the average townguard to defeat, requiring either an entire army or a Cerberus, to take down. If it were just minding its own business, he’d leave it be, but with the current path and night coming, it was too much of a risk. The night was was Miscreations were most dangerous, their form solidifying and strengthening in the darkness. Dánaidh was not ordinary, even among the Assembly. He was trained for this. He flicks his sword, the red tinted blade glinting as the last light fades and the moon takes over the sky. With that last little twirl, a flourish just for himself, he leaps, lightly landing on another tree before leaping to the next, running across the tops towards the creature. His sword flashes as he leaps and dodges. The cursed steel flashes as he strikes blow after blow to the slowly solidifying form of the Miscreation while it lashes out with claws and teeth and uprooted trees until finally it collapses to the ground, its form fading until it flickers and disappears. It would return eventually, that was the was with Miscreations and similar beings. They were never completely destroyed. They would be sealed, trapped, and banished from the mortal realm. But they were nearly impossible to truly kill. A spirit was easier to destroy than these beings. Only banishment and sealings kept them from causing more harm and banishment, like the one he’d just done, was much simpler. He sighs as he shakes his sword and examines his skin, new wounds, he should bath again. The pond was nearby. He should take advantage while he was here. He makes his way back to the pond, carefully washing his blade before returning to his lounging submerged in the depths of the pond. As the moon rose, the discerning eye could see the wounds over his chest and arms starts to closes slowly as the water flowed over them. He stretches out his arms and stares hard at his left arm. The skin has grown black and his fingers in this light resemble claws. It seemed the corruption was spreading. He only had a few more years it would seem. Then the corruption would strangle him, or transform him. He would die or lose himself. Either way what a tragic end. But there wasn’t any getting away from it. He pulls his arm to his chest as though holding it tightly could erase the memory or stop the decay.

He sighs heavily as he stands again and moves to the small island in the center of the pond to dress, carefully wrapping his arm and tucking it into a glove. The black skin hidden from view and tucked away. He layers his worn leather armor over his clothes and pulls several large waterskins off his back. They were fine leather, if worn from uses, with fine chains of silver around the tops and sigils branded into them. He fills each with lake water. Tying them onto his pack and lifting his pack onto his shoulder. He turns to the lake and taps the ground in front of him with his sword. The blade falls less than an inch into the dark water before it clinks against stone and the man steps forward. He repeats the actions again and takes another step, then again, until he reaches the shore, each step a splash, but leaving him mostly dry as he appeared to walk across the surface of the pond.

Stepping onto solid ground, he shifts his pack again, and sets out towards the village he’d seen from the trees. If he’s lucky, he can resupply there. And they won’t have noticed the Miscreation heading towards them and he will have a few hours until someone recognizes him to get his shopping done. He was never quite sure about what reception he was going to get. Some places didn’t mind a Cerberus in town so long as no trouble was caused or they killed what was causing the trouble. Other villages considered any representative of the Dire Assembly, Cerberus or not, to be an omen of destruction. Some would even send donations with the stipulation that it was to keep the Dire Assembly from stopping in their village whenever possible. But sometimes needs must. Luckily this was not one of those villages. Unluckily, it was near where there had been some skirmishes. A clash between locals and the national military over some policy or other. He didn’t really pay much attention to those things. That was the law of the Dire Assembly, Miscreations, Monsters, Destructive Spirits, Fallen gods, and the like, that was their realm to handle. That was all they did. They did not involve themselves in the affairs of people or in politics. He did not want to get dragged into that mess, but a resupply was necessary because of how far the distance until the next staffed outpost was. A few years before, there were more. Then the yearly donations from T’Sari Aalan for supporting the defense of the rural villages dried up and the smaller outposts were forced to close to focus resources of keeping the Cerberus fed and armed and moving about the five kingdoms, or was it only four now. Really, he couldn’t keep up with the changes over the last 6 years. It seemed every few days there was some new complaint. The only thing he managed to stay on top of were the laws of operation in T’Sari Aalan. They weren’t allowed near the cities without an invitation from a government official. There had been attempts made to register every Cerberus and Assembly official. There had also been attempts to seize their power by seizing the corruption source and trying to put their own people through it. But the sea had drowned everyone on every attempt and the Assembly had moved their people out of all but 4 outposts and those had places to disappear, ways to make them seem abandoned to avoid being dragged under any government’s control. Now it was a tenuous peace until something else happened that The Assembly and their Cerberus would be blamed for. But he worked better in the wilds anyways. So it all worked out.

He chuckles as he takes note of the slight bend of the trees, the only sign that he had leapt through them earlier. It was always impressive when he considered how far he could travel and how fast when he needed to. But the exhaustion wasn’t worth using it unnecessarily when he could just walk and be there in a bit less than an hour. His strides through the forest are steady, but soft. He does not waver but he does not crush unnecessarily.

The silver chains on his watersacks clink pleasantly against the rustle of his movements over the worn leather armor. His long dark hair was half tied up and what was left floated in the breeze as he moved. His chin covered with just a hint of scruff. The kind you get having shaved at the last dawn and not since. On his hip sat his cursed sword, 3 strings of small rubies hang from the hilt. 2 more and a broken chain link hang on his chest and a set of 2 chains with alternating blue and white gems wrapped around each other and stitched into a secure circle sat near his hip on his right side. The jewels might tempt the eye. But most knew better than to try to steal from a Cerberus. The curse the gems carried after being worn by a Cerberus also lowered their value. Making them difficult to move to anyone but a few eccentric collectors.

The man’s sharp eyes dart through the darkness as he approaches the village, noting the heavy guard on the west side of the village, the side facing T’Sari Aalan. The nearest gate though, was lightly guarded and it wasn’t too hard to talk his way inside. He’d always had a way with people. A smile, a few carefully chosen words and often he could usually get what he needed. A useful skill for dealing with the frightened, angry or grieving people he had to talk to. The flirting from many women and some men, he could do without. But usually a mention of his job or a sniff of him when he didn’t have a shower or water available and he’d just arrived, was usually enough to dissuade people. He was glad his looks were only as good as they were. Any better and nothing would get done. He manages to get into the village, and made his way to the only inn in town. He should rest again. And there would be no resupply till morning. He just had to hope he wouldn’t be driven out before he bought his food and some new cloth for injuries between ponds. He should make a list.

“Can I get a name for our records?” The voice of the innkeeper disrupts his thoughts. “Abrha” He murmurs quietly. It wasn’t quite a lie, just not enough truth to follow him. Best not to be too trusting ‘til he knew what kind of village this would be.

His rest was disturbed in the night by several loud explosions and shouts. He grabs his things and hurries to the street. There were two possibilities and he could only help with one. He walks quickly towards the sound of clashing swords. As he looks on, a fireball is launched into the air and lights up the battle for a moment. The village guards were fighting alongside unmarked soldiers. Their opponents, soldiers wearing the sigil of T’Sari Aalan.

He watches a bit, the Aalan soldiers were better equipped, but these unknown soldiers and the villagers, they fought more fiercely. With a sigh and a shift of his pack Dánaidh continues on his path, carefully avoiding the battle and leaving it behind. As he strides up the next hill, he looks back over the field. If he allowed himself, he might have opinions. But he’d learned the lesson from his master well. A Cerberus interfering in the business of politics or otherwise was a bad idea. It only made things worse. The kindest thing he could do for these people is to walk away before he hurts them.

But that look, the reflection pauses as he catches sight of a billowing robe among the unmarked soldiers. The best on the field it seemed, this warrior did have some skill. Another fireball and it’s hovering lights for ten seconds gave him just enough time to see the face of the warrior as he spun, was it he? He wasn’t sure at this distance. But they were beautiful. He could tell that much. And it made it more difficult to walk away. Yet that was his duty. Even as some caught sight and called to the newcomer to their village to stand with him. He walked away.

The next day found Dánaidh walking along a long road. The next village is still another day’s journey at least, if not two. He pauses midstep, tilting his head and closing his eyes for a long moment before he drops his pack in the bushes and grabs the hilt of his sword as his eyes dart around before fixing on a point in the sky where a few birds circled. He flips backwards, flying into the air and drawing his sword in a smooth motion as he arcs back to the ground, just as long, razorsharp claws rip into the place he’d been standing. As soon as he touches the ground, he pushes off, getting a good look at the 4 creatures attacking him. Harpies, 4 of them. They are among the weakest of the threats Cerberus take on. Being only the size of an average person and fairly easy to kill. Their problem was their flying ability, the razorshape claws and sharp wing feathers that could be flung at a target which was one of their hunting techniques. And of course, they always came in numbers, though usually more than this. This would be merely a distraction.

He brings his sword down, striking the first harpy down and catching a second on his landing. He twists out of the way as the third strikes at him again, cutting it down before it can pull back to the sky. He draws back his arm and throws his sword, piercing the heart of the last harpy and bringing the distraction to it’s end. He calls his sword back to his hand with an outstretched arm and a long whistle. The dead should never be left in the road. Carrying them into the woods and laying the bodies of the harpies in a dim area didn’t take long, but it took long enough. Dániadh returns to the road, intending to grab his pack and continue. The road is blocked by a unit of T’Sira Aalan soldiers. They were clearly, by their posture, waiting for him.

He tries to step for his pack only to find his way blocked. The first soldier glared at him. “Documents of travel, now.” Dániadh furrows his brow, he hadn’t heard of that before. “What documents? Since when are documents required to travel from one village to the next.” The guard narrows his eyes. “They’re required when crossing the current border of T’Sari Aalan. As well as for all Cerberus. You must register and have travel documents.” “Well I haven’t crossed a border. You’re in the wrong country. Also who said anything about monster hunters.?” He smiles charmingly, his voice smooth. He can see he’s affecting most of the group, lowered weapons and more relaxed postures. But the archer a ways off covering them and the groups leader, they didn’t seem distracted at all. “rubies and diamonds and sapphires. No one else wears precious gems openly without armed guards. Everyone knows yours are too cursed to be of any value. Now documents, or you will be shot.” “Now all this hostility isn…” His sentence is cut off as the archer releases his arrow, aimed at his heart. He reaches for his blade, but before he can block it, there’s a blur of color, and the sound of an arrow hitting metal. The leader of the soldier yelled but hardly got out a word before the swirl of color and hair and the glint of a sword. The others fell back, their blades lifting again in defense against the sudden attacker who placed themselves between them and Dániadh. But it hardly mattered. They weren’t able to go more than a step before they too fell to the blur of black and blue and cream that appeared. Dániadh could do nothing but stare in shock. When was the last time someone had stepped between him and a weapon? He couldn’t recall. That wasn’t a way of teaching in the Assembly. And before that… He’s always been between the weapon and others, he can’t recall ever being the other way. As the twists of the blur solidify, the form appears. A man, at least it seemed so, he couldn’t see his face. A dark blue outer robe, with a hood, covering underrobes of cream and shades of black. The outer robes secured with silver clasps with red stones. The same silver and red stones decorate his boots which appear recently shined. Red embroidery covered the pale blue of the veil covering his face, attached to a silver headband with the same red stones, but also with blue ones. Between the veil and the hood, it is impossible to see the face of the man who rescued him. Again, the unexpected, the man steps the few paces to Dániadh and inclines his head. Leaning forward in a slight bow as though Dániadh was someone worthy of respect. He lifts a hand and holds it open in front of Dániadh. Long, slender fingers, a beautiful hand. Dániadh looks at the veil and decides, this time he will play along. After all, He was curious. He places a hand in the outstretched palm. The man guides Dániadh to his side and leads him into the forest. Where they were going was a mystery. The woods sit quiet and still. But Dániadh doesn’t notice, too busy trying to puzzle out this man who fought on his behalf and was now walking with him with steady strides. He knows exactly where they’re going. Then the dark plants are plentiful enough to be noticed and it strikes Dániadh. The man knew this pond was here, he knew what it was. He knew it’s value to the Assembly, to Cerberus like himself. And he knew. When the Cerberus maps didn’t have a pool anywhere near, he knew to guide Dániadh straight to it. Who was this man? As they reach the pond, the man stops, Steps and turns without releasing Dániadh’s hand. He moves with grace as he bows, lifting Dániadh’s hand to his lips and pressing a kiss to the back through the veil. And with that he’s gone. Vanished into the forest and the dimming light. “What in the seven fallen gods was that?” Dániadh mutters in shock, not moving only staring at his hand. Not even to notice his own bleeding from the earlier harpy attack.

[mutantlord]

Abomination Art from page 25 of The Mutant Epoch RPG Expansion Rules book Originally grown in vats, abominations are mutant miscreations who were designated with alpha-numeric identities: a mix of manufacturer’s code, batch number, purpose, and quality and were initially mindless, group thinking, slavish followers of a collective. Those gifted with fertile genitalia bred with other foul, unlikely scientific mistakes and oddities to form a new line of independently minded creatures. The name ‘abomination’ seemed to stick, however, instead of their product ID, and in time, even their creators called them by the name they are now known by. Civilians, politicians and activists had less flattering names for these life forms, especially once these fleshy brutes began to see deployment against enemy troops, street mobs, rioters, mutants and other entities. Present day scribes and researchers have uncovered only a few pre-collapse names for these ghastly miscreations, such as blobs, rubber devils, fleshies, globulurs, gobbies, dough monsters, and flesh puddings.

Check it out here: https://www.outlandarts.com/expansionrules.htm

[hellwatermelon]

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