Something woke me up. An impulse that had somehow broken through the barrier between dream and reality. My eyes flicked open and the darkness they came to see was...blinding. Not as light blinds, with brilliance and spectacle, but through the abject nihility of itself. It was Darkness Total. Ultimate and multi-dimensional. Paralyzing. I laid there, entombed in shadow, terrified yet also curious as to what had awoken me; what had been strong enough to pull me from oneiric reverie into this abysmal, lightless lacuna. It had not been the environing darkness—but something else.
A small square of light erupted to my left, and though it was larger than my hand, it was like a stellar detonation in that Omnipresent Black. I cringed away from it, briefly thinking myself safe in the darkness, forgetting how inimical it had felt only moments before. When the abrasive light subsided, and I remembered that Light was my friend, I reached out and grasped the source. The familiarity of it was striking. It was my phone: the potently photic artifact that had defied the malignant dark was the thing I'd kept by my side at all times.
I gripped it like an anchor. My eyes, dim like the surfaces of planets unsunned, struggled to accommodate the unnatural light. But I stared with mortal resolution, bearing the pain, forcing them to grow accustomed to that providential element.
Eventually, the brightness of the screen lessened - or my eyes simply adjusted to it. I felt no shift in the darkness, no further encroachment – it was still being kept at bay. It could not swallow up this light had as it had the lunar glow beyond my window.
The Androgyne
An image resolved on the screen: a picture of a person. Indecipherably, frustratingly androgynous. They stood on a large rock, or a narrow mountain pinnacle, facing the camera. Which, judging by the distance, had to have been floating in mid-air. Suspended by a drone, perhaps. Though something about the picture suggested that it had been taken years, decades before any sort of portable drone was invented. There was a deep oldness about it, as if it had been torn from a time-lost photo album.
The atmosphere within the image was thick with frost, and yet the androgyne wore only a light sweater and jeans. No hat. No gloves. The casual wear of an autumnal traveler. Steely blue eyes stared blissfully skyward, ignorant of what had to have been a numbing cold. The image was upsetting. Logic-defying, anachronistic, and wholly unfamiliar – it had no business being on my phone. I hadn’t downloaded it, and definitely hadn’t taken it. But it was there, the first of many cryptic pictures. No name or context came to mind. Not the slightest explanation. The genderless person had a faerie-like quality to them. A subtly devilish aura about them. It was unbearable.
I felt the darkness begin to inch closer, testing the light’s domain. I flicked to the next image in hopes that the shift would elicit some flare or burst of light to remind the darkness of its place. It worked. Erebus receded a little.
Alexandra
The next Image: a woman, early twenties, smiling at the camera. I recognized her, and in the recognition I found a great degree of comfort. The last image had unsettled me, shaken me in ways inexpressible. It was a horrid, unwholesome thing, regardless of how harmlessly the pixels had been arranged. But this new image wrangled my fear, corralled the phantoms of terror that threatened to undo my mind, synapse by fear-wearied synapse.
The woman – whose name was Lexi – was a friend, more than a friend: a long-held companion, someone in whom I’d sought comfort and fulfillment; joy and escape. The light that emanated from the phone’s screen was somehow physically soothing, as if tinged with a warmth imparted by her goofy, carefree smile, by her encouraging eyes. I wanted to bask in it.
Like a somnambulist, I imagined myself drifting screenward, floating into that soul-restoring light. But I still had one figurative foot in the dark, and it would not let me escape its stifling mire.
Lexi’s smile began to fade. The soft luster of her green eyes dimmed, becoming a sullen grey. Her hair, once red and voluminous as a bouquet of sanguine flowers, blackened strand by strand. The background – which I hadn’t noticed until now – became a bleak and boreal landscape of collapsed, pre-modern architecture and colossal ice-forms. Glaciers reared themselves from Stygian waters, breaching the surface like gasping dragons. Lexi stood amidst the cold cataclysm, unsmiling, uncaring – a haggish revenant born of death, refusing to submit to oblivion.
I wanted to wait, hoping the image would change again. Would become something else, something happier. But the landscape only grew bleaker. Lexi’s condition only worsened. She languished in that abhorrent icescape, whilst malformed icebergs twisted towards an abyssal black sky, and headless winged things descended from grey, pregnant clouds.
With tears in my eyes, I flicked to the next image. Behind me, Erebus cackled from His throne within the everblack vastness.
Justin
A sorcerer. A warlock. But someone I recognized. My friend Justin wore heavy purpureal robes, begemmed with sparkling opals and rubies, and tied about the waist with a similarly studded belt. The array of jewels twinkled brilliantly, illuming an otherwise scarcely lit atelier. A thick grey beard depended from his face, nearly reaching the aforementioned belt, but his features were otherwise unchanged from what I remembered of him in the real world. The square frames of his glasses were slightly tinged with rust, and the thick lenses were dotted with flecks of dust – but he appeared in good health. His eyes stared fixedly ahead, as if he saw not a camera, but a confounding enigma that his mind had not yet penetrated. Behind him, books of an unguessable nature—for their spines bore no words—sat piled in ceiling-touching heaps. Pillars and towers of olden knowledge, spires of lost arcana. The paraphernalia of wizardry littered a nearby desk. Skulls of unknown megafauna--polished and painted--acted as other furniture.
I waited for the image to take on some new, grotesque form, as Lexi’s had; but, surprisingly, it remained the same. No apparitions manifested; no horrors danced in the candlelit background. It was a reprieve from the bizarre and nightmarish phantasmagoria. A recess from the increasingly dark proceedings. Begrudgingly, with a thankful glance at my friend’s age-hardened face, I went to the next image. I felt the anticipation of that Implacable Dark tickle my shoulder. It too wanted to continue – doubtlessly for other reasons.
The next image was a gut punch.
Jasmine
She’d been crucified, at some point in the history of that dismal scene. But had been let down from her purgatorial punishment at a later time. She now knelt on a fire-burnt plain, the burdensome cross half-collapsed behind her, blackly charred and withered. Other crosses littered the field, some defiantly erect – though comparably burnt – while more than a few lay in ruins or buried up to their tips in the ashen dunes beyond.
She, however, had escaped the great burning. Her skin was pale as ever, almost luminous in the fumatory wasteland. She wore steel and leather armor, though most of it had been broken or torn away in whatever battle she’d fought. Strands and pieces of it hung and dangled freely. Metal tinkled softly with the heavy heaving of her chest. She was tired, but I sensed that there was more for her to do. The campaign was not yet over. And then I realized what I should’ve two images ago: the images were not static, but more akin to videos. Nebulous, or at least malleable to unseen forces. I’d heard the decapitated (yet impossibly shrieking) monstrous fliers of Lexi’s image; seen the mountainous glaciers push through the black waters. And though there hadn’t been much activity in Justin’s picture, I had smelled, unconsciously, the wax of the candles, and the age-scented pages of the dust-laden books.
The Images were sensorial experiences, not just pictures on a screen.
Jasmine rose, apparently having rested enough. One gauntlet-clad arm dangled awkwardly - bent and broken. The other held a morningstar, its spikes slick with crimson. Her hair - as black as the cross behind her - covered her face. But somehow, I knew there was an expression of grim resolution behind the sable curtain. More blood was to be spilt before she’d allow herself to rest. I didn't know who her enemies were or why she hunted them, but I felt a sympathetic fear for them. She'd survived crucifixion and continental immolation. It was plain that nothing would stop her.
Leaving her to her conquest, I turned to the next image.
Oscar
A blank screen. A threshold of light. There was depth there, even though it wasn't easily discernible. It seemed endless. Deeper than the yawning gulf behind me. My phone felt less like a piece of technology and more like a scrying mirror, or an impregnable portal to realms untrod by mundane men. The ultra-white domain beckoned me onward, and though my soul yearned to leap headlong into it, my body could not. Shadows, petulant and seething, lapped like waves behind me. They hated the nigh celestial whiteness. Hissed and spat at it. I ignored their tenebrous venom.
Gradually, I sensed a sentience somewhere in the immensity. A being nearly as great as the space itself. It made its hunger apparent to me, and I, empathically, hungered. This hunger galvanized my spirit, for there is nothing more inclined towards survival than a starved creature. I would’ve probably despaired, had I not been given that feral impetus. The darkness’s repulsion at the light, at the insatiable hunger, amused me. Drove me further on.
Spitefully, I let the Starving Light linger on my screen for a little while longer before moving onto the next - and final - image.
Sarah.
She was facing away from the camera - the first to do so. She stood in a massive, grassless valley, between two ridges atop which sat dead, warped trees. A thin stream of some sanguine liquid ran through the length of the valley, and a scarlet haze - as of vaporous blood - hung about everything. Sarah wore a backless black dress, and etched or seared into her bare back was a strange symbol, seemingly occult in nature. The emblem brought to mind a name or title, one I couldn't remember ever hearing before: The Black Horologist.
Her head had been shaved, and her scalp bore deep, haphazard scratches - as if she'd been trying to scrape away the skin in a blind frenzy. Something round protruded - just barely - from the back of her head. It looked like...the face of a clock.
I then noticed figures at the far end of the ridge, standing beneath the umbrage of the sole living tree. They wore long black robes and veils. Baleful, mysterious, and Inscrutable. It was towards these watchful figures that Sarah stared. Both parties had an air of anticipation; one waiting on the other to do something. Lightning streaked through the bloodshot sky. Thunder shook the leafless limbs of the desiccated trees. The stream, as if suddenly heated by underground geologic activity, began to boil. And still Sarah stood in it, heedless of the rising steam.
The cultists shifted. Their tree – towering and plentifully leafed - leaned to and fro in the newborn torrential chaos. Some of the members were unsteadied and fell to the ground, rolling into the bubbling river. I watched in horror as they boiled alive. Gouts of hot plasma shot every which way as their bodies burst in the heat. Molten entrails streamed toward the crimson horizon, carried by the mounting current. Some of the cultists managed to cling to the bole and low-lying branches of the tree, but their fates were no less fatal. A great gust of wind uprooted the whole growth and flung it heavenward. Their bodies tossed helplessly in the wind, while their screams echoed omnidirectionally.
Sarah hadn't moved throughout the whole morbid spectacle, but now turned toward the camera. Her face was blank, utterly featureless. And yet I had earlier recognized her immediately from her frame and posture alone. Had I seen her from the front at first, the grotesqueness of her appearance might’ve forestalled the recognition. I would've preferred a warped and deranged expression, than that empty stretch of skin.
The faceless doppelganger knelt in the boiling stream and dipped her head in. She held it there for a moment, then emerged - bearing a face! But not hers - no, it was the consummate visage of mankind, ultimate in its beauty; possessing every admirable facet (and unique aberration) possible. Quintessentially human, immaculately gorgeous.
Hair grew from her scarred scalp, golden and flowing. In my amazement at her beatific transformation, i didn't notice her graceful advancement toward the camera. It wasn’t until she'd reached out that I noticed she'd come much closer. Before I could recoil, she seized me - through the phone's screen - by my neck. The Erebean avatar raged atop my shoulders. I hadn't noticed how close it had come, either. Sarah eyed me smugly, as if I were nothing more than some sub-real plaything, and she were the real person. Her grip tightened, and the darkness sank its claws deeper into my back. Caught between two malevolent entities, two ultramundane forces of paranatural power, I prayed for providential intervention.
The darkness of death - promised by Sarah's hold upon my throat - was not the same spiritually toxic darkness that threatened to envelop me. That darkness was not the cessation of life, but the corruption of it. Sarah, for whatever inexplicable reason, meant to simply kill me. And the aspect of Erebus clinging to my back warred against her. It wanted - needed - me alive. I faced a twofold doom.
But before my throat could be crushed, and before I could be imprisoned in that Iron Maiden of Night, a most unexpected thing happened: Sarah was blasted nearly out of frame by a cyclonic beam of ice. Motes of frost twinkled in the scarlet haze. Snowflakes drifted toward the ruddy sky. Sarah writhed around in the blistering stream, stricken senseless by the frigid blast.
Before she could shake off the blanket of frost and rise again, spectral chains manifested from the ether and bound her arms and legs. She raged against the purple hard-light, but they were perdurable against her middling strength. Her golden hair flared as her ire mounted. Her face became even more beautiful. Terrifyingly so. It was like a Medusean mask, and though her hands had left me I was still immovably petrified.
Two figures then stepped into frame. And though neither were as they'd been before, I recognized them both.
Lexi, now bent by time and the bitter cold, stood beside Justin – whose ashen beard now trailed down to the ground. The gems that adorned his robe had been dimmed by time, carrying now only the faintest glimmer in their cores. And the robe itself was faded, and streaked with stains that betokened long nights of alchemical experimentation. And his face was sagged and mottled with incalculable age; and his glasses were cracked, the frames bent. And though half-blind and wizened he may have been, he stood with a sorcerous vitality, and his many-ringed fingers twitched in the command of the spell-wrought shackles.
The two friends, after ensuring that Sarah was indeed ensnared, stepped aside to make room for another unforeseen visitor.
Jasmine entered the frame, and as if to augur the black deed she'd soon complete, the sky exploded with newfound violence. Lightning coursed through the heavens with super-photic fury. It was as if angels hurled volleys of stellar light at unseen demons. The dead trees danced wickedly, cavorting in place like maniacal imps; and tempests of mud arose and swirled hellishly throughout the valley.
But the trio were spared from this eruption of supernatural havoc by an invisible dome of protection. It shimmered, faintly, as it was struck by debris; but its bloated surface was utterly impregnable. I was reminded of the hunger with which I’d been imparted, and I recognized the protective barrier as being the work of Oscar – if not some tangible manifestation of himself. All that touched the barrier was absorbed. Every single atom of it. Oscar fed ravenously on all that impacted his belly, and the scene within carried on without interruption.
Jasmine, virtually unchanged since her last appearance, marched toward the helpless captive. Sarah's celestial aura died a little in the face of Jasmine's brutal image. The two women locked eyes, Jasmine’s visible to me for the first time, and I quivered at the funereal severity of her glare. It was obvious that she'd seen things unreal and unrelatable; and I felt a sneaking suspicion that Sarah was in some way responsible for the horrors and agonies Jasmine had suffered.
The darkness whimpered in my ear, terrified of the platonic assemblage. I ignored it, no longer fearing its presence. Sarah would've defeated it, and she'd been easily subdued by my friends.
Jasmine stepped in front of Sarah, blocking the demoness from view. Sarah cried out something bestial and inarticulate - a savage protest in her demonian tongue. Lexi and Justin cringed, being unaccustomed to such foul speech, but Jasmine ignored it. She'd undoubtedly come to tolerate it in her conflicts against the she-devil and her Hadean forces.
With her unbroken arm, Jasmine raised the spiked mace and brought it down onto Sarah's head. There was a thunderous crunch, as of mountains collapsing beneath a meteoric impact, and Sarah's body went limp. Felled in a single blow.
The shackles about her body dematerialized, and Justin fell to his knees - his energy depleted. The great dome that had protected them from the veritable maelstrom diminished, and Oscar returned to his boundless immensity elsewhere. A gust of wind then blew through the scene, and Lexi’s age-harrowed form was scattered into atoms.
Sarah's body broke apart in the stream.
Only Jasmine remained. Her mace dripping with the blood of her latest kill. With her campaign now completed, she turned to me and pointed her weapon at the camera.
Had the constricting darkness not been frightened away from my shoulder, I probably would've been struck by the morningstar, but I managed to dodge as she threw it through the screen. (I doubt it would've actually hurt me, but instinct nonetheless drove my body to action.) I heard an inhuman shriek as the club struck its true target. Turning around, I saw the corporeal darkness impaled against the back wall of my bedroom like a great black sheet. It flapped madly for a few moments, then grew deathly still.
I got out of bed and went over to the wall. It took a considerable amount of effort, but I withdrew the morningstar from where it had pinned that unenviable fiend. The darkness—now no more than a wrinkly sheet—fell lifelessly to the floor, where it then disintegrated. The weapon felt good in my hands. It instilled me with an unprecedented sense of vigor, of physical and spiritual toughness. I felt as if I could battle with and defeat the heroes and villains of ancient legend and cosmic myth.
On my bed, my phone screen flickered, drawing my attention back. I retrieved it, expecting to see Jasmine and wanting to thank her for what she’d done for me. But there was instead that first image, with the androgynous figure standing atop the snowcapped mountain’s peak. It no longer stared skyward, but now gazed languidly at the camera; as if it had just awoken from a deep slumber. Our eyes met—I was certain that it could actually see me—and the morningstar trembled in my hand. This person was no friend of mine—was the only one I hadn’t recognized among the cast of characters. I knew, within my very bones, that I’d someday have to face this person—within the outré environment of whatever mortally unreachable realm lay within my phone. But that time had not yet come—of that, I was also certain.
Instead, I turned the phone off, set the mace beside my bed, and went back to sleep.

Something woke me up. An impulse that had somehow broken through the barrier between dream and reality. My eyes flicked open and the darkness they came to see was...blinding. Not as light blinds, with brilliance and spectacle, but through the abject nihility of itself. It was Darkness Total. Ultimate and multi-dimensional. Paralyzing. I laid there, entombed in shadow, terrified yet also curious as to what had awoken me; what had been strong enough to pull me from oneiric reverie into this abysmal, lightless lacuna. It had not been the environing darkness—but something else.
A small square of light erupted to my left, and though it was larger than my hand, it was like a stellar detonation in that Omnipresent Black. I cringed away from it, briefly thinking myself safe in the darkness, forgetting how inimical it had felt only moments before. When the abrasive light subsided, and I remembered that Light was my friend, I reached out and grasped the source. The familiarity of it was striking. It was my phone: the potently photic artifact that had defied the malignant dark was the thing I'd kept by my side at all times.
I gripped it like an anchor. My eyes, dim like the surfaces of planets unsunned, struggled to accommodate the unnatural light. But I stared with mortal resolution, bearing the pain, forcing them to grow accustomed to that providential element.
Eventually, the brightness of the screen lessened - or my eyes simply adjusted to it. I felt no shift in the darkness, no further encroachment – it was still being kept at bay. It could not swallow up this light had as it had the lunar glow beyond my window.
The Androgyne
An image resolved on the screen: a picture of a person. Indecipherably, frustratingly androgynous. They stood on a large rock, or a narrow mountain pinnacle, facing the camera. Which, judging by the distance, had to have been floating in mid-air. Suspended by a drone, perhaps. Though something about the picture suggested that it had been taken years, decades before any sort of portable drone was invented. There was a deep oldness about it, as if it had been torn from a time-lost photo album.
The atmosphere within the image was thick with frost, and yet the androgyne wore only a light sweater and jeans. No hat. No gloves. The casual wear of an autumnal traveler. Steely blue eyes stared blissfully skyward, ignorant of what had to have been a numbing cold. The image was upsetting. Logic-defying, anachronistic, and wholly unfamiliar – it had no business being on my phone. I hadn’t downloaded it, and definitely hadn’t taken it. But it was there, the first of many cryptic pictures. No name or context came to mind. Not the slightest explanation. The genderless person had a faerie-like quality to them. A subtly devilish aura about them. It was unbearable.
I felt the darkness begin to inch closer, testing the light’s domain. I flicked to the next image in hopes that the shift would elicit some flare or burst of light to remind the darkness of its place. It worked. Erebus receded a little.
Alexandra
The next Image: a woman, early twenties, smiling at the camera. I recognized her, and in the recognition I found a great degree of comfort. The last image had unsettled me, shaken me in ways inexpressible. It was a horrid, unwholesome thing, regardless of how harmlessly the pixels had been arranged. But this new image wrangled my fear, corralled the phantoms of terror that threatened to undo my mind, synapse by fear-wearied synapse.
The woman – whose name was Lexi – was a friend, more than a friend: a long-held companion, someone in whom I’d sought comfort and fulfillment; joy and escape. The light that emanated from the phone’s screen was somehow physically soothing, as if tinged with a warmth imparted by her goofy, carefree smile, by her encouraging eyes. I wanted to bask in it.
Like a somnambulist, I imagined myself drifting screenward, floating into that soul-restoring light. But I still had one figurative foot in the dark, and it would not let me escape its stifling mire.
Lexi’s smile began to fade. The soft luster of her green eyes dimmed, becoming a sullen grey. Her hair, once red and voluminous as a bouquet of sanguine flowers, blackened strand by strand. The background – which I hadn’t noticed until now – became a bleak and boreal landscape of collapsed, pre-modern architecture and colossal ice-forms. Glaciers reared themselves from Stygian waters, breaching the surface like gasping dragons. Lexi stood amidst the cold cataclysm, unsmiling, uncaring – a haggish revenant born of death, refusing to submit to oblivion.
I wanted to wait, hoping the image would change again. Would become something else, something happier. But the landscape only grew bleaker. Lexi’s condition only worsened. She languished in that abhorrent icescape, whilst malformed icebergs twisted towards an abyssal black sky, and headless winged things descended from grey, pregnant clouds.
With tears in my eyes, I flicked to the next image. Behind me, Erebus cackled from His throne within the everblack vastness.
Justin
A sorcerer. A warlock. But someone I recognized. My friend Justin wore heavy purpureal robes, begemmed with sparkling opals and rubies, and tied about the waist with a similarly studded belt. The array of jewels twinkled brilliantly, illuming an otherwise scarcely lit atelier. A thick grey beard depended from his face, nearly reaching the aforementioned belt, but his features were otherwise unchanged from what I remembered of him in the real world. The square frames of his glasses were slightly tinged with rust, and the thick lenses were dotted with flecks of dust – but he appeared in good health. His eyes stared fixedly ahead, as if he saw not a camera, but a confounding enigma that his mind had not yet penetrated. Behind him, books of an unguessable nature—for their spines bore no words—sat piled in ceiling-touching heaps. Pillars and towers of olden knowledge, spires of lost arcana. The paraphernalia of wizardry littered a nearby desk. Skulls of unknown megafauna--polished and painted--acted as other furniture.
I waited for the image to take on some new, grotesque form, as Lexi’s had; but, surprisingly, it remained the same. No apparitions manifested; no horrors danced in the candlelit background. It was a reprieve from the bizarre and nightmarish phantasmagoria. A recess from the increasingly dark proceedings. Begrudgingly, with a thankful glance at my friend’s age-hardened face, I went to the next image. I felt the anticipation of that Implacable Dark tickle my shoulder. It too wanted to continue – doubtlessly for other reasons.
The next image was a gut punch.
Jasmine
She’d been crucified, at some point in the history of that dismal scene. But had been let down from her purgatorial punishment at a later time. She now knelt on a fire-burnt plain, the burdensome cross half-collapsed behind her, blackly charred and withered. Other crosses littered the field, some defiantly erect – though comparably burnt – while more than a few lay in ruins or buried up to their tips in the ashen dunes beyond.
She, however, had escaped the great burning. Her skin was pale as ever, almost luminous in the fumatory wasteland. She wore steel and leather armor, though most of it had been broken or torn away in whatever battle she’d fought. Strands and pieces of it hung and dangled freely. Metal tinkled softly with the heavy heaving of her chest. She was tired, but I sensed that there was more for her to do. The campaign was not yet over. And then I realized what I should’ve two images ago: the images were not static, but more akin to videos. Nebulous, or at least malleable to unseen forces. I’d heard the decapitated (yet impossibly shrieking) monstrous fliers of Lexi’s image; seen the mountainous glaciers push through the black waters. And though there hadn’t been much activity in Justin’s picture, I had smelled, unconsciously, the wax of the candles, and the age-scented pages of the dust-laden books.
The Images were sensorial experiences, not just pictures on a screen.
Jasmine rose, apparently having rested enough. One gauntlet-clad arm dangled awkwardly - bent and broken. The other held a morningstar, its spikes slick with crimson. Her hair - as black as the cross behind her - covered her face. But somehow, I knew there was an expression of grim resolution behind the sable curtain. More blood was to be spilt before she’d allow herself to rest. I didn't know who her enemies were or why she hunted them, but I felt a sympathetic fear for them. She'd survived crucifixion and continental immolation. It was plain that nothing would stop her.
Leaving her to her conquest, I turned to the next image.
Oscar
A blank screen. A threshold of light. There was depth there, even though it wasn't easily discernible. It seemed endless. Deeper than the yawning gulf behind me. My phone felt less like a piece of technology and more like a scrying mirror, or an impregnable portal to realms untrod by mundane men. The ultra-white domain beckoned me onward, and though my soul yearned to leap headlong into it, my body could not. Shadows, petulant and seething, lapped like waves behind me. They hated the nigh celestial whiteness. Hissed and spat at it. I ignored their tenebrous venom.
Gradually, I sensed a sentience somewhere in the immensity. A being nearly as great as the space itself. It made its hunger apparent to me, and I, empathically, hungered. This hunger galvanized my spirit, for there is nothing more inclined towards survival than a starved creature. I would’ve probably despaired, had I not been given that feral impetus. The darkness’s repulsion at the light, at the insatiable hunger, amused me. Drove me further on.
Spitefully, I let the Starving Light linger on my screen for a little while longer before moving onto the next - and final - image.
Sarah.
She was facing away from the camera - the first to do so. She stood in a massive, grassless valley, between two ridges atop which sat dead, warped trees. A thin stream of some sanguine liquid ran through the length of the valley, and a scarlet haze - as of vaporous blood - hung about everything. Sarah wore a backless black dress, and etched or seared into her bare back was a strange symbol, seemingly occult in nature. The emblem brought to mind a name or title, one I couldn't remember ever hearing before: The Black Horologist.
Her head had been shaved, and her scalp bore deep, haphazard scratches - as if she'd been trying to scrape away the skin in a blind frenzy. Something round protruded - just barely - from the back of her head. It looked like...the face of a clock.
I then noticed figures at the far end of the ridge, standing beneath the umbrage of the sole living tree. They wore long black robes and veils. Baleful, mysterious, and Inscrutable. It was towards these watchful figures that Sarah stared. Both parties had an air of anticipation; one waiting on the other to do something. Lightning streaked through the bloodshot sky. Thunder shook the leafless limbs of the desiccated trees. The stream, as if suddenly heated by underground geologic activity, began to boil. And still Sarah stood in it, heedless of the rising steam.
The cultists shifted. Their tree – towering and plentifully leafed - leaned to and fro in the newborn torrential chaos. Some of the members were unsteadied and fell to the ground, rolling into the bubbling river. I watched in horror as they boiled alive. Gouts of hot plasma shot every which way as their bodies burst in the heat. Molten entrails streamed toward the crimson horizon, carried by the mounting current. Some of the cultists managed to cling to the bole and low-lying branches of the tree, but their fates were no less fatal. A great gust of wind uprooted the whole growth and flung it heavenward. Their bodies tossed helplessly in the wind, while their screams echoed omnidirectionally.
Sarah hadn't moved throughout the whole morbid spectacle, but now turned toward the camera. Her face was blank, utterly featureless. And yet I had earlier recognized her immediately from her frame and posture alone. Had I seen her from the front at first, the grotesqueness of her appearance might’ve forestalled the recognition. I would've preferred a warped and deranged expression, than that empty stretch of skin.
The faceless doppelganger knelt in the boiling stream and dipped her head in. She held it there for a moment, then emerged - bearing a face! But not hers - no, it was the consummate visage of mankind, ultimate in its beauty; possessing every admirable facet (and unique aberration) possible. Quintessentially human, immaculately gorgeous.
Hair grew from her scarred scalp, golden and flowing. In my amazement at her beatific transformation, i didn't notice her graceful advancement toward the camera. It wasn’t until she'd reached out that I noticed she'd come much closer. Before I could recoil, she seized me - through the phone's screen - by my neck. The Erebean avatar raged atop my shoulders. I hadn't noticed how close it had come, either. Sarah eyed me smugly, as if I were nothing more than some sub-real plaything, and she were the real person. Her grip tightened, and the darkness sank its claws deeper into my back. Caught between two malevolent entities, two ultramundane forces of paranatural power, I prayed for providential intervention.
The darkness of death - promised by Sarah's hold upon my throat - was not the same spiritually toxic darkness that threatened to envelop me. That darkness was not the cessation of life, but the corruption of it. Sarah, for whatever inexplicable reason, meant to simply kill me. And the aspect of Erebus clinging to my back warred against her. It wanted - needed - me alive. I faced a twofold doom.
But before my throat could be crushed, and before I could be imprisoned in that Iron Maiden of Night, a most unexpected thing happened: Sarah was blasted nearly out of frame by a cyclonic beam of ice. Motes of frost twinkled in the scarlet haze. Snowflakes drifted toward the ruddy sky. Sarah writhed around in the blistering stream, stricken senseless by the frigid blast.
Before she could shake off the blanket of frost and rise again, spectral chains manifested from the ether and bound her arms and legs. She raged against the purple hard-light, but they were perdurable against her middling strength. Her golden hair flared as her ire mounted. Her face became even more beautiful. Terrifyingly so. It was like a Medusean mask, and though her hands had left me I was still immovably petrified.
Two figures then stepped into frame. And though neither were as they'd been before, I recognized them both.
Lexi, now bent by time and the bitter cold, stood beside Justin – whose ashen beard now trailed down to the ground. The gems that adorned his robe had been dimmed by time, carrying now only the faintest glimmer in their cores. And the robe itself was faded, and streaked with stains that betokened long nights of alchemical experimentation. And his face was sagged and mottled with incalculable age; and his glasses were cracked, the frames bent. And though half-blind and wizened he may have been, he stood with a sorcerous vitality, and his many-ringed fingers twitched in the command of the spell-wrought shackles.
The two friends, after ensuring that Sarah was indeed ensnared, stepped aside to make room for another unforeseen visitor.
Jasmine entered the frame, and as if to augur the black deed she'd soon complete, the sky exploded with newfound violence. Lightning coursed through the heavens with super-photic fury. It was as if angels hurled volleys of stellar light at unseen demons. The dead trees danced wickedly, cavorting in place like maniacal imps; and tempests of mud arose and swirled hellishly throughout the valley.
But the trio were spared from this eruption of supernatural havoc by an invisible dome of protection. It shimmered, faintly, as it was struck by debris; but its bloated surface was utterly impregnable. I was reminded of the hunger with which I’d been imparted, and I recognized the protective barrier as being the work of Oscar – if not some tangible manifestation of himself. All that touched the barrier was absorbed. Every single atom of it. Oscar fed ravenously on all that impacted his belly, and the scene within carried on without interruption.
Jasmine, virtually unchanged since her last appearance, marched toward the helpless captive. Sarah's celestial aura died a little in the face of Jasmine's brutal image. The two women locked eyes, Jasmine’s visible to me for the first time, and I quivered at the funereal severity of her glare. It was obvious that she'd seen things unreal and unrelatable; and I felt a sneaking suspicion that Sarah was in some way responsible for the horrors and agonies Jasmine had suffered.
The darkness whimpered in my ear, terrified of the platonic assemblage. I ignored it, no longer fearing its presence. Sarah would've defeated it, and she'd been easily subdued by my friends.
Jasmine stepped in front of Sarah, blocking the demoness from view. Sarah cried out something bestial and inarticulate - a savage protest in her demonian tongue. Lexi and Justin cringed, being unaccustomed to such foul speech, but Jasmine ignored it. She'd undoubtedly come to tolerate it in her conflicts against the she-devil and her Hadean forces.
With her unbroken arm, Jasmine raised the spiked mace and brought it down onto Sarah's head. There was a thunderous crunch, as of mountains collapsing beneath a meteoric impact, and Sarah's body went limp. Felled in a single blow.
The shackles about her body dematerialized, and Justin fell to his knees - his energy depleted. The great dome that had protected them from the veritable maelstrom diminished, and Oscar returned to his boundless immensity elsewhere. A gust of wind then blew through the scene, and Lexi’s age-harrowed form was scattered into atoms.
Sarah's body broke apart in the stream.
Only Jasmine remained. Her mace dripping with the blood of her latest kill. With her campaign now completed, she turned to me and pointed her weapon at the camera.
Had the constricting darkness not been frightened away from my shoulder, I probably would've been struck by the morningstar, but I managed to dodge as she threw it through the screen. (I doubt it would've actually hurt me, but instinct nonetheless drove my body to action.) I heard an inhuman shriek as the club struck its true target. Turning around, I saw the corporeal darkness impaled against the back wall of my bedroom like a great black sheet. It flapped madly for a few moments, then grew deathly still.
I got out of bed and went over to the wall. It took a considerable amount of effort, but I withdrew the morningstar from where it had pinned that unenviable fiend. The darkness—now no more than a wrinkly sheet—fell lifelessly to the floor, where it then disintegrated. The weapon felt good in my hands. It instilled me with an unprecedented sense of vigor, of physical and spiritual toughness. I felt as if I could battle with and defeat the heroes and villains of ancient legend and cosmic myth.
On my bed, my phone screen flickered, drawing my attention back. I retrieved it, expecting to see Jasmine and wanting to thank her for what she’d done for me. But there was instead that first image, with the androgynous figure standing atop the snowcapped mountain’s peak. It no longer stared skyward, but now gazed languidly at the camera; as if it had just awoken from a deep slumber. Our eyes met—I was certain that it could actually see me—and the morningstar trembled in my hand. This person was no friend of mine—was the only one I hadn’t recognized among the cast of characters. I knew, within my very bones, that I’d someday have to face this person—within the outré environment of whatever mortally unreachable realm lay within my phone. But that time had not yet come—of that, I was also certain.
Instead, I turned the phone off, set the mace beside my bed, and went back to sleep.

Something woke me up. An impulse that had somehow broken through the barrier between dream and reality. My eyes flicked open and the darkness they came to see was...blinding. Not as light blinds, with brilliance and spectacle, but through the abject nihility of itself. It was Darkness Total. Ultimate and multi-dimensional. Paralyzing. I laid there, entombed in shadow, terrified yet also curious as to what had awoken me; what had been strong enough to pull me from oneiric reverie into this abysmal, lightless lacuna. It had not been the environing darkness—but something else.
A small square of light erupted to my left, and though it was larger than my hand, it was like a stellar detonation in that Omnipresent Black. I cringed away from it, briefly thinking myself safe in the darkness, forgetting how inimical it had felt only moments before. When the abrasive light subsided, and I remembered that Light was my friend, I reached out and grasped the source. The familiarity of it was striking. It was my phone: the potently photic artifact that had defied the malignant dark was the thing I'd kept by my side at all times.
I gripped it like an anchor. My eyes, dim like the surfaces of planets unsunned, struggled to accommodate the unnatural light. But I stared with mortal resolution, bearing the pain, forcing them to grow accustomed to that providential element.
Eventually, the brightness of the screen lessened - or my eyes simply adjusted to it. I felt no shift in the darkness, no further encroachment – it was still being kept at bay. It could not swallow up this light had as it had the lunar glow beyond my window.
The Androgyne
An image resolved on the screen: a picture of a person. Indecipherably, frustratingly androgynous. They stood on a large rock, or a narrow mountain pinnacle, facing the camera. Which, judging by the distance, had to have been floating in mid-air. Suspended by a drone, perhaps. Though something about the picture suggested that it had been taken years, decades before any sort of portable drone was invented. There was a deep oldness about it, as if it had been torn from a time-lost photo album.
The atmosphere within the image was thick with frost, and yet the androgyne wore only a light sweater and jeans. No hat. No gloves. The casual wear of an autumnal traveler. Steely blue eyes stared blissfully skyward, ignorant of what had to have been a numbing cold. The image was upsetting. Logic-defying, anachronistic, and wholly unfamiliar – it had no business being on my phone. I hadn’t downloaded it, and definitely hadn’t taken it. But it was there, the first of many cryptic pictures. No name or context came to mind. Not the slightest explanation. The genderless person had a faerie-like quality to them. A subtly devilish aura about them. It was unbearable.
I felt the darkness begin to inch closer, testing the light’s domain. I flicked to the next image in hopes that the shift would elicit some flare or burst of light to remind the darkness of its place. It worked. Erebus receded a little.
Alexandra
The next Image: a woman, early twenties, smiling at the camera. I recognized her, and in the recognition I found a great degree of comfort. The last image had unsettled me, shaken me in ways inexpressible. It was a horrid, unwholesome thing, regardless of how harmlessly the pixels had been arranged. But this new image wrangled my fear, corralled the phantoms of terror that threatened to undo my mind, synapse by fear-wearied synapse.
The woman – whose name was Lexi – was a friend, more than a friend: a long-held companion, someone in whom I’d sought comfort and fulfillment; joy and escape. The light that emanated from the phone’s screen was somehow physically soothing, as if tinged with a warmth imparted by her goofy, carefree smile, by her encouraging eyes. I wanted to bask in it.
Like a somnambulist, I imagined myself drifting screenward, floating into that soul-restoring light. But I still had one figurative foot in the dark, and it would not let me escape its stifling mire.
Lexi’s smile began to fade. The soft luster of her green eyes dimmed, becoming a sullen grey. Her hair, once red and voluminous as a bouquet of sanguine flowers, blackened strand by strand. The background – which I hadn’t noticed until now – became a bleak and boreal landscape of collapsed, pre-modern architecture and colossal ice-forms. Glaciers reared themselves from Stygian waters, breaching the surface like gasping dragons. Lexi stood amidst the cold cataclysm, unsmiling, uncaring – a haggish revenant born of death, refusing to submit to oblivion.
I wanted to wait, hoping the image would change again. Would become something else, something happier. But the landscape only grew bleaker. Lexi’s condition only worsened. She languished in that abhorrent icescape, whilst malformed icebergs twisted towards an abyssal black sky, and headless winged things descended from grey, pregnant clouds.
With tears in my eyes, I flicked to the next image. Behind me, Erebus cackled from His throne within the everblack vastness.
Justin
A sorcerer. A warlock. But someone I recognized. My friend Justin wore heavy purpureal robes, begemmed with sparkling opals and rubies, and tied about the waist with a similarly studded belt. The array of jewels twinkled brilliantly, illuming an otherwise scarcely lit atelier. A thick grey beard depended from his face, nearly reaching the aforementioned belt, but his features were otherwise unchanged from what I remembered of him in the real world. The square frames of his glasses were slightly tinged with rust, and the thick lenses were dotted with flecks of dust – but he appeared in good health. His eyes stared fixedly ahead, as if he saw not a camera, but a confounding enigma that his mind had not yet penetrated. Behind him, books of an unguessable nature—for their spines bore no words—sat piled in ceiling-touching heaps. Pillars and towers of olden knowledge, spires of lost arcana. The paraphernalia of wizardry littered a nearby desk. Skulls of unknown megafauna--polished and painted--acted as other furniture.
I waited for the image to take on some new, grotesque form, as Lexi’s had; but, surprisingly, it remained the same. No apparitions manifested; no horrors danced in the candlelit background. It was a reprieve from the bizarre and nightmarish phantasmagoria. A recess from the increasingly dark proceedings. Begrudgingly, with a thankful glance at my friend’s age-hardened face, I went to the next image. I felt the anticipation of that Implacable Dark tickle my shoulder. It too wanted to continue – doubtlessly for other reasons.
The next image was a gut punch.
Jasmine
She’d been crucified, at some point in the history of that dismal scene. But had been let down from her purgatorial punishment at a later time. She now knelt on a fire-burnt plain, the burdensome cross half-collapsed behind her, blackly charred and withered. Other crosses littered the field, some defiantly erect – though comparably burnt – while more than a few lay in ruins or buried up to their tips in the ashen dunes beyond.
She, however, had escaped the great burning. Her skin was pale as ever, almost luminous in the fumatory wasteland. She wore steel and leather armor, though most of it had been broken or torn away in whatever battle she’d fought. Strands and pieces of it hung and dangled freely. Metal tinkled softly with the heavy heaving of her chest. She was tired, but I sensed that there was more for her to do. The campaign was not yet over. And then I realized what I should’ve two images ago: the images were not static, but more akin to videos. Nebulous, or at least malleable to unseen forces. I’d heard the decapitated (yet impossibly shrieking) monstrous fliers of Lexi’s image; seen the mountainous glaciers push through the black waters. And though there hadn’t been much activity in Justin’s picture, I had smelled, unconsciously, the wax of the candles, and the age-scented pages of the dust-laden books.
The Images were sensorial experiences, not just pictures on a screen.
Jasmine rose, apparently having rested enough. One gauntlet-clad arm dangled awkwardly - bent and broken. The other held a morningstar, its spikes slick with crimson. Her hair - as black as the cross behind her - covered her face. But somehow, I knew there was an expression of grim resolution behind the sable curtain. More blood was to be spilt before she’d allow herself to rest. I didn't know who her enemies were or why she hunted them, but I felt a sympathetic fear for them. She'd survived crucifixion and continental immolation. It was plain that nothing would stop her.
Leaving her to her conquest, I turned to the next image.
Oscar
A blank screen. A threshold of light. There was depth there, even though it wasn't easily discernible. It seemed endless. Deeper than the yawning gulf behind me. My phone felt less like a piece of technology and more like a scrying mirror, or an impregnable portal to realms untrod by mundane men. The ultra-white domain beckoned me onward, and though my soul yearned to leap headlong into it, my body could not. Shadows, petulant and seething, lapped like waves behind me. They hated the nigh celestial whiteness. Hissed and spat at it. I ignored their tenebrous venom.
Gradually, I sensed a sentience somewhere in the immensity. A being nearly as great as the space itself. It made its hunger apparent to me, and I, empathically, hungered. This hunger galvanized my spirit, for there is nothing more inclined towards survival than a starved creature. I would’ve probably despaired, had I not been given that feral impetus. The darkness’s repulsion at the light, at the insatiable hunger, amused me. Drove me further on.
Spitefully, I let the Starving Light linger on my screen for a little while longer before moving onto the next - and final - image.
Sarah.
She was facing away from the camera - the first to do so. She stood in a massive, grassless valley, between two ridges atop which sat dead, warped trees. A thin stream of some sanguine liquid ran through the length of the valley, and a scarlet haze - as of vaporous blood - hung about everything. Sarah wore a backless black dress, and etched or seared into her bare back was a strange symbol, seemingly occult in nature. The emblem brought to mind a name or title, one I couldn't remember ever hearing before: The Black Horologist.
Her head had been shaved, and her scalp bore deep, haphazard scratches - as if she'd been trying to scrape away the skin in a blind frenzy. Something round protruded - just barely - from the back of her head. It looked like...the face of a clock.
I then noticed figures at the far end of the ridge, standing beneath the umbrage of the sole living tree. They wore long black robes and veils. Baleful, mysterious, and Inscrutable. It was towards these watchful figures that Sarah stared. Both parties had an air of anticipation; one waiting on the other to do something. Lightning streaked through the bloodshot sky. Thunder shook the leafless limbs of the desiccated trees. The stream, as if suddenly heated by underground geologic activity, began to boil. And still Sarah stood in it, heedless of the rising steam.
The cultists shifted. Their tree – towering and plentifully leafed - leaned to and fro in the newborn torrential chaos. Some of the members were unsteadied and fell to the ground, rolling into the bubbling river. I watched in horror as they boiled alive. Gouts of hot plasma shot every which way as their bodies burst in the heat. Molten entrails streamed toward the crimson horizon, carried by the mounting current. Some of the cultists managed to cling to the bole and low-lying branches of the tree, but their fates were no less fatal. A great gust of wind uprooted the whole growth and flung it heavenward. Their bodies tossed helplessly in the wind, while their screams echoed omnidirectionally.
Sarah hadn't moved throughout the whole morbid spectacle, but now turned toward the camera. Her face was blank, utterly featureless. And yet I had earlier recognized her immediately from her frame and posture alone. Had I seen her from the front at first, the grotesqueness of her appearance might’ve forestalled the recognition. I would've preferred a warped and deranged expression, than that empty stretch of skin.
The faceless doppelganger knelt in the boiling stream and dipped her head in. She held it there for a moment, then emerged - bearing a face! But not hers - no, it was the consummate visage of mankind, ultimate in its beauty; possessing every admirable facet (and unique aberration) possible. Quintessentially human, immaculately gorgeous.
Hair grew from her scarred scalp, golden and flowing. In my amazement at her beatific transformation, i didn't notice her graceful advancement toward the camera. It wasn’t until she'd reached out that I noticed she'd come much closer. Before I could recoil, she seized me - through the phone's screen - by my neck. The Erebean avatar raged atop my shoulders. I hadn't noticed how close it had come, either. Sarah eyed me smugly, as if I were nothing more than some sub-real plaything, and she were the real person. Her grip tightened, and the darkness sank its claws deeper into my back. Caught between two malevolent entities, two ultramundane forces of paranatural power, I prayed for providential intervention.
The darkness of death - promised by Sarah's hold upon my throat - was not the same spiritually toxic darkness that threatened to envelop me. That darkness was not the cessation of life, but the corruption of it. Sarah, for whatever inexplicable reason, meant to simply kill me. And the aspect of Erebus clinging to my back warred against her. It wanted - needed - me alive. I faced a twofold doom.
But before my throat could be crushed, and before I could be imprisoned in that Iron Maiden of Night, a most unexpected thing happened: Sarah was blasted nearly out of frame by a cyclonic beam of ice. Motes of frost twinkled in the scarlet haze. Snowflakes drifted toward the ruddy sky. Sarah writhed around in the blistering stream, stricken senseless by the frigid blast.
Before she could shake off the blanket of frost and rise again, spectral chains manifested from the ether and bound her arms and legs. She raged against the purple hard-light, but they were perdurable against her middling strength. Her golden hair flared as her ire mounted. Her face became even more beautiful. Terrifyingly so. It was like a Medusean mask, and though her hands had left me I was still immovably petrified.
Two figures then stepped into frame. And though neither were as they'd been before, I recognized them both.
Lexi, now bent by time and the bitter cold, stood beside Justin – whose ashen beard now trailed down to the ground. The gems that adorned his robe had been dimmed by time, carrying now only the faintest glimmer in their cores. And the robe itself was faded, and streaked with stains that betokened long nights of alchemical experimentation. And his face was sagged and mottled with incalculable age; and his glasses were cracked, the frames bent. And though half-blind and wizened he may have been, he stood with a sorcerous vitality, and his many-ringed fingers twitched in the command of the spell-wrought shackles.
The two friends, after ensuring that Sarah was indeed ensnared, stepped aside to make room for another unforeseen visitor.
Jasmine entered the frame, and as if to augur the black deed she'd soon complete, the sky exploded with newfound violence. Lightning coursed through the heavens with super-photic fury. It was as if angels hurled volleys of stellar light at unseen demons. The dead trees danced wickedly, cavorting in place like maniacal imps; and tempests of mud arose and swirled hellishly throughout the valley.
But the trio were spared from this eruption of supernatural havoc by an invisible dome of protection. It shimmered, faintly, as it was struck by debris; but its bloated surface was utterly impregnable. I was reminded of the hunger with which I’d been imparted, and I recognized the protective barrier as being the work of Oscar – if not some tangible manifestation of himself. All that touched the barrier was absorbed. Every single atom of it. Oscar fed ravenously on all that impacted his belly, and the scene within carried on without interruption.
Jasmine, virtually unchanged since her last appearance, marched toward the helpless captive. Sarah's celestial aura died a little in the face of Jasmine's brutal image. The two women locked eyes, Jasmine’s visible to me for the first time, and I quivered at the funereal severity of her glare. It was obvious that she'd seen things unreal and unrelatable; and I felt a sneaking suspicion that Sarah was in some way responsible for the horrors and agonies Jasmine had suffered.
The darkness whimpered in my ear, terrified of the platonic assemblage. I ignored it, no longer fearing its presence. Sarah would've defeated it, and she'd been easily subdued by my friends.
Jasmine stepped in front of Sarah, blocking the demoness from view. Sarah cried out something bestial and inarticulate - a savage protest in her demonian tongue. Lexi and Justin cringed, being unaccustomed to such foul speech, but Jasmine ignored it. She'd undoubtedly come to tolerate it in her conflicts against the she-devil and her Hadean forces.
With her unbroken arm, Jasmine raised the spiked mace and brought it down onto Sarah's head. There was a thunderous crunch, as of mountains collapsing beneath a meteoric impact, and Sarah's body went limp. Felled in a single blow.
The shackles about her body dematerialized, and Justin fell to his knees - his energy depleted. The great dome that had protected them from the veritable maelstrom diminished, and Oscar returned to his boundless immensity elsewhere. A gust of wind then blew through the scene, and Lexi’s age-harrowed form was scattered into atoms.
Sarah's body broke apart in the stream.
Only Jasmine remained. Her mace dripping with the blood of her latest kill. With her campaign now completed, she turned to me and pointed her weapon at the camera.
Had the constricting darkness not been frightened away from my shoulder, I probably would've been struck by the morningstar, but I managed to dodge as she threw it through the screen. (I doubt it would've actually hurt me, but instinct nonetheless drove my body to action.) I heard an inhuman shriek as the club struck its true target. Turning around, I saw the corporeal darkness impaled against the back wall of my bedroom like a great black sheet. It flapped madly for a few moments, then grew deathly still.
I got out of bed and went over to the wall. It took a considerable amount of effort, but I withdrew the morningstar from where it had pinned that unenviable fiend. The darkness—now no more than a wrinkly sheet—fell lifelessly to the floor, where it then disintegrated. The weapon felt good in my hands. It instilled me with an unprecedented sense of vigor, of physical and spiritual toughness. I felt as if I could battle with and defeat the heroes and villains of ancient legend and cosmic myth.
On my bed, my phone screen flickered, drawing my attention back. I retrieved it, expecting to see Jasmine and wanting to thank her for what she’d done for me. But there was instead that first image, with the androgynous figure standing atop the snowcapped mountain’s peak. It no longer stared skyward, but now gazed languidly at the camera; as if it had just awoken from a deep slumber. Our eyes met—I was certain that it could actually see me—and the morningstar trembled in my hand. This person was no friend of mine—was the only one I hadn’t recognized among the cast of characters. I knew, within my very bones, that I’d someday have to face this person—within the outré environment of whatever mortally unreachable realm lay within my phone. But that time had not yet come—of that, I was also certain.
Instead, I turned the phone off, set the mace beside my bed, and went back to sleep.

Something woke me up. An impulse that had somehow broken through the barrier between dream and reality. My eyes flicked open and the darkness they came to see was...blinding. Not as light blinds, with brilliance and spectacle, but through the abject nihility of itself. It was Darkness Total. Ultimate and multi-dimensional. Paralyzing. I laid there, entombed in shadow, terrified yet also curious as to what had awoken me; what had been strong enough to pull me from oneiric reverie into this abysmal, lightless lacuna. It had not been the environing darkness—but something else.
A small square of light erupted to my left, and though it was larger than my hand, it was like a stellar detonation in that Omnipresent Black. I cringed away from it, briefly thinking myself safe in the darkness, forgetting how inimical it had felt only moments before. When the abrasive light subsided, and I remembered that Light was my friend, I reached out and grasped the source. The familiarity of it was striking. It was my phone: the potently photic artifact that had defied the malignant dark was the thing I'd kept by my side at all times.
I gripped it like an anchor. My eyes, dim like the surfaces of planets unsunned, struggled to accommodate the unnatural light. But I stared with mortal resolution, bearing the pain, forcing them to grow accustomed to that providential element.
Eventually, the brightness of the screen lessened - or my eyes simply adjusted to it. I felt no shift in the darkness, no further encroachment – it was still being kept at bay. It could not swallow up this light had as it had the lunar glow beyond my window.
The Androgyne
An image resolved on the screen: a picture of a person. Indecipherably, frustratingly androgynous. They stood on a large rock, or a narrow mountain pinnacle, facing the camera. Which, judging by the distance, had to have been floating in mid-air. Suspended by a drone, perhaps. Though something about the picture suggested that it had been taken years, decades before any sort of portable drone was invented. There was a deep oldness about it, as if it had been torn from a time-lost photo album.
The atmosphere within the image was thick with frost, and yet the androgyne wore only a light sweater and jeans. No hat. No gloves. The casual wear of an autumnal traveler. Steely blue eyes stared blissfully skyward, ignorant of what had to have been a numbing cold. The image was upsetting. Logic-defying, anachronistic, and wholly unfamiliar – it had no business being on my phone. I hadn’t downloaded it, and definitely hadn’t taken it. But it was there, the first of many cryptic pictures. No name or context came to mind. Not the slightest explanation. The genderless person had a faerie-like quality to them. A subtly devilish aura about them. It was unbearable.
I felt the darkness begin to inch closer, testing the light’s domain. I flicked to the next image in hopes that the shift would elicit some flare or burst of light to remind the darkness of its place. It worked. Erebus receded a little.
Alexandra
The next Image: a woman, early twenties, smiling at the camera. I recognized her, and in the recognition I found a great degree of comfort. The last image had unsettled me, shaken me in ways inexpressible. It was a horrid, unwholesome thing, regardless of how harmlessly the pixels had been arranged. But this new image wrangled my fear, corralled the phantoms of terror that threatened to undo my mind, synapse by fear-wearied synapse.
The woman – whose name was Lexi – was a friend, more than a friend: a long-held companion, someone in whom I’d sought comfort and fulfillment; joy and escape. The light that emanated from the phone’s screen was somehow physically soothing, as if tinged with a warmth imparted by her goofy, carefree smile, by her encouraging eyes. I wanted to bask in it.
Like a somnambulist, I imagined myself drifting screenward, floating into that soul-restoring light. But I still had one figurative foot in the dark, and it would not let me escape its stifling mire.
Lexi’s smile began to fade. The soft luster of her green eyes dimmed, becoming a sullen grey. Her hair, once red and voluminous as a bouquet of sanguine flowers, blackened strand by strand. The background – which I hadn’t noticed until now – became a bleak and boreal landscape of collapsed, pre-modern architecture and colossal ice-forms. Glaciers reared themselves from Stygian waters, breaching the surface like gasping dragons. Lexi stood amidst the cold cataclysm, unsmiling, uncaring – a haggish revenant born of death, refusing to submit to oblivion.
I wanted to wait, hoping the image would change again. Would become something else, something happier. But the landscape only grew bleaker. Lexi’s condition only worsened. She languished in that abhorrent icescape, whilst malformed icebergs twisted towards an abyssal black sky, and headless winged things descended from grey, pregnant clouds.
With tears in my eyes, I flicked to the next image. Behind me, Erebus cackled from His throne within the everblack vastness.
Justin
A sorcerer. A warlock. But someone I recognized. My friend Justin wore heavy purpureal robes, begemmed with sparkling opals and rubies, and tied about the waist with a similarly studded belt. The array of jewels twinkled brilliantly, illuming an otherwise scarcely lit atelier. A thick grey beard depended from his face, nearly reaching the aforementioned belt, but his features were otherwise unchanged from what I remembered of him in the real world. The square frames of his glasses were slightly tinged with rust, and the thick lenses were dotted with flecks of dust – but he appeared in good health. His eyes stared fixedly ahead, as if he saw not a camera, but a confounding enigma that his mind had not yet penetrated. Behind him, books of an unguessable nature—for their spines bore no words—sat piled in ceiling-touching heaps. Pillars and towers of olden knowledge, spires of lost arcana. The paraphernalia of wizardry littered a nearby desk. Skulls of unknown megafauna--polished and painted--acted as other furniture.
I waited for the image to take on some new, grotesque form, as Lexi’s had; but, surprisingly, it remained the same. No apparitions manifested; no horrors danced in the candlelit background. It was a reprieve from the bizarre and nightmarish phantasmagoria. A recess from the increasingly dark proceedings. Begrudgingly, with a thankful glance at my friend’s age-hardened face, I went to the next image. I felt the anticipation of that Implacable Dark tickle my shoulder. It too wanted to continue – doubtlessly for other reasons.
The next image was a gut punch.
Jasmine
She’d been crucified, at some point in the history of that dismal scene. But had been let down from her purgatorial punishment at a later time. She now knelt on a fire-burnt plain, the burdensome cross half-collapsed behind her, blackly charred and withered. Other crosses littered the field, some defiantly erect – though comparably burnt – while more than a few lay in ruins or buried up to their tips in the ashen dunes beyond.
She, however, had escaped the great burning. Her skin was pale as ever, almost luminous in the fumatory wasteland. She wore steel and leather armor, though most of it had been broken or torn away in whatever battle she’d fought. Strands and pieces of it hung and dangled freely. Metal tinkled softly with the heavy heaving of her chest. She was tired, but I sensed that there was more for her to do. The campaign was not yet over. And then I realized what I should’ve two images ago: the images were not static, but more akin to videos. Nebulous, or at least malleable to unseen forces. I’d heard the decapitated (yet impossibly shrieking) monstrous fliers of Lexi’s image; seen the mountainous glaciers push through the black waters. And though there hadn’t been much activity in Justin’s picture, I had smelled, unconsciously, the wax of the candles, and the age-scented pages of the dust-laden books.
The Images were sensorial experiences, not just pictures on a screen.
Jasmine rose, apparently having rested enough. One gauntlet-clad arm dangled awkwardly - bent and broken. The other held a morningstar, its spikes slick with crimson. Her hair - as black as the cross behind her - covered her face. But somehow, I knew there was an expression of grim resolution behind the sable curtain. More blood was to be spilt before she’d allow herself to rest. I didn't know who her enemies were or why she hunted them, but I felt a sympathetic fear for them. She'd survived crucifixion and continental immolation. It was plain that nothing would stop her.
Leaving her to her conquest, I turned to the next image.
Oscar
A blank screen. A threshold of light. There was depth there, even though it wasn't easily discernible. It seemed endless. Deeper than the yawning gulf behind me. My phone felt less like a piece of technology and more like a scrying mirror, or an impregnable portal to realms untrod by mundane men. The ultra-white domain beckoned me onward, and though my soul yearned to leap headlong into it, my body could not. Shadows, petulant and seething, lapped like waves behind me. They hated the nigh celestial whiteness. Hissed and spat at it. I ignored their tenebrous venom.
Gradually, I sensed a sentience somewhere in the immensity. A being nearly as great as the space itself. It made its hunger apparent to me, and I, empathically, hungered. This hunger galvanized my spirit, for there is nothing more inclined towards survival than a starved creature. I would’ve probably despaired, had I not been given that feral impetus. The darkness’s repulsion at the light, at the insatiable hunger, amused me. Drove me further on.
Spitefully, I let the Starving Light linger on my screen for a little while longer before moving onto the next - and final - image.
Sarah.
She was facing away from the camera - the first to do so. She stood in a massive, grassless valley, between two ridges atop which sat dead, warped trees. A thin stream of some sanguine liquid ran through the length of the valley, and a scarlet haze - as of vaporous blood - hung about everything. Sarah wore a backless black dress, and etched or seared into her bare back was a strange symbol, seemingly occult in nature. The emblem brought to mind a name or title, one I couldn't remember ever hearing before: The Black Horologist.
Her head had been shaved, and her scalp bore deep, haphazard scratches - as if she'd been trying to scrape away the skin in a blind frenzy. Something round protruded - just barely - from the back of her head. It looked like...the face of a clock.
I then noticed figures at the far end of the ridge, standing beneath the umbrage of the sole living tree. They wore long black robes and veils. Baleful, mysterious, and Inscrutable. It was towards these watchful figures that Sarah stared. Both parties had an air of anticipation; one waiting on the other to do something. Lightning streaked through the bloodshot sky. Thunder shook the leafless limbs of the desiccated trees. The stream, as if suddenly heated by underground geologic activity, began to boil. And still Sarah stood in it, heedless of the rising steam.
The cultists shifted. Their tree – towering and plentifully leafed - leaned to and fro in the newborn torrential chaos. Some of the members were unsteadied and fell to the ground, rolling into the bubbling river. I watched in horror as they boiled alive. Gouts of hot plasma shot every which way as their bodies burst in the heat. Molten entrails streamed toward the crimson horizon, carried by the mounting current. Some of the cultists managed to cling to the bole and low-lying branches of the tree, but their fates were no less fatal. A great gust of wind uprooted the whole growth and flung it heavenward. Their bodies tossed helplessly in the wind, while their screams echoed omnidirectionally.
Sarah hadn't moved throughout the whole morbid spectacle, but now turned toward the camera. Her face was blank, utterly featureless. And yet I had earlier recognized her immediately from her frame and posture alone. Had I seen her from the front at first, the grotesqueness of her appearance might’ve forestalled the recognition. I would've preferred a warped and deranged expression, than that empty stretch of skin.
The faceless doppelganger knelt in the boiling stream and dipped her head in. She held it there for a moment, then emerged - bearing a face! But not hers - no, it was the consummate visage of mankind, ultimate in its beauty; possessing every admirable facet (and unique aberration) possible. Quintessentially human, immaculately gorgeous.
Hair grew from her scarred scalp, golden and flowing. In my amazement at her beatific transformation, i didn't notice her graceful advancement toward the camera. It wasn’t until she'd reached out that I noticed she'd come much closer. Before I could recoil, she seized me - through the phone's screen - by my neck. The Erebean avatar raged atop my shoulders. I hadn't noticed how close it had come, either. Sarah eyed me smugly, as if I were nothing more than some sub-real plaything, and she were the real person. Her grip tightened, and the darkness sank its claws deeper into my back. Caught between two malevolent entities, two ultramundane forces of paranatural power, I prayed for providential intervention.
The darkness of death - promised by Sarah's hold upon my throat - was not the same spiritually toxic darkness that threatened to envelop me. That darkness was not the cessation of life, but the corruption of it. Sarah, for whatever inexplicable reason, meant to simply kill me. And the aspect of Erebus clinging to my back warred against her. It wanted - needed - me alive. I faced a twofold doom.
But before my throat could be crushed, and before I could be imprisoned in that Iron Maiden of Night, a most unexpected thing happened: Sarah was blasted nearly out of frame by a cyclonic beam of ice. Motes of frost twinkled in the scarlet haze. Snowflakes drifted toward the ruddy sky. Sarah writhed around in the blistering stream, stricken senseless by the frigid blast.
Before she could shake off the blanket of frost and rise again, spectral chains manifested from the ether and bound her arms and legs. She raged against the purple hard-light, but they were perdurable against her middling strength. Her golden hair flared as her ire mounted. Her face became even more beautiful. Terrifyingly so. It was like a Medusean mask, and though her hands had left me I was still immovably petrified.
Two figures then stepped into frame. And though neither were as they'd been before, I recognized them both.
Lexi, now bent by time and the bitter cold, stood beside Justin – whose ashen beard now trailed down to the ground. The gems that adorned his robe had been dimmed by time, carrying now only the faintest glimmer in their cores. And the robe itself was faded, and streaked with stains that betokened long nights of alchemical experimentation. And his face was sagged and mottled with incalculable age; and his glasses were cracked, the frames bent. And though half-blind and wizened he may have been, he stood with a sorcerous vitality, and his many-ringed fingers twitched in the command of the spell-wrought shackles.
The two friends, after ensuring that Sarah was indeed ensnared, stepped aside to make room for another unforeseen visitor.
Jasmine entered the frame, and as if to augur the black deed she'd soon complete, the sky exploded with newfound violence. Lightning coursed through the heavens with super-photic fury. It was as if angels hurled volleys of stellar light at unseen demons. The dead trees danced wickedly, cavorting in place like maniacal imps; and tempests of mud arose and swirled hellishly throughout the valley.
But the trio were spared from this eruption of supernatural havoc by an invisible dome of protection. It shimmered, faintly, as it was struck by debris; but its bloated surface was utterly impregnable. I was reminded of the hunger with which I’d been imparted, and I recognized the protective barrier as being the work of Oscar – if not some tangible manifestation of himself. All that touched the barrier was absorbed. Every single atom of it. Oscar fed ravenously on all that impacted his belly, and the scene within carried on without interruption.
Jasmine, virtually unchanged since her last appearance, marched toward the helpless captive. Sarah's celestial aura died a little in the face of Jasmine's brutal image. The two women locked eyes, Jasmine’s visible to me for the first time, and I quivered at the funereal severity of her glare. It was obvious that she'd seen things unreal and unrelatable; and I felt a sneaking suspicion that Sarah was in some way responsible for the horrors and agonies Jasmine had suffered.
The darkness whimpered in my ear, terrified of the platonic assemblage. I ignored it, no longer fearing its presence. Sarah would've defeated it, and she'd been easily subdued by my friends.
Jasmine stepped in front of Sarah, blocking the demoness from view. Sarah cried out something bestial and inarticulate - a savage protest in her demonian tongue. Lexi and Justin cringed, being unaccustomed to such foul speech, but Jasmine ignored it. She'd undoubtedly come to tolerate it in her conflicts against the she-devil and her Hadean forces.
With her unbroken arm, Jasmine raised the spiked mace and brought it down onto Sarah's head. There was a thunderous crunch, as of mountains collapsing beneath a meteoric impact, and Sarah's body went limp. Felled in a single blow.
The shackles about her body dematerialized, and Justin fell to his knees - his energy depleted. The great dome that had protected them from the veritable maelstrom diminished, and Oscar returned to his boundless immensity elsewhere. A gust of wind then blew through the scene, and Lexi’s age-harrowed form was scattered into atoms.
Sarah's body broke apart in the stream.
Only Jasmine remained. Her mace dripping with the blood of her latest kill. With her campaign now completed, she turned to me and pointed her weapon at the camera.
Had the constricting darkness not been frightened away from my shoulder, I probably would've been struck by the morningstar, but I managed to dodge as she threw it through the screen. (I doubt it would've actually hurt me, but instinct nonetheless drove my body to action.) I heard an inhuman shriek as the club struck its true target. Turning around, I saw the corporeal darkness impaled against the back wall of my bedroom like a great black sheet. It flapped madly for a few moments, then grew deathly still.
I got out of bed and went over to the wall. It took a considerable amount of effort, but I withdrew the morningstar from where it had pinned that unenviable fiend. The darkness—now no more than a wrinkly sheet—fell lifelessly to the floor, where it then disintegrated. The weapon felt good in my hands. It instilled me with an unprecedented sense of vigor, of physical and spiritual toughness. I felt as if I could battle with and defeat the heroes and villains of ancient legend and cosmic myth.
On my bed, my phone screen flickered, drawing my attention back. I retrieved it, expecting to see Jasmine and wanting to thank her for what she’d done for me. But there was instead that first image, with the androgynous figure standing atop the snowcapped mountain’s peak. It no longer stared skyward, but now gazed languidly at the camera; as if it had just awoken from a deep slumber. Our eyes met—I was certain that it could actually see me—and the morningstar trembled in my hand. This person was no friend of mine—was the only one I hadn’t recognized among the cast of characters. I knew, within my very bones, that I’d someday have to face this person—within the outré environment of whatever mortally unreachable realm lay within my phone. But that time had not yet come—of that, I was also certain.
Instead, I turned the phone off, set the mace beside my bed, and went back to sleep.

I had my own personal definition written down so I used an online text splitter to limit each word+definition to 15 characters, sorry for it cutting off but here it is. If somethings cut off and you really want to know it, just let me know. :)
-Esque - A simp
A la carte - it
A Priori - theo
Abdicate - give
Aberrant - abno
Aberration - ir
Abetting - enco
Abhorrent - loa
Abject - abject
Abnegating - re
Abomination - i
Aberration - le
Abound - exist
Above reproach
Abrasive - seem
Abrupt - sudden
Abruptly - upon
Absence - in th
Abstain - I ten
Absurd - It’s a
Absurdities - c
Abundantly - It
Abysmal -
Abysmally -
Abyss -
Academic tenure
Accentuate -
Accentuating -
Acclamation -
Acclimate -
Acclimation -
Accolade -
Accommodating -
Accommodation -
Accordance - in
Accosted -
Accrue -
Accumulated -
Acolytes -
Acquaint - One
Acquiesce -
Acquiescence -
Acquiescence -
Acquisition -
Acquit
Acquit -
Acrasia - weakn
Acrimonious -
Acrimony -
Actuary -
Actuaries -
Acuity -
Acumen -
Acute -
Acutely -
Ad Hominem -
Ad hominem - pe
Ad libitum (ad
Ad litem -
Ad libitum (ad
Ad nauseum - re
Adage - proverb
Addendum -
Adept -
Adequate -
Adhere -
Adherence -
Adjudicated -
Adjunct -
Admirable - res
Admissible -
Admonish -
Adoration -
Adorn -
Adorned -
Adroit -
Advent -
Adverse -
Adversity - pol
Advocate -
Advocate - I do
Advocate - a pe
Aesthetic - an
Affable -
Affable - synon
Affectation -
Affidavit -
Affiliated -
Affiliates - pe
Affiliation -
Affine -
Affinity -
Affirmation -
Afoot -
Afterthought -
Agency -
Aggregate -
Agitator -
Agog -
Agoraphobia -
Akin - His acti
Akrasia - state
Alacrity -
Alarming -
Albeit - althou
Alimony -
All encompassin
All inclusive -
Allay -
Allayed -
Allegedly - sup
Allegory -
Alleviate -
Alleviate - mak
Alleviate - mak
Alleviated -
Allude-
Alluded -
Alluring -
Allusory -
Aloof -
Altercation -
Altruism -
Altruism - He s
Altruistic -
Altruistic - co
Amalgam - combi
Amassed -
Ambiance -
Ambient -
Ambiguities -
Ambiguous - His
Ambivalence -
Ambivalent
Amenable -
Amenity -
Amiable -
Amicably -
Amid -
Amiss -
Amnesiac -
Amnesty - offic
Amorous -
Ample -
Amusement - To
Anachronism -
Analogous -
Analogous - The
Analogous - com
Anathema -
Anchorage -
Ancillary -
Androgynous -
Anecdotal -
Anecdote - A SH
Anemic -
Aneurysm -
Anew -
Angst -
Animosity -
Animosity - Not
Animus -
Anodyne -
Anomaly - somet
Anomie -
Anomaly -
Anova -
Antagonising! -
Antecedent -
Anthropocentric
Anthropomorphic
Anticlimactic -
Antipathy -
Antiquated - He
Antiquity -
Antithesis - It
Antithesis - op
Antithetical -
Anymore vs any
Anyway vs any w
Ap per po -
Appalling -
Apathetic -
Apathy - lack o
Apathy - the vo
Aphrodisiac -
Apodictic -
Apogee -
Apolitical -
Apologists -
Apoplectic -
Apostate - One
Apostate - one
Apostle - Disci
Appalling -
Apparent - It’s
Appeal to Autho
Appeal to ignor
Appease - You m
Apposite - appe
Appraisal - Sta
Apprehend - was
Apprehensible -
Apprehensive -
Apt -
Aptitude -
Arbitrary - Jus
Arbitrary - ran
Arcane topics -
Archaic -
Archaic - see a
Archetype -
Ardently opposi
Arduous -
Aristocracy - b
Aristocratic -
Armada -
Armaments -
Aromatic -
Arraignment -
Arrant -
Articulable -
Articulable sus
Articulate -
Artillery -
Artisanal -
As i allude -
Ascent -
Ascertain - com
Ascribe -
Ascribed -
Asinine - Incre
Asinine - extre
Aspire - Contin
Aspire/aspirati
Assailant - The
Assent -
Assertion -
Assess - Let’s
Assiduously -
Assimilate - On
Astute -
Assuage -
Astringent - Wi
Astute -
Atone - He need
Atonement -
Atrocity - Thes
Atrophied -
Atrophy -
Attenuate -
Attest -
Attrition -
Au courant -
Audacious - An
Augment - Why n
Augment - somet
Auspicious -
Austere -
Austerity -
Authentic - gen
Authenticity -
Authoritarian r
Auxiliary -
Avant-garde -
Aversion -
Aversive conseq
Averted -
Awkward eloquen
Awry - turned s
Baffle -
Bailiff -
Balkanized -
Banal -
Banana republic
Bandwagon falla
Barn burner -
Barren -
Bask -
Bastion -
Bawdy -
Bean counter -
Begging the que
Begrudge -
Begrudgingly
Behest -
Beholden -
Behooves -
Beleaguered -
Bellicose -
Belligerence -
Belligerent -
Bellwether -
Bemoaned -
Bemused -
Benchmark -
Benefactor -
Beneficiary -
Benevolent -
Benign - Not ca
Bequeathed -
Berate -
Berated -
Bereft -
Besiege -
Best foot forwa
Beyond reproach
Bilateral - inv
Bilingualism is
Biocentrism -
Bipartisan - co
Bittersweet -
Blackballed -
Blacklisted -
Blasé -
Blatant - done
Bleak and drear
Blight -
Blistering -
Bloviating -
Bohemian -
Bolster -
Bona fide -
Bonafide -
Botulism -
Bourgeois -
Bravado -
Brazen -
Brevity - conci
Brood -
Browbeating -
Bumpkin -
Burdensome -
Bureaucracy - r
Burgeoning -
Cabal -
Cadence -
Cadenced -
Cadences -
Cajole -
Calamity - cata
Calibrated -
Callousness - e
Camaraderie -
Canard -
Candid -
Candor -
Canned platitud
Canonical -
Canonicity -
Cantankerous -
Capitulate -
Capitulate - su
Capitulation -
Capricious - ac
Capricious - un
cardinal sin -
Caricature - de
Caricature- a p
Carnage -
Carte blanche -
Cassock -
Castigates -
Cataclysm - a l
Cataract -
Categorically -
Catfishing -
Catharsis -
Catharsis - rel
Cathartic - rel
Catheter -
Causality -
Cauterize -
Cede -
Celibacy -
Censure -
Centigrade -
Cerebral -
Certail -
Cest la vie -
Chagrin -
Charisma - pers
Charlatan -
Charlatan - fra
Chastise -
Chastised -
Chastity -
Chauvinist -
Cheques and bal
Chides -
Chiding -
Chimera -
Chirality -
Chronic -
Chrysanthemum -
Cicada -
Circumspect -
Circumstance di
Circumstantial
Circumvent -
Circumvent - ev
Clairvoyant -
Clandestine -
Clandestinely -
Clemency -
Clergy -
Clichéd -
Clientele -
Cloak-and-dagge
Co opted -
Coalesce -
Coarse -
Codicil -
Coerce - pressu
Coerced
Coercion -
Cogent - clear
Cognisant -
Cognitive - the
Cognitive disso
Coherent -
Coherent philos
Cohort -
Coincide -
Coincide - occu
Collaborationis
Collective - do
Collegial -
Collinear -
Colloquial - in
Colloquialism -
Colluding -
Collusion -
Comatose -
Comes into fray
Comeuppance -
Comity -
Commandeer -
Commence - star
Commensurate -
Commingle -
Commiserate -
Commission -
Commodity -
Commonplace -
Commute -
Comparable -
Comparatives -
Compartmentaliz
Compassion -
Compelling/capt
Complacency -
Complacent -
Compliance -
Compliant -
Complicit -
Complying -
Composite -
Compulsive -
Compulsively -
Compunction -
Concede -
Concede - admit
Conceited -
Conceivably -
Concentric -
Concerted effor
Conciliatory -
Concise -
Conclusive -
Concoct -
Concomitant -
Concubine -
Concurrency -
Condescending -
Conditional -
Conditioned -
Condone - suppo
Conduce - helps
Conducive -
Conduit -
Confabulation -
Confabulatory -
Confidant -
Confide -
Confined -
Conflate -
Confluence -
Conformist - co
Confound -
Confounds -
Congenial -
Congeniality -
Congenital -
Congruent -
Conjecture -
Conjugal -
Conjunction - r
Connotation - u
Conquest -
Conscience -
Conscientiousne
Consequentialis
Consider -
Consilience -
Consolation - c
Console -
Consolidate -
Consolidated -
Consoling -
Consorting with
Consortium -
Conspicuous
Conspicuous - o
Conspirators -
Consternation -
Constitutes -
Contarian -
Constrictions -
Contrivances -
Contrived -
Construal -
Constructive -
Construed -
Consummate -
Consummation -
Contemplate -
Contemplative -
Contemporaneous
Contemporaries
Contemporary -
Contemporary ar
Contempt -
Contend -
Contended -
Contention -
Contentious -
Contiguous -
Continental -
Contortionist -
Contrarian -
Contrarians -
Contrary -
Contretemps - t
Contrition -
Contrived -
Controversial -
Convened -
Conventionally
Converge -
Convergence -
Conviction -
Convoluted -
Convoluted - co
Convoy -
Convulsed -
Convulsions -
Coot -
Cop out -
Copacetic -
Copious -
Cordial -
Cordial - calm
Corpulent -
Corral -
Corroborate -
Corrolary -
Cottified -
Countenance -
Counter-intuiti
Countervailing
Covert -
Coy - pretendin
Crass - stupid
Cravenly -
Credence -
Creditor -
Credulity -
Credulous -
Cretinous -
Cromulent -
Cronyism -
Crucible - the
Crudely -
Crux -
Cucks -
Cudgel -
Cul-de-sac -
Culpable - guil
Culpably -
Cultivate -
Cultivating -
Cultural Marxis
Cumbersome -
Cumulative - to
Cunning - showi
Curt -
Curtail -
Curtain raiser
Cut and dry -
Cyclical - recu
Cyclonic -
Cynical - being
Cynicism
Damocles -
Dapper -
Daunting -
Dawdle -
De jure - by ri
Debacle -
Debar -
Debilitating -
Decadent -
Decolonizing -
Decorum -
Decrepit - old
de facto -
Defamatory -
Defer to someon
Defiant -
Defilement -
Definitive -
Defrocked -
Defunct -
Degenerate - on
Degradation -
Deified -
Dilettante -
Dejected -
Delegate -
Delegating -
Delegitimize -
Deliberate -
Delicatessen -
Delighted -
Delineate -
Delinquency - m
Delta -
Demagogue - one
Demagoguery -
Demarcate -
Demarcation -
Demean -
Demeanor -
Demoralizing -
Demoralizing -
Denigrate -
Denigrating -
Denominations -
Depose -
Deposition -
Depraved -
Deputize -
Deranged -
Deriding -
Derision -
Derisively -
Descriptive vs
Desensitised -
Desiccants -
Desolate -
Despot -
Despots -
Destitute -
Deteriorate -
Deteriorate - b
Deterministic -
Detractor -
Detroment -
Detrimental -
Devil’s advocat
Devout -
Dexterous - ski
Dextrous -
Diagnosis -
Diagnostic - th
Diametrically o
Diaphanous -
Diaspora -
Dichotomy -
Dichotomy - con
Dickensian -
Didactic -
Differential -
Digress -
Diligence -
Diligent -
Diminishing -
Dire straits -
Disanalogous -
Disarray -
Disavow -
Disavowed -
Disbarred -
Discern -
Discernable -
Discombobulated
Discombobulated
Disconcerting -
Discourse -
Discredit -
Discrepancy -
Discretion -
Disdain -
Disemboweled -
Disenfranchised
Disenfranchised
Dysentery -
Disgruntled -
Disheartening -
Disheveled -
Disillusion -
Disillusioned -
Disingenuous -
Dismal -
Dismay -
Dismay - absolu
Disparage -
Disparaging -
Disparate -
Disparity -
Dispersions -
Dispiriting
Disposition -
Disproportionat
Disreputable -
Disseminating -
Dissenting -
Dissertation -
Dissident -
Dissonance - in
Distinction -
Distortions -
Distraught -
Dissuade -
Diuretic -
Divested -
Divisive - tend
Divisiveness -
Divulge -
Divulging -
Docile -
Dogmatism -
Dogmatize -
Dollop -
Double entendre
Double superlat
Dreary -
Dromedary -
Drudgery -
Dualism -
Duplex -
Duplicity -
Duress -
Dyer -
Dynastic -
Dysentery -
Earmarked -
Earnest -
Eccentric -
Echochamber -
Ecstatic -
Edify -
Effeminate -
Effervescent -
Efficacious - s
Efficacy -
Efficiency -
Effigy -
Egalitarian - B
Egalitarianism
Egocentric -
Egotist -
Egregious - out
Elaborate - inv
Elapsed -
Elated -
Elation -
Elicit -
Elicited -
Elitist - someo
Eloquence - flu
Eloquently - in
Elucidate -
Elude -
Eluded -
Elusive -
Emaciated -
Emanated -
Emanating -
Emasculate -
Emblematic - re
Embody - person
Eminence -
Emoluments clau
Emotive -
Empathetic -
Empathy -
Empathy - share
Empirical - mea
Emphatic -
Emphatically -
Emphatically di
Empiricism -
Empiricist -
Emulate - to be
En masse -
Enclave - small
Encompass -
Encumbering -
Endearing -
Endeavor - try
Endemic -
Endowed -
Engorged -
Engrained - fir
Enigmatic -
Enigmatically -
Enmity -
Enqueued -
Enticing - temp
Envoy -
Ephemeral -
Epigenetics -
Epiglottis -
Epilepsy -
Epileptic -
Epiphany - a su
Episcopalianism
Epistemological
Epistemologies
Epistemology -
Epistiomology -
Epitaph -
Epithets -
Epitome - perso
Epitome - the p
Eponymous -
Equidistant -
Equivocate -
Errata -
Erratic -
Erratically -
Erroneous -
Erudite -
Erudite - havin
on that subject
Erudition -
Escapade -
Eschew -
Esoteric -
Espousal -
Espouses -
Espousing -
Esteem -
Ethereal -
Ethos -
Etymology -
Eugenics -
Eulogy - funera
Euphemism - a p
Euphoria-a feel
Evasive - avoid
Even handed -
Evident - obvio
Evidentiary -
Eviscerates -
Evocative -
Ex-communicated
Exacerbate -
Exacerbated - m
Exasperated -
Exasperation -
Exasperation -
Excessive -
Excoriate -
Excruciatingly
Exculpatory -
Exculpates -
Execrable -
Exemplary -
Exemplify - mak
Exempt -
Exert their inf
Exerted/exertio
Exhume -
Existential -
Existential ang
Exodus -
Exonerated -
Exorbitant -
Expedience -
Expedite -
Expendable - de
Explicit -
Explicit - clea
Exploitative -
Exploits -
Exposition -
Expound -
Expounded -
Expunge -
Extemporaneousl
Extenuate -
Extenuating -
Externality -
Extraneous -
Extraordinary -
Extravagant - s
Extremity -
Extricate -
Exuberance -
Exuberantly -
Exude -
Exuded -
Exuding -
Fabricate -
Fabricate - fra
Face value -
Facetious - loo
Facetious - not
Facile -
Facilitate -
Faction -
Fain -
Fait accompli -
Fallacious -
Fallout -
False dichotomy
False narrative
Falter -
Fame and notori
Fane -
Farce -
Farcical -
Fascism -
Fascist - (all)
Fastidious - co
Fatalistic -
Fathom - compre
Fatuous - silly
Faux pas -
Favorsome -
Feasible -
Feckless -
Feign -
Fermi problem -
Ferocity -
Fervor -
Fever dream -
Fiasco - comple
Fiat -
Filigree -
Film noir -
Finesse -
Fistulated cow
Fixated -
Fixation -
Fizzled out -
Flippant -
Flotilla -
Flustered -
Follicles -
Foment -
Fonzie -
For instance -
Foray -
Foregoing -
Foregone conclu
Forlorn -
Fortify -
Fornicating -
Forthcoming -
Forthright -
Fortuitous -
Foster -
Frail -
Frailty -
Frankly absurd
Frantic -
Frantically -
Freudian slip -
Frisson -
Frivolous - not
Frugal -
Fruition -
Futility -
Galling -
Galvanize -
Galvanized - sh
Galvanized - sh
Garish -
Gauche -
Gauge -
Genteel -
Gentrified
Genuine grievan
Gerund -
Gestation -
Glacial -
Glean -
Glib -
Globalist -
Globalization -
God complex -
Gradations -
Grandiose -
Granularity -
Gratuitous - un
Gravitas- digni
Gravitated -
Gregarious - be
Grievances -
Grotesque - dis
Grotestly -
Guise -
Gumption -
Gurka -
Habituate -
Handmaiden -
Hardliner -
Haphazard -
Hapless -
Happenstance -
Hastening - be
Hastily -
Hawkish -
Havoc -
Hearse -
Heart stick eut
Heartened -
Heathens -
Heavy handed -
Hebephilia -
Hedonism -
Hedonist -
Hedonistic -
Hegemony -
Heinous -
Helm -
Hereditary - ba
Herein -
Heresy - skewin
Heretic -
Hesitant -
Heuristics -
Hiatus -
Hinderance -
Hindrances -
Hippocratic oat
Holistic -
Homage -
Home economics
Hubris -
Humane -
Humongous -
Hyperbole - exa
Hypercritical -
Hysteria - mass
Hysterical -
Hysterics -
I resonated wit
Idealist - one
Ideation -
identity politi
Ideological - t
Ideological dog
Idiosyncracy -
Idiosyncratic -
Idolatry -
Igalitarian -
Ignominy -
Ignominious -
Ignoramus -
Illicit -
Illustrious - w
Imbibe -
Immaculate -
Immersed -
Immersion -
Immutable -
Impasse -
Impeccable - wi
Impediments -
Impending - onc
Imperious(imper
Imperium -
Impermanence -
Imperspicuous -
Impertinent - n
Impetuous -
Impetuously -
Impetus -
Impinges -
Implicate -
Implicated -
Implicating -
Implication -
Implicit -
Implicit - impl
Implore -
Impose - take a
Impropriety -
Imposition -
Impositions -
Imprimatur -
Imprudent -
Impugned -
Impunity -
In summation -
Inadvertent - a
Inadvertently -
Inane -
Inauspicious -
Inauspicious -
Incapsulate -
Incendiary - de
Incensed -
Incessant -
Incessant need
Incisive -
Incite -
Inclination -
Incoherence -
Incoherent - un
Inconsequential
Inconsolable -
Inconspicuous -
Incontinence -
Incorrigible -
Incredulity -
Incredulous -
Incredulously e
Inculcate -
Incumbency -
Incumbent - hol
Incursions -
Indenture -
Indicative -
Indicted -
Indifferent - u
Indigent -
Indignant -
Indiscretion -
Indisputable -
Indolent -
Indubitably -
Inducing -
Indulge -
Indulged -
Indulgent -
Inebriated -
Inebriation -
Ineffably -
Ineptitude -
Inert -
Inevitability -
Inevitable -
Inexorable - im
Inexplicable -
Infamous - well
Infantile -
Infantilization
Inference -
Infinitezimal -
Inflection -
Infuriating -
Ingenuity -
Ingratiate -
Inherent -
Inherent - that
Inhibitions -
Inimical -
Initial Injunct
Injunction -
Innate -
Innocuous -
Innocuous - not
Innocuous,
Innuendo - an a
Inoculate -
Inquire -
Inquiry -
Inquisitive -
Insatiable - im
Inscrutable -
Insidious - gra
Insightful -
Insights -
Insignia -
Insinuate -
Insinuating - i
Insolence -
Insolent -
Insurrection -
Instantiated -
Inoculate -
Inordinate -
Instantiated -
Instigate -
Institutionaliz
Instrumentality
Insubordination
Insufferable -
Insular -
Insurgence -
Insurmountable
Insurrectionist
Intellectual di
Intention -
Inter alia -
Interim -
Inter transpicu
Intervention -
Interludes -
Intermittent -
Intrepid -
Intricacies -
Intricate -
Intrigue - fasc
Intrinsic -
Introspection -
Introspective -
Intrusion -
Intrusive -
Intrusively -
Intuitive -
Inundated -
Inundation -
Inured -
Invariably -
Invariant -
Invasive -
Invigorating -
Invocation -
Irate -
Ire -
Irksome -
Irreparable -
Irrevocably -
Islamist -
Itinerary -
Jaded - bored a
Jagoff -
Jargon - specia
Jarring -
Jeering -
Jeopardize - pu
Jettisoned -
Jingoism -
Jostling -
Jubilates -
Jubilee -
Judiciary -
Juggernaut - an
Juncture -
Jurisdiction -
Justify - back
Juvenile - a yo
Juxtapose - pla
Keynesian econo
Kindred spirits
Kinship -
Knee jerk -
Lackluster -
Lambasted -
Lament -
Lamenting -
Lapses -
Larceny -
Latency -
Latent -
Lauds -
Lax -
Leeway -
Legitimacy - au
Legitimacy - vi
Leminscant -
Leniency -show
Leotard -
Lethargic -
Lethargic- slug
Leverage - maxi
Levied -
Levity -
Levy -
Lexicon -
Liaison -
Liberal enclave
Liberate -
Limbic system -
Lineage -
Lionized
Lip service -
Litany -
Litigate -
Litigating -
Litigation -
Litigious -
Livid -
Loaded Question
Loathe -
Locutions -
Lodged -
Logistics
Logistics -
Lollygagging -
Loom -
Loquacity -
lose face -
Lucid - easy to
Lucrative - pro
Lucre -
Luminescent -
Lunacy -
Lupus -
Luxury -
Machiavellian -
Macrocosm -
Magnanimous - g
Magnum opus -
Maladaptive -
Maladjusted -
Malapropism -
Malevolent -
Malfeasance -
Malice - intent
Malign -
Malignant - Can
Malleable - eas
Mammogram -
Mandate -
Maniacal -
Maniacally -
Manifest -
Manifestation -
Manifesto -
Manifests - obv
Manifold -
Mantra -
Marginalized -
Mayhem -
Mccarthyism -
Meager -
Meandering -
Mendacity -
Megalomaniac -
Melancholy - sa
Melodrama -
Melodramatic -
Memoir -
Memoir - histor
Memorandum -
Menial -
Mercantile -
Mens ria -
Mensch -
Mercenary - pro
Mercurial -
Meshuganah -
Metastasizing -
Meticulous - sh
Meticulously -
Microcosm -
Microdermabrasi
Midriff -
Mildly sinister
Minimalist - wa
Minstrel -
Minutiae -
Mirth -
Misandrist -
Misandry - disl
Misanthrope -
Misapprehension
Mischaracterize
Misconstrue - w
Misconstrued -
Miserable -
Misnomer - an i
Mission stateme
Mitigate - make
Mitigate - to m
Mitigation -
Modal - relatin
Modernism -
Mollified
Moniker -
Monochrome -
Monolith -
Monolithic -
Monolithic enti
Monotonous - du
Monumental -
Moot -
Moot point -
Moral absolutis
Moral relativis
Morale - confid
Morally traitor
Morose -
Morrays -
Mortified - ash
Mulligan -
Multifaceted -
Multiplicity -
Multitude - a l
Mundane - borin
Myopia -
Myopic -
Myriad -
Mystified -
Naivety -
Narcissist - so
Nationalism -
Nauseating - di
Nautical -
Nebulous -
Nefarious -
Negligent -
Negligible - un
Negotiable -
Neo -
Neophyte -
Neopythes -
Neuroses -
Neurotic -
Nihilism: the r
Ningen -
Nocuous,
Nomenclature -
Nominal -
Nominally -
Non sequitur -
Non-starter -
Nonchalant - so
Nonconformist -
Nonpsychoactive
Nootropic -
Normative -
Not in spite of
Noteworthy -
Notoriety -
Nouveau-riche -
Novel approach
Nuance - subtle
Nuisance - enti
Nuptial -
Obdurate -
Obfuscate -
Obfuscation -
Objectionable -
Obliged -
Oblivious - not
Obnoxious - ext
Obscene -
Obscure -
Obscurantism -
Obsequious -
Obsequiously -
Obsessive/compu
Obstinate -
Obtrusive -
Occult -
Oedipus -
Offset -
Omen -
Ominous - givin
Omission -
Omitted -
Ontology -
Onus -
Opine -
Opulent -
Ordeal -
Ostensibly -
Ordain -
Ordinance -
Ornate -
Ornery -
Orthodoxy -
Orthogonal -
Ostensible -
Ostensibly -
Ostentatious -
Ostentatious -
Ostracize - exc
Otherwise -
Outlandish -
Over indulgence
Over the pike -
Overt -
Overtly -
Overwhelmed -
Overwrought -
Overzealous -
Oxymoron -
Oy vey-
Pachyderm -
Palatable -
Palliative care
Palpable - able
Panacea -
Pandemic -
Pandemonium -
Panentheism -
Pantheism -
Pantheon -
Panthiest -
Papists -
Paradigm - mode
Paradoxically -
Paragon -
Paramount -
Paraphernalia -
Parenthetically
Parity -
Parochial -
Parsimonious -
Parsimony -
Partiality
Partiality -
Partisan - stro
Partitioned -
Pathological -
Pathologies -
Pathologize -
Patriarch - mal
Patron -
Patronage -
Patronizing - t
Pavlovian -
PBM -
Peanut gallery
Pecking Order -
Pedantic -
Pedantic - eage
Pedantry -
Pedigree -
Peevish -
Peevish - irrit
Pejorative -
Pejoratively -
Penance -
Peon -
Per annum -
Percolate -
Perennial -
Perforate -
Perfunctory -
Perjure -
Permeates -
Permutation
Pernicious -
Peronist -
Perpetrator -
Perpetual - nev
Perpetuate - so
Perpetuity -
Persecution - h
Perspicacious -
Perspicuous,
Persuade -
Pertained -
Pertains -
Pertinent - rel
Perturbed -
Pervailing -
Pervaisive -
Perverse - unre
Perversely -
Perversity -
Perview -
Pescetarian -
Persistant -
Pestilence -
Pettifogging -
Petty grievance
Petulance -
Petulant -
Phatic -
Phenominal - ex
Pillocks -
Pinnacle -
Pinnacle - the
Pittance -
Placate -
Placatory -
Placid -
Platitude
Platitudinous -
Platonist -
Plausible -
Plausible denia
Pleasant -
Plethora -
Plight -
Plurality -
Plutocrat -
Poignant -
Point of conten
Poised -
Polemic -
Polemicist -
Politically exp
Poltergeist -
Polyamorous -
Pompous -
Pontificating -
Pontification -
Popery -
Populism -
Populist -
Post mortem -
Post-partum -
Posterity -
Posthumously -
Postmodernism -
Postulate -
Postulated - a
Potable -
Potency -
Potent -
Pragmatic - dea
Preamble -
Precarious - fr
Preceded -
Preceeds on the
Precept -
Precipitously -
Precipus -
Preclude -
Precocious - ma
Precognition -
Preconceived No
Preconditioned
Precursor -
Predicament -
Predicated -
Predisposed -
Predisposition
Predominantly -
Predominately -
Prefaced -
Prejorative -
Premeditated -
Premiscuis
Premonition -
Preoccupation -
Preparedness -
Preponderance -
Prerogative -
Prerogative - o
Presumably -
Presume -
Presuppose -
Presupposition
Pretentious - a
Prevalent -
Preventative -
Prissy -
Pristine - in o
Privilege -
Privy -
Probity -
pro bono -
Proclivity -
Procrustean -
Procure -
Profane -
Proficiency -
Proficuous,
Profoundly -
Profundity -
Profusely -
Prognosis -
Prognosticate -
Prognosticator
Progressivism -
Proliferate -
Proliferating -
Proliferation -
Prolific -
Prominence -
Prominent - imp
Promiscuity -
Promiscuous - h
Promulgate -
Promulgating -
Propagate -
Propagation -
Propensity -
Prophetic -
Propitious -
Prophylactic -
Proponent -
Proposition -
Propriety -
Prorogue -
Prosaic -
Proselytists -
Proselytize - a
Proselytizing -
Prostrate -
Protest vote -
Protium -
Protrudes -
Provocateur -
Prowess -
Proximate cause
Proxy - authori
Prudent - vigil
Pruning -
Prurient -
Pseudo - prefix
Pseudonym - A p
Psionic -
Psychophysical
Psychosis -
Public discours
Pungent -
Punitive -
Purge -
Purveyor -
Quaint - attrac
Quality triumph
Quasi -
Quinine -
Quintessence -
Quintessential
Rabble rouser -
Ragid -
Rambunctious -
Rambunctiousnes
Ramification -
Ramifications -
Rampant -
Rancid -
Rapacious -
Rapint -
Raspier -
Raspy -
Rationalist -
Raucous -
Reaffirm -
Rebuke -
Rebuttal - refu
Recanted -
Received Penanc
Reciprocate - r
Recluse -
Reclusive -
Reclusive - avo
Reconcile -
Reconciliation
Reconciliation
Reconciliation/
Reconnaissance
Recourse -
Rectitude -
Recuperative -
Recuperate - re
Recuse -
Red Herring -
Red herring - s
Reductive
Redux -
Refinery -
Regain composur
Regiment -
Regression -
Rehashed -
Reiterate - rep
Reiterate - say
Reiteration -
Rejoinder -
Relevant - conn
Religious fervo
Reluctance -
Reluctant -
Reluctant - his
Reluctantly -
Reminisce -
Reminisce - enj
Reminiscent -
Remiss -
Remission -
Remittance -
Remnant -
Remorse - deep
Renegade -
Renegade - some
Renounce -
Renunciation -
Repercussions -
Reprehensible -
Repressed -
Repression -
Reprieve -
Reprimand -
Reprimanded -
Reprimanding -
Reprisal -
Repudiate -
Repudiate - rej
Repudiated -
Repugnant - dis
Reputable -
Requisite -
Requited -
Rescind -
Rescinded -
Resent -
Resentment -
Resides -
Residual -
Resilient -
Resilient - goo
Resolute -
Resolve -
Resonant -
Resonate - appe
Resounding - un
Restitution - t
Restraint -
Retain -
Retaliation - c
Retching -
Retconned -
Retribution - p
Retrospective -
Revel -
Reverberate -
Reverence -
Rezent -
Rhetoric - pers
Rhetoric and su
Rhetorically -
Ridonculous -
Rife -
Risque -
Robust - strong
Rotund -
Rouse vs arouse
Roust -
RSI - Repetitiv
Rube -
Rucksack -
Rudimentary- ba
Ruminate -
Sabotage - deli
Sacrilege -
Sacrilegious -
Sacrosanct -
Sadism -
Sadist -
Sagacious -
Salacious -
Salian -
Salient -
Salience -
Salvage -
Sanctimonious -
Sardined -
Satirical - usi
Saul Alinsky -
Scalding -
Scantily -
Scathing -
Scattershot -
Schism -
Scholarship -
Scintillating -
Scoundrel -
Scourge -
Scrimshaw -
Scrupul -
Scrupulous - at
Scrupulous - ex
Scrutinize - ex
Scrutinize/scru
Scuttled -
Seance -
Second-guess -
Sectarian -
Sectarian viole
Sectarianism -
Sedentary -
Segue -
Seldom -
Selective outra
Self awareness
Self indulgent
Self-abasing -
Self-efficacy -
Self-evident -
Semantics -
Semantics - mea
Semblance -
Semi perspicuou
Senile -
Sensationalism
Sentience -
Sentiment -
Sequestration -
Serendipity - f
Serrated -
Serrated edge -
Servile -
Severance -
Shambles -
Shenanigans -
Shortlisted -
Show resolve -
Shrewd -
Shrill -
Shudder
Siffrage -
Signage -
Silver lining -
Sine qua non -
Sintilating -
Siphon -
Siphon off -
Slated -
Slighted -
Slippery slope
Smart alecs -
Smarting -
Snide -
Socialite -
Sodomized -
Sojourn -
Solace -
Solemn -
Solemnity -
Solicit -
Solidarity -
Soliloquy
Solipsistic -
Solopsist -
Soothsayer -
Sophisticated -
Sought -
Souvenir -
Sovereign -
Sparse -
Spartan -
Spastic -
Sphincter -
Spigot -
Sporadic -
Sporadically -
Sprawling -
Spurious -
Spurious rumour
Spurratically -
Sputtering - so
Squalor -
Squandered -
Squandering -
Staggering -
Stagnant -
Stagnate -
Stark contrast
Stark -
Starkly -
Stasis -
Stature -
Statutory rape
Staunch -
Stewarding -
Stickler for -
Stifle -
Stigma - mark o
Stingy -
Stipulations -
Stockholm syndr
Stoic -
Stoics -
Strata -
Stratified -
Stratum -
Straw man -
Strenuously -
Strident -
Stringent -
Strongman -
Studious -
Stupendous - gr
Stupor -
Suave -
Sub-saharan afr
Subdue -
Subdued -
Subjugate - har
Subjugation -
Sublime -
Sublime - of su
Submissive -
Subordinate -
Subsequent enga
Subsequently -
Subservient -
Subside - becom
Subsidiary -
Substantial - o
Substantiate -
Substantiated c
Substantive -
Substrate -
Subterfuge -
Subversive -
Subversion -
Subvert -
Subverted -
Succinct -
Succinctly -
Succumb -
Succumbing -
Suffice -
Sufficiently -
Suggestive -
Sulk -
Superficial - s
Superficial - t
Superfluous - u
Superimposed -
Superlative -
Supersedes -
Surmise -
Surmised -
Surreal - bizza
Surrealist -
Surreptitious -
Surrogate - a s
Sustenance - fo
Sycophant -
Syllogistic -
Symbiosis -
Symbiotic -
Sympathetic -
Synaps -
Syndicate -
Synecdoche -
Synergy - innat
Synesthesia -
Systemic - caus
Tacit approval
Tacitly -
Tacitly approve
Tailgate -
Take solace -
Take stock -
Talmudic -
Tangible -
Tangent -
Tangentially -
Tantalize - tor
Tantalizing - t
Tantamount -
Tariff -
Tasidly -
Tassidly -
Technocrat -
Tedious - borin
Tedium -
Temperament - s
Temperamental -
Temperance -
Temporal -
Tenable -
Tenacious -
Tenacious - per
Tenacity - pers
Tenant -
Tendentious -
Tentative -
Tenuous - weak
Tenure -
Tenured -
Tepid -
Testament -
Tethered -
Theatrics -
Thief of joy -
Theologian -
Throes -
Thrust - move f
Tilde -
Tirade -
Tithed -
Titillating -
Tom foolery -
Toperee -
Topical -
Touche - admitt
Tousle -
Tout -
Trajectory - pa
Tranquility -
Transcend -
Transcendence -
Transcendental
Transfixed -
Transgression -
Transgressions
Transient -
Transmute -
Transpicuous,
Transpire - hap
Transpired - ha
Travesty - dist
Trepidation -
Trifecta -
Tripe -
Trite -
Triumphant -
Troglodytes -
Truncate -
Truancy -
Truism -
Tumultuous -
Turmoil -
Tutelage
Typically -
Tyranny - cruel
Tyrannized -
Ubiquitous - (u
Ulterior motive
Ultimatum -
Ultimatums -
Umlauts -
Un/Conventional
Unassailable -
Unassuming - mo
Unbeknownst -
Unbenounced - -
Uncanny -
Unconscionable
Uncontestable -
Under duress
Undercurrents -
Underpinning -
Unequivocally -
Unilateral - de
Uninhibited -
Unmitigated -
Unobtrusive -
Unprecedented -
Unprecedented -
Unrequited -
Unreserved -
Unsanctimonious
Unscrupulous -
Unsettling -
Unsubstantiated
Untenable -
Unwarranted -
Unwary -
Upended -
Upheaval -
Uprooted -
Urbane -
Usurping -
Usury -
Utilitarian -
Vacate - remove
Vacillate -
Vacuous -
Vagaries -
Vain -
Valiantly -
Vanguard -
Vanity -
Vanquish -
Variance -
Variant -
Vaudeville -
Vaunted -
Veer -
Vehement -
Venality -
Veneer -
Venerable -
Venerate -
Veracious -
Veracity -
Verbatim - in e
Verbiage -
Verbose -
Verboten -
Vernacular -
Versatile - abl
Vestigial - a v
Vgi and dva cab
Viability -
Vicarious - ima
Vice -
Vice-roy -
Vigil -
Vigilant -
Vigilant - care
Vigorous - full
Vilification -
Vilify -
Vindicate -
Vindicates -
Vindication -
Vindictive - ne
Virility -
Virtue -
Virulent -
Visceral -
Visceral and em
Viscerally -
Visigoths -
Vital -
Vitriol -
Vitriolic - fil
Vivid -
Vociferous - mo
Volatile -
Volatile - deli
Volition -
Voluptuous -
Voluptuousness
Voracious -
Voyeur -
Vulcanized -
Vulgar -
Vying -
WRITE - DO YOU
Warrant - vindi
Wary -
Water under the
Waver - flinch
Weekly stipend
Wheelhouse -
Whimsical -
Whimsical - ran
Who's and whose
Wifebeater -
Wiles -
Wistful -
Wistfulness -
Woke -
Wreak havoc -
Zealot -
Zeitgeist -
Zero sum game -
​
Supposition
Inference
deduction
Imputation
​
Anadiplosis
Antagonym
Antecedent
Colloquialism
Consonance
Heteronyms
Interjection
Iteroogative
Onomatopoeia
Superlative

Author note: The Cryopod to Hell is a Reddit-exclusive story with over three years of editing and refining. As of this post, the total rewrite is 1,563,000+ words long! For more information, check out the link below:
What is the Cryopod to Hell?
Join the Cryoverse Discord server!
Here's a list of all Cryopod's chapters, along with an ePub/Mobi/PDF version!
Want to stay up to date on TCTH? Subscribe to Cryopodbot!
...................................
(Previous Part)
(Part 001)
...
The Volgarius system is far, far larger than Jason Hiro's former home, the Sol System. It has significantly more rocky worlds within its confines, though it only possesses a single gas giant. The distances between these planets are also much greater, with the furthest planet in the system ten times more distant from the system's center than the Sol system's Pluto.
Even so, it has fewer moons, mostly as a result of only possessing a single gas giant. Where the Sol system formed two massive gas giants that sucked up the majority of the matter which wasn't consumed by its star, the Volgarius system developed in a much more balanced manner, giving it far superior possibilities for its future biodiversity.
During the two days Jason Hiro spends in his quarters waiting for the Hatoraxia to reach Volgarius, he receives some helpful but vague schematics of the system, which he compares to his Wordsmithed star charts. Like Hope, he too uses the Word of Power, Atlas, to scan the system. He learns all sorts of juicy details which he and Fiona discuss in his Mind Realm, along with Raphael and the rest.
"Fascinating." Fiona says, her and Jason exchanging words that only they can hear. Even the Hatoraxia's resident Psion, Miikil, couldn't listen in on their conversation if she wished. "To think such a star system could evolve naturally over the eons. It actually has binary stars!"
"The heat they output causes three of the inner planets to be far too hot for proper terraforming." Jason observes. "Err, 'Volforming' is what they call it. Anyway, they do have residences built deep under the crust, where the heat doesn't reach. Though, it makes more sense to call them mining colonies."
"The third planet from the system center isn't as hot as the first two. It houses a fairly sizable population. I wonder how safe each of the Volgarius system's planets would be if the Kolvaxians were to show up." Jason ponders.
While he and his mind-wife converse, Raphael stands behind Fiona, gazing at the dizzying arrays of holographic star charts, schematics, and readouts she and Jason have collected. However, the Archangel of Wisdom does not look at these charts, but well past them, with hollowed-out eyes and a distant look on his face.
Jason eventually notices Raphael's contemplative expression.
"Are you feeling alright, Raphael?" Jason asks.
The old angel blinks wearily. He shakes his head and frowns.
"Mmm. I simply... verily, I must wonder about a great many things." Raphael says, cryptically. "Jason. Dost thou remembereth what I told thee, once?"
"Specifically?" Jason prompts.
"'Twas in regards to life on Earth." Raphael says. "I told thee that when the angels went searching for a planet to inhabit, we discovered that Earth had life residing upon its surface already. 'Tis only now, all these years later, that a question begins to form in this old man's mind."
Jason falls silent for a moment.
"...Is it in regards to why life evolved on Volgarius, as well? Or rather, Grimvolas, their old homeworld?"
"Correct." Raphael nods. "Why dost it be that, in addition to Earth, the Volgrim evolved upon a distant world? Dost thou not find it strange? Additionally, by the time we angels settled upon Earth, the Volgrim had already begun to evolve on their own world. Perhaps they may have already become a spacefaring species."
"Life evolves at different speeds." Fiona says. "I don't see what the problem is."
"'Tis not the evolutionary speed of life which causes me concern." Raphael clarifies. "Please remember. Thou cannot fathom the eons angel kind spent alone in the cosmos, or the length of our wars against the Dragons and Titans. To use a term like 'eons' or millenia of millenia' would not do such a length of time justice. The Dragon Wars alone, we fought for at least four hundred million of thy human years."
Jason raises an eyebrow. "I don't really see the point..."
"We did not war continuously." Raphael says. "There were often tens of thousands of years when nobody fought anybody else. In those idle times, we angels would often spread our wings and casually explore our galaxy. If I told thee that I had visited every Milky Way star system multiple times in my life, woulds't thou believeth me?"
"If you say you did, then I have to assume you did." Jason answers. "But... so what? Did you never encounter any planets with life during those times?"
"Indeed, we did not." Raphael answers. "Yet when the Titan Wars ended and we needed a world we could settle on to create the imps, a species which would permanently sustain our depleted spiritual stores, we happened to stumble upon Earth, a planet I had visited at least a handful of times. Where had it evolved life so quickly, I must ask? And how did we miss the world of Grimvolas, too?"
"Maybe you didn't check the planets all too thoroughly." Jason suggests. "Can you really remember, I dunno, a hundred million or a hundred billion individual worlds? Especially at your age?"
"Thou hath peered into my memories through Solomon's Crown." Raphael says. "Thou knoweth well that my mind doth not decay as a feeble humans' woulds't. I remember this star system well, though it hath been the better part of an eon since my last visit. While the number of planets hath shrunk slightly, t'was not this capable of holding life back in those days."
"That's because the Volgrim 'Volformed' it." Fiona helpfully points out. "Raphael, life evolves in mysterious ways. I don't know why you're acting so odd about this. If life could evolve on Earth once, then evolving on Grimvolas a second time certainly isn't out of the question."
The Archangel clicks his tongue. "Tsk. 'Tis only the intuition of an old fossil. Perhaps I am overthinking the matter."
"Yeah..." Jason says slowly, suddenly not so sure of his own position. "That might be it."
Jason continues examining the star charts with his mind-wife. He and Fiona confirm that the system developed in a relatively centralized manner, with the worlds in the Goldilocks zone typically possessing the most moons, while the ones closest to and furthest from the binary stars ended up with the fewest. The biggest exception is the eleventh planet, Holifan, the only gas giant in the system, which holds half of the system's moons in its orbit.
"Looks like we skipped right past the ninth and tenth planets during our flight." Jason murmurs. "Larvolis and Sherrol, the first of which is a rocky mining world, and the second a water-covered planet. Larvolis isn't Volformable, but it does have artificial habitations built on its surfaces, where the mining population lives. Seems it's mostly a planet where spaceships are built for the rest of the system, and the lower gravity helps with lifting them into orbit."
"As for Sherrol," Jason continues, "it's an aquatic planet with a watery surface covered in a thick sheet of ice. But beneath the ice sheet, the Volgrim constructed thousands of underwater habitats."
"This system really does have a bit of everything." Fiona comments. "The first three inner planets are all molten hellholes, but apparently they also house some exotic resources, so they have mining colonies. Every planet except the gas giant is being used for some grand purpose by the Volgrim."
Jason nods slowly. "Waste not, want not. The Volgrim seem to live by a creed of exploiting every resource as efficiently and wastelessly as possible. Not a lot of room for fun and leisure in their culture, though."
"Perhaps that's the case now." Fiona says. "But we don't know if that's always been true. Don't forget they're fighting an alien bio-plague that turns the infected into mindless zombies. It's hard to focus on leisure when your existence is under constant threat."
"Yeah... everyone has to do their part." Jason says, quietly. "I wonder what sort of person Unarin is. To be under all this stress, he must have incredible mental fortitude. Leading a galactic nation of septillions can't be anything but soul-crushing."
"Imagine doing it for longer than all of human existence." Fiona says dryly. "Either he's picked up a few tricks over the years, or he is the ultimate pencil-pusher with no sense of joy. His happiness probably got beaten out of him during the Seven Great Wars."
"You never know. The guy might actually be quite the interesting fellow." Jason chuckles. "But make sure you keep sharp. It's entirely possible I won't know if Dosena intrudes upon my thoughts. Hell, she could be doing so right now and I might not know."
Fiona shudders. "That's a frightening possibility."
...................................
The Hatoraxia finally draws within range of Volgarius. After two days of flight at only a tenth the speed of light, they have to slow down even more and enter a long queue of ships being inspected not only for paraphernalia and other such things, but any traces of contamination by the Plague. The Technopath inspectors take their duties extremely seriously and perform several invasive scans of Jason and the other humans, making their skin crawl from the powerful beams irradiating their entire body.
After the inspectors leave, Samuel shoots a glance at Jason. "You sure those scanners were safe? Pretty sure they just dosed me with fifty thousand years worth of radiation."
"They're... probably fine." Jason says, before changing the subject. "Did you get to try out the Power Glove yet?"
Samuel rolls his eyes. "I messed around with the minotaur and orc settings. Pretty nice. I can beat some ass with them. The transformation was a bit painful, though."
"That's because your compatibility is lower with those species." Jason says, exposing a toothy grin. "But the fairy setting..."
"Man, fuck off with that bullshit!" Samuel snaps. "I ain't playing with no goddamned fairy settings. End of discussion!"
"Sigh. Suit yourself." Jason says, shrugging. "Now, keep sharp. We'll be breaching the upper atmosphere in ten minutes."
Jason leaves the Leisure Hall and walks down the Hatoraxia's corridors toward the Bridge. As he walks, he munches on a sandwich whipped up for him by his chef, Yamir. Some sort of cheese and beef mix along with gravy coats the inside of the bread, melting in his mouth while he chews.
"Damn. That son of a bull really knows how to cook." Jason mutters to himself.
When Jason arrives on the Bridge, his eyes stray toward the primary viewport, where the surface of Volgarius looms before him. Against the backdrop of the planet, countless miniature specks move about, each one of them an individual ship floating against the backdrop of space.
However, what truly makes Jason pause and stare is the planet itself. Neither blue, nor green, the entire planet's surface appears to be a dull, gray mess. To the Wordsmith, it looks more like a bowl of calcified gravy, completely uninteresting to gaze upon.
Jason turns to look at Kordonis, who sits in his captain's chair. Invocator Miikil stands beside him, her attention placed half on the Volgrim homeworld and half on the Wordsmith.
"I don't know what I expected." Jason says. "But I definitely didn't expect your capital world to be so butt-ugly."
Kordonis doesn't offer a witty retort. Instead, he merely sighs. "Volgarius is a completely industrialized world, and the central nexus of our galactic empire. There are more Volgrim living there than you can imagine. I don't think anyone knows its exact population on any given day, but the number is well within the trillions. All those Volgrim need places to stay. As such, space is at a premium. Between the underground cities, the aboveground gigascrapers, and the levitating spires, you can't find vegetation even if you scour the planet looking for it."
"How do you maintain air quality without vegetation?" Jason asks.
"I couldn't tell you the exact mechanisms even if I wanted." Kordonis answers. "But it involves nanotechnology on a global scale. There are nanites everywhere that convert the air into something breathable."
"Nanites." Jason repeats. "Seems legit."
He falls silent and begins to watch intently as the Hatoraxia falls toward the planet at a comfortable speed. The ship's antigrav modules activate, allowing it to smoothly glide downward, where it ultimately breaks through the grey clouds to reveal the world below.
Jason's eyes widen as he finds himself gazing upon the most tightly-packed urban landscape he has ever seen. Not only do divisions between the buildings barely exist, but there are hardly any streets at the ground level to speak of. Instead, travel tubes stack on top of one another, ferrying millions of passengers along in any given direction, from one place to another.
As the Hatoraxia transitions from space to planet, two escort shuttles approach and fly on either side, each of them resembling deadly silver-colored weapons of war, like a pair of javelins with wings jutting out of their sides.
"Captain Kordonis. Follow us to the Founder's Hand." Says a voice transmitted to the Hatoraxia's Bridge.
"Initiating autopilot." Says the ship's Technopath pilot.
Kordonis issues orders every now and then, but otherwise, the trip is uneventful. Jason stares out the window at the hideously grey planet outside, where every structure is as boring and utilitarian as possible. Not one part of the massive and unending cityscape is pleasant to look at. If Jason were to try and navigate on his own, he'd become hopelessly lost within an hour, at best.
"Boy, I hope the rest of your planets aren't this bland." Jason mutters dryly.
"No. Volgarius is a special case..." Kordonis mutters. "Perhaps if you can truly help us win the war, we'll be able to move our displaced people back to their homeworlds in the galactic exterior. Then the capital system won't be so crowded anymore."
Jason swallows any further snide comments. He remembers the fact that many of these Volgrim are refugees fleeing from a menace he has yet to encounter himself. What if it were humanity in their situation? He would certainly be a lot more understanding.
The Hatoraxia travels for more than an hour, racing across the planet's sky until eventually slowing down. A set of five giant buildings amidst a field of green appears in the distance. The way this unique set of structures stands out from their surroundings forces anyone with a functional brain to notice them, and Jason is no exception.
"Is that...?"
Kordonis nods. "The Hand of the Founders. Also known as the Five Fingers of the Founders, or the Founder's Fingers. There are many names for this location, but one thing is certain. It is heavily guarded, to the point where if you breathe even the slightest insult toward the Founders, an Eighth Level Psion may just step out of the gaps in space next to you and kill you before you know what happened. Of course as a delegate for humanity, this probably won't happen to you, but..."
Kordonis pauses to look at Jason meaningfully.
"...don't press your luck. The Founders are our people's only shining ray of light in these dark times. Many otherwise good-natured Volgrim might explode if a mud-dweller were to step out of line. They might not attack you, but your subordinates should tread carefully."
"Noted." Jason says, his expression turning grim.
Already, a faint sense of pressure has begun to push against his head. Fiona warns him of an onslaught of attempted intrusions as countless high-level Psions either gently or not-so-gently try to peer into his mind and uncover his secrets.
Luckily, Jason's magical and technological countermeasures protect his thoughts.
Or at least, so he prays.
There's still the possibility that Dosena or some other high-level Psion can crack open my mental defenses without alerting me. We had better pay close attention, Jason transmits to Fiona.
The Hatoraxia and its escort vessels descend toward a designated landing area, one where a mere half-dozen other ships sit parked and ready to fly for various VIP purposes. Not even a quarter-mile away, the nearest of the Five Fingers, the Founder's Thumb, awaits. The granite and obsidian tower, windowless, rises like a tall, rectangular mountain impaled onto the land.
Jason and his fellow humans depart the ship. Additionally, Yamir joins them, as does Emperor Serena.
"You're coming, too?" Jason asks her.
"Naturally." Serena says quietly. "This is the first time I have ever been to Volgarius in person. I would like to observe the sights and get to know it better."
"Alright. Suit yourself." Jason says.
He and the others join Kordonis and Miikil. They travel toward the Founder's Thumb and step inside, then ride in dual grav-lifts upward, traveling hundreds of floors as they rush into the skies above. With no windows to peer out of, and inertial dampeners that keep the sense of motion nonexistent, Jason can't help but feel as if the lift isn't moving at all. As it travels, he spreads out his divine sense and takes note of several spots along the way.
Under his breath, he Wordsmiths several times.
"Waypoint. Waypoint."
Kordonis glances at him. "Hmm?"
The Wordsmith shakes his head. "Oh, it's nothing. I was just reminding myself I had to talk to my wife about something when I have a chance."
"I see. Well, just be aware that you will be under constant surveillance while you're here." Kordonis says. "Don't try any... funny business."
Jason faintly smiles. "Oh, I wouldn't dare."
Unbeknownst to Kordonis, Jason places several Waypoints, special Wordsmithing beacons that will allow him to instantly teleport back to this tower with a single Return command, should he ever wish to do so. Undetectable by anyone but himself and Hope, these Waypoints have served both Wordsmiths well over the past six years. So long as they remember to drop a Waypoint, they can return to any place they've traveled in the galaxy, at a minimal mana cost.
Otherwise, teleporting directly over a vast distance would consume a huge amount of spiritual energy. Even for Hope, traveling several light-hours to Volgarius would surely drain his mana, but doing so through a Waypoint would barely even put a dent in his reserves. The same is true for Jason.
As the grav-lift reaches its designated floor and opens, Kordonis hesitates.
The door slides open, but Kordonis shakes his head.
"I've... never actually been this high up in the Founder's Thumb. It is such an honor to come here. When Founder Unarin met with me, he did so on a much lower floor. Soon, we'll be entering his personal quarters, so everyone here had best remember to follow proper decorum."
"We're going to Unarin's room?" Jason asks.
"No. The entire top ten floors are Founder Unarin's designated living area. They are also where he keeps his... precious possessions. It is quite the taboo for someone as lowly as me to travel there. I will have to ask that your companions stay on this floor, and the two of us will walk to meet the First Founder ourselves. We'll have to travel the last five floors on foot, as per his command."
Jason nods. "Works for me."
He knows this is another minor power-play by Unarin, one that will force the lowly human to meet the Founder on his own terms, but Jason doesn't mind.
At least I'll get to see what his 'home' looks like before I meet him. Might even give me an idea of his personality. Jason thinks.
Of course, Jason has seen Founder Unarin before, through the broadcast Marie Becker gave him. However, the way a great leader speaks to an audience versus one-on-one with another person are likely very different. It's almost assured he will act differently toward a single mud-dweller compared to an assortment of his peers.
Kordonis leads Jason past hundreds of Technopaths, and even a few Ascended. Outside the Founder's Thumb, the Ascended almost never appear, but in these upper levels, a couple hundred of them live and work under Unarin's direction.
Jason walks through softly lit hallways, workspaces where holographic displays show the many battlefields of the Kolvaxian war effort, where teams of high-level Technopaths, Psions, and Changelings monitor the battle situations and report any suspicious movements to their superiors.
As Jason makes his way through these open areas, another thought strikes him.
Maybe Unarin doesn't just want to show off to me. He wants to show me something specific. The War has permeated every facet of Volgrim life. They have dedicated their entirety to eradicating the Kolvaxians, while I remain obsessed with 'minor' matters, such as the demons. I need to set my sights higher and focus on the bigger picture.
Before long, Kordonis and Jason reach a large pair of double doors, two times taller than the both of them.
"This is where I stop." Kordonis says, a hint of regret in his voice. "Inside, you will find the First Founder. I cannot proceed into his inner sanctum. I am not worthy."
"Thanks for leading me all the way here." Jason says. "Hopefully, this won't take too long."
Kordonis chuckles. "You have much to discuss. I'll be leaving, now. Take care, Wordsmith."
Without another word, Kordonis turns and walks away, leaving Jason to stand in front of the double doors.
The Wordsmith inhales deeply. Then, he walks forward, places his hands on both doors, and gives them a push.
Unarin awaits.
Next Part

The Volgarius system is far, far larger than Jason Hiro's former home, the Sol System. It has significantly more rocky worlds within its confines, though it only possesses a single gas giant. The distances between these planets are also much greater, with the furthest planet in the system ten times more distant from the system's center than the Sol system's Pluto.
Even so, it has fewer moons, mostly as a result of only possessing a single gas giant. Where the Sol system formed two massive gas giants that sucked up the majority of the matter which wasn't consumed by its star, the Volgarius system developed in a much more balanced manner, giving it far superior possibilities for its future biodiversity.
During the two days Jason Hiro spends in his quarters waiting for the Hatoraxia to reach Volgarius, he receives some helpful but vague schematics of the system, which he compares to his Wordsmithed star charts. Like Hope, he too uses the Word of Power, Atlas, to scan the system. He learns all sorts of juicy details which he and Fiona discuss in his Mind Realm, along with Raphael and the rest.
"Fascinating." Fiona says, her and Jason exchanging words that only they can hear. Even the Hatoraxia's resident Psion, Miikil, couldn't listen in on their conversation if she wished. "To think such a star system could evolve naturally over the eons. It actually has binary stars!"
"The heat they output causes three of the inner planets to be far too hot for proper terraforming." Jason observes. "Err, 'Volforming' is what they call it. Anyway, they do have residences built deep under the crust, where the heat doesn't reach. Though, it makes more sense to call them mining colonies."
"The third planet from the system center isn't as hot as the first two. It houses a fairly sizable population. I wonder how safe each of the Volgarius system's planets would be if the Kolvaxians were to show up." Jason ponders.
While he and his mind-wife converse, Raphael stands behind Fiona, gazing at the dizzying arrays of holographic star charts, schematics, and readouts she and Jason have collected. However, the Archangel of Wisdom does not look at these charts, but well past them, with hollowed-out eyes and a distant look on his face.
Jason eventually notices Raphael's contemplative expression.
"Are you feeling alright, Raphael?" Jason asks.
The old angel blinks wearily. He shakes his head and frowns.
"Mmm. I simply... verily, I must wonder about a great many things." Raphael says, cryptically. "Jason. Dost thou remembereth what I told thee, once?"
"Specifically?" Jason prompts.
"'Twas in regards to life on Earth." Raphael says. "I told thee that when the angels went searching for a planet to inhabit, we discovered that Earth had life residing upon its surface already. 'Tis only now, all these years later, that a question begins to form in this old man's mind."
Jason falls silent for a moment.
"...Is it in regards to why life evolved on Volgarius, as well? Or rather, Grimvolas, their old homeworld?"
"Correct." Raphael nods. "Why dost it be that, in addition to Earth, the Volgrim evolved upon a distant world? Dost thou not find it strange? Additionally, by the time we angels settled upon Earth, the Volgrim had already begun to evolve on their own world. Perhaps they may have already become a spacefaring species."
"Life evolves at different speeds." Fiona says. "I don't see what the problem is."
"'Tis not the evolutionary speed of life which causes me concern." Raphael clarifies. "Please remember. Thou cannot fathom the eons angel kind spent alone in the cosmos, or the length of our wars against the Dragons and Titans. To use a term like 'eons' or millenia of millenia' would not do such a length of time justice. The Dragon Wars alone, we fought for at least four hundred million of thy human years."
Jason raises an eyebrow. "I don't really see the point..."
"We did not war continuously." Raphael says. "There were often tens of thousands of years when nobody fought anybody else. In those idle times, we angels would often spread our wings and casually explore our galaxy. If I told thee that I had visited every Milky Way star system multiple times in my life, woulds't thou believeth me?"
"If you say you did, then I have to assume you did." Jason answers. "But... so what? Did you never encounter any planets with life during those times?"
"Indeed, we did not." Raphael answers. "Yet when the Titan Wars ended and we needed a world we could settle on to create the imps, a species which would permanently sustain our depleted spiritual stores, we happened to stumble upon Earth, a planet I had visited at least a handful of times. Where had it evolved life so quickly, I must ask? And how did we miss the world of Grimvolas, too?"
"Maybe you didn't check the planets all too thoroughly." Jason suggests. "Can you really remember, I dunno, a hundred million or a hundred billion individual worlds? Especially at your age?"
"Thou hath peered into my memories through Solomon's Crown." Raphael says. "Thou knoweth well that my mind doth not decay as a feeble humans' woulds't. I remember this star system well, though it hath been the better part of an eon since my last visit. While the number of planets hath shrunk slightly, t'was not this capable of holding life back in those days."
"That's because the Volgrim 'Volformed' it." Fiona helpfully points out. "Raphael, life evolves in mysterious ways. I don't know why you're acting so odd about this. If life could evolve on Earth once, then evolving on Grimvolas a second time certainly isn't out of the question."
The Archangel clicks his tongue. "Tsk. 'Tis only the intuition of an old fossil. Perhaps I am overthinking the matter."
"Yeah..." Jason says slowly, suddenly not so sure of his own position. "That might be it."
Jason continues examining the star charts with his mind-wife. He and Fiona confirm that the system developed in a relatively centralized manner, with the worlds in the Goldilocks zone typically possessing the most moons, while the ones closest to and furthest from the binary stars ended up with the fewest. The biggest exception is the eleventh planet, Holifan, the only gas giant in the system, which holds half of the system's moons in its orbit.
"Looks like we skipped right past the ninth and tenth planets during our flight." Jason murmurs. "Larvolis and Sherrol, the first of which is a rocky mining world, and the second a water-covered planet. Larvolis isn't Volformable, but it does have artificial habitations built on its surfaces, where the mining population lives. Seems it's mostly a planet where spaceships are built for the rest of the system, and the lower gravity helps with lifting them into orbit."
"As for Sherrol," Jason continues, "it's an aquatic planet with a watery surface covered in a thick sheet of ice. But beneath the ice sheet, the Volgrim constructed thousands of underwater habitats."
"This system really does have a bit of everything." Fiona comments. "The first three inner planets are all molten hellholes, but apparently they also house some exotic resources, so they have mining colonies. Every planet except the gas giant is being used for some grand purpose by the Volgrim."
Jason nods slowly. "Waste not, want not. The Volgrim seem to live by a creed of exploiting every resource as efficiently and wastelessly as possible. Not a lot of room for fun and leisure in their culture, though."
"Perhaps that's the case now." Fiona says. "But we don't know if that's always been true. Don't forget they're fighting an alien bio-plague that turns the infected into mindless zombies. It's hard to focus on leisure when your existence is under constant threat."
"Yeah... everyone has to do their part." Jason says, quietly. "I wonder what sort of person Unarin is. To be under all this stress, he must have incredible mental fortitude. Leading a galactic nation of septillions can't be anything but soul-crushing."
"Imagine doing it for longer than all of human existence." Fiona says dryly. "Either he's picked up a few tricks over the years, or he is the ultimate pencil-pusher with no sense of joy. His happiness probably got beaten out of him during the Seven Great Wars."
"You never know. The guy might actually be quite the interesting fellow." Jason chuckles. "But make sure you keep sharp. It's entirely possible I won't know if Dosena intrudes upon my thoughts. Hell, she could be doing so right now and I might not know."
Fiona shudders. "That's a frightening possibility."
...................................
The Hatoraxia finally draws within range of Volgarius. After two days of flight at only a tenth the speed of light, they have to slow down even more and enter a long queue of ships being inspected not only for paraphernalia and other such things, but any traces of contamination by the Plague. The Technopath inspectors take their duties extremely seriously and perform several invasive scans of Jason and the other humans, making their skin crawl from the powerful beams irradiating their entire body.
After the inspectors leave, Samuel shoots a glance at Jason. "You sure those scanners were safe? Pretty sure they just dosed me with fifty thousand years worth of radiation."
"They're... probably fine." Jason says, before changing the subject. "Did you get to try out the Power Glove yet?"
Samuel rolls his eyes. "I messed around with the minotaur and orc settings. Pretty nice. I can beat some ass with them. The transformation was a bit painful, though."
"That's because your compatibility is lower with those species." Jason says, exposing a toothy grin. "But the fairy setting..."
"Man, fuck off with that bullshit!" Samuel snaps. "I ain't playing with no goddamned fairy settings. End of discussion!"
"Sigh. Suit yourself." Jason says, shrugging. "Now, keep sharp. We'll be breaching the upper atmosphere in ten minutes."
Jason leaves the Leisure Hall and walks down the Hatoraxia's corridors toward the Bridge. As he walks, he munches on a sandwich whipped up for him by his chef, Yamir. Some sort of cheese and beef mix along with gravy coats the inside of the bread, melting in his mouth while he chews.
"Damn. That son of a bull really knows how to cook." Jason mutters to himself.
When Jason arrives on the Bridge, his eyes stray toward the primary viewport, where the surface of Volgarius looms before him. Against the backdrop of the planet, countless miniature specks move about, each one of them an individual ship floating against the backdrop of space.
However, what truly makes Jason pause and stare is the planet itself. Neither blue, nor green, the entire planet's surface appears to be a dull, gray mess. To the Wordsmith, it looks more like a bowl of calcified gravy, completely uninteresting to gaze upon.
Jason turns to look at Kordonis, who sits in his captain's chair. Invocator Miikil stands beside him, her attention placed half on the Volgrim homeworld and half on the Wordsmith.
"I don't know what I expected." Jason says. "But I definitely didn't expect your capital world to be so butt-ugly."
Kordonis doesn't offer a witty retort. Instead, he merely sighs. "Volgarius is a completely industrialized world, and the central nexus of our galactic empire. There are more Volgrim living there than you can imagine. I don't think anyone knows its exact population on any given day, but the number is well within the trillions. All those Volgrim need places to stay. As such, space is at a premium. Between the underground cities, the aboveground gigascrapers, and the levitating spires, you can't find vegetation even if you scour the planet looking for it."
"How do you maintain air quality without vegetation?" Jason asks.
"I couldn't tell you the exact mechanisms even if I wanted." Kordonis answers. "But it involves nanotechnology on a global scale. There are nanites everywhere that convert the air into something breathable."
"Nanites." Jason repeats. "Seems legit."
He falls silent and begins to watch intently as the Hatoraxia falls toward the planet at a comfortable speed. The ship's antigrav modules activate, allowing it to smoothly glide downward, where it ultimately breaks through the grey clouds to reveal the world below.
Jason's eyes widen as he finds himself gazing upon the most tightly-packed urban landscape he has ever seen. Not only do divisions between the buildings barely exist, but there are hardly any streets at the ground level to speak of. Instead, travel tubes stack on top of one another, ferrying millions of passengers along in any given direction, from one place to another.
As the Hatoraxia transitions from space to planet, two escort shuttles approach and fly on either side, each of them resembling deadly silver-colored weapons of war, like a pair of javelins with wings jutting out of their sides.
"Captain Kordonis. Follow us to the Founder's Hand." Says a voice transmitted to the Hatoraxia's Bridge.
"Initiating autopilot." Says the ship's Technopath pilot.
Kordonis issues orders every now and then, but otherwise, the trip is uneventful. Jason stares out the window at the hideously grey planet outside, where every structure is as boring and utilitarian as possible. Not one part of the massive and unending cityscape is pleasant to look at. If Jason were to try and navigate on his own, he'd become hopelessly lost within an hour, at best.
"Boy, I hope the rest of your planets aren't this bland." Jason mutters dryly.
"No. Volgarius is a special case..." Kordonis mutters. "Perhaps if you can truly help us win the war, we'll be able to move our displaced people back to their homeworlds in the galactic exterior. Then the capital system won't be so crowded anymore."
Jason swallows any further snide comments. He remembers the fact that many of these Volgrim are refugees fleeing from a menace he has yet to encounter himself. What if it were humanity in their situation? He would certainly be a lot more understanding.
The Hatoraxia travels for more than an hour, racing across the planet's sky until eventually slowing down. A set of five giant buildings amidst a field of green appears in the distance. The way this unique set of structures stands out from their surroundings forces anyone with a functional brain to notice them, and Jason is no exception.
"Is that...?"
Kordonis nods. "The Hand of the Founders. Also known as the Five Fingers of the Founders, or the Founder's Fingers. There are many names for this location, but one thing is certain. It is heavily guarded, to the point where if you breathe even the slightest insult toward the Founders, an Eighth Level Psion may just step out of the gaps in space next to you and kill you before you know what happened. Of course as a delegate for humanity, this probably won't happen to you, but..."
Kordonis pauses to look at Jason meaningfully.
"...don't press your luck. The Founders are our people's only shining ray of light in these dark times. Many otherwise good-natured Volgrim might explode if a mud-dweller were to step out of line. They might not attack you, but your subordinates should tread carefully."
"Noted." Jason says, his expression turning grim.
Already, a faint sense of pressure has begun to push against his head. Fiona warns him of an onslaught of attempted intrusions as countless high-level Psions either gently or not-so-gently try to peer into his mind and uncover his secrets.
Luckily, Jason's magical and technological countermeasures protect his thoughts.
Or at least, so he prays.
There's still the possibility that Dosena or some other high-level Psion can crack open my mental defenses without alerting me. We had better pay close attention, Jason transmits to Fiona.
The Hatoraxia and its escort vessels descend toward a designated landing area, one where a mere half-dozen other ships sit parked and ready to fly for various VIP purposes. Not even a quarter-mile away, the nearest of the Five Fingers, the Founder's Thumb, awaits. The granite and obsidian tower, windowless, rises like a tall, rectangular mountain impaled onto the land.
Jason and his fellow humans depart the ship. Additionally, Yamir joins them, as does Emperor Serena.
"You're coming, too?" Jason asks her.
"Naturally." Serena says quietly. "This is the first time I have ever been to Volgarius in person. I would like to observe the sights and get to know it better."
"Alright. Suit yourself." Jason says.
He and the others join Kordonis and Miikil. They travel toward the Founder's Thumb and step inside, then ride in dual grav-lifts upward, traveling hundreds of floors as they rush into the skies above. With no windows to peer out of, and inertial dampeners that keep the sense of motion nonexistent, Jason can't help but feel as if the lift isn't moving at all. As it travels, he spreads out his divine sense and takes note of several spots along the way.
Under his breath, he Wordsmiths several times.
"Waypoint. Waypoint."
Kordonis glances at him. "Hmm?"
The Wordsmith shakes his head. "Oh, it's nothing. I was just reminding myself I had to talk to my wife about something when I have a chance."
"I see. Well, just be aware that you will be under constant surveillance while you're here." Kordonis says. "Don't try any... funny business."
Jason faintly smiles. "Oh, I wouldn't dare."
Unbeknownst to Kordonis, Jason places several Waypoints, special Wordsmithing beacons that will allow him to instantly teleport back to this tower with a single Return command, should he ever wish to do so. Undetectable by anyone but himself and Hope, these Waypoints have served both Wordsmiths well over the past six years. So long as they remember to drop a Waypoint, they can return to any place they've traveled in the galaxy, at a minimal mana cost.
Otherwise, teleporting directly over a vast distance would consume a huge amount of spiritual energy. Even for Hope, traveling several light-hours to Volgarius would surely drain his mana, but doing so through a Waypoint would barely even put a dent in his reserves. The same is true for Jason.
As the grav-lift reaches its designated floor and opens, Kordonis hesitates.
The door slides open, but Kordonis shakes his head.
"I've... never actually been this high up in the Founder's Thumb. It is such an honor to come here. When Founder Unarin met with me, he did so on a much lower floor. Soon, we'll be entering his personal quarters, so everyone here had best remember to follow proper decorum."
"We're going to Unarin's room?" Jason asks.
"No. The entire top ten floors are Founder Unarin's designated living area. They are also where he keeps his... precious possessions. It is quite the taboo for someone as lowly as me to travel there. I will have to ask that your companions stay on this floor, and the two of us will walk to meet the First Founder ourselves. We'll have to travel the last five floors on foot, as per his command."
Jason nods. "Works for me."
He knows this is another minor power-play by Unarin, one that will force the lowly human to meet the Founder on his own terms, but Jason doesn't mind.
At least I'll get to see what his 'home' looks like before I meet him. Might even give me an idea of his personality. Jason thinks.
Of course, Jason has seen Founder Unarin before, through the broadcast Marie Becker gave him. However, the way a great leader speaks to an audience versus one-on-one with another person are likely very different. It's almost assured he will act differently toward a single mud-dweller compared to an assortment of his peers.
Kordonis leads Jason past hundreds of Technopaths, and even a few Ascended. Outside the Founder's Thumb, the Ascended almost never appear, but in these upper levels, a couple hundred of them live and work under Unarin's direction.
Jason walks through softly lit hallways, workspaces where holographic displays show the many battlefields of the Kolvaxian war effort, where teams of high-level Technopaths, Psions, and Changelings monitor the battle situations and report any suspicious movements to their superiors.
As Jason makes his way through these open areas, another thought strikes him.
Maybe Unarin doesn't just want to show off to me. He wants to show me something specific. The War has permeated every facet of Volgrim life. They have dedicated their entirety to eradicating the Kolvaxians, while I remain obsessed with 'minor' matters, such as the demons. I need to set my sights higher and focus on the bigger picture.
Before long, Kordonis and Jason reach a large pair of double doors, two times taller than the both of them.
"This is where I stop." Kordonis says, a hint of regret in his voice. "Inside, you will find the First Founder. I cannot proceed into his inner sanctum. I am not worthy."
"Thanks for leading me all the way here." Jason says. "Hopefully, this won't take too long."
Kordonis chuckles. "You have much to discuss. I'll be leaving, now. Take care, Wordsmith."
Without another word, Kordonis turns and walks away, leaving Jason to stand in front of the double doors.
The Wordsmith inhales deeply. Then, he walks forward, places his hands on both doors, and gives them a push.
Unarin awaits.

QUICK PITCH

Kavasto is a city that does not worry about morals and of little compassion. It is more likely to stab you in the back for a copper than it is to give you a hand up for a silver. Still, it is a city of rules and for those who know how the streets are run, who understand how the game is played, and learn to pay proper respects to those who are in charge, for them Kavasto can be a city of opportunity.
It is a place where rags to riches stories of self made people aren’t uncommon…
But more common are cautionary tales of those who ended up dead along the way.

ADVENTURE SYNOPSIS

One way or another a group of fledgling “adventurers” becomes entangled with THE local Crime Family. This is an entry level jaunt into the underworld of crime, so whether they are aspiring criminals themselves, or those looking to push back against the moral decay that the Crime Syndicates of Kavasto represent matters little. They are about to become pawns in a much larger game. A game played by people with real power. People who care little for the lives of individuals outside of their circle. People who are willing to do anything necessary for what they see as the greater good, more accurately their greater good.
The group is contacted by a messenger. There is a task that needs doing. A group of gnomes has invented some new longer range ship cannons (Or cannons period if your game does not yet have them. They plan on going into business for themselves, but the city’s factions all have their own plans for the cannons. Those plans do not include the gnomes retaining sole proprietary of their invention. The party will be presented with a few different options as to who they end up taking the job from. But ultimately they will end up working for the Damaxic Family.
Most of this adventure is interactive with Humanoid NPCs and therefore easily adaptable to higher levels. It also should present a lot of opportunities to play outside the normal lines of “heroes” and do quite a few “bad” things. They don’t have to play it that way, but a lot of the adventure will lend itself toward intimidation and strongarm tactics. There are few altruistic people in the city of Kevasto and fewer who openly do the right thing, but they are there and even if the players get tangled up in some ugly things there are still ways to end the adventure doing something that feels “good”. Or they could just be the anuses they’ve always wanted to be and call it a day!

• Target Party and Level: 4 level 1 players (Easily Adapted to Higher Levels)
• Expected Playtime Playtime: 3-4 Hours
• Tone: Underworld Criminal Story

Free PDF with Maps, Expanded Lore and Info, and Stat Blocks can be found here! Amplus Ordo Games Patreon

PROGRESSION OVERVIEW

The adventure starts on a minor railroad, and that is intentional. There is a bit of the trope that otherwise “good” people are often forced into the services of bad people. And that is where the story starts. It ends with a much broader range of action, but it should always end the same. The House Always Wins… or so I’m told. The players are contacted by a Mob Enforcer and given a job. If they don’t take it… that enforcer will find a way to make them take it. Maybe a kidnapped family member or some other blackmail that can be held over their head. Afterward they’re going to need to do some investigatory work to track down the gnomes. There will be some options here. During their investigation they will be presented with even more options. This is done in order to give them an overwhelming sense of being small fish in a big pond… because that is what they are. After heading all over the place, the adventure should end back on rails as the group finds out that no matter who they were being paid by… everyone works for the Damaxic Family.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

• SETUP INFORMATION
• ACT 1: A Bloody “Invitation”
• ACT 2: Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon
• ACT 3: Competing Offers
• ACT 4: Dens and Warrens
• ACT 5: The Workshop
• ACT 6: Mr Damaxic Would Like to See You
• CLOSING
• APPENDICES

PLAYING AN A.O.G. ADVENTURE

If you’ve never played an AOG adventure, I thought it wise to give you some notes on how I write them. Cuz I do some stuff non traditional like. I’ll put those notes down in the Appendices.

CREDITS AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

• Wizards of the Coast and D&D for the amazing job they do providing RPG Content for us to use!
• Original Story Written by Amplus Ordo Games
• Most Maps and Handouts were done by Amplus Ordo Games using Inkarnate
• Oleg Dolya’s Fantasy City Generator was for one of the maps! Awesome program!
• PDF Formatting done using The Homebrewery

SETUP INFORMATION

SETTING
Kavasto, (See Expanded Lore) was once a part of the Kren Empire Kavasto was usurped by Yuan-Ti, Tieflings, and actual Fiends. They have a very dark reputation, which has been well earned. If it has a redeeming quality it is that the city became a safe haven for some of the more rejected races of Krenshad. The current racial attitude could be summarized with “I don’t care what you were born with, I care about what you can do for me.” Culturally, they have an Ancient Mesopotamian feel to them. Where they really diverge from other cultures on the continent is in their racial and religious profile. Racially they are 25% Tieflings, 25% Yuan-Ti, 25% Fiends, 25% Other. Religiously, they are anything goes, with a heavy leaning of Fiend Patronage and Worship This makes for a strange mix of cultural sophistication and diabolical tendencies. It should come as no surprise that the city is run by cults and syndicates. Although there is a constant tension among the ruling powers, they do tend to keep the city from devolving into a bloody gang war. The current reigning syndicate is headed by Tethren Damaxic, a Tiefling whose family has been rumored to have held onto sorcerous powers through the Weave Drought (See Expanded Lore). There are laws, but most of them are highly flexible, if you have the power and means to flex them. The reigning philosophy is “Take what you Need. Seize what you Want. Own what you Seize. Plan for others to think likewise.”
BACKGROUND STORY
A Simple Man’s Job: (Link) The story of an Ogre who works as an enforcer for Mr Damaxic and suddenly finds brilliance.
HOOKS
Main (Bystanders caught in the crime web): The Players defend themselves against thieves. After defeating them a Syndicate Contact who was about to hire the thieves forces the players to do a job.
Backup (Criminals doing their thing): The Players are Recruited by a Syndicate Contact at some location they are used to being. A tavern, a guild hall, etc...
Backup Backup (Heroes going undercover): The players are recruited by a local guard who wants to clean the city up.

IMPORTANT LOCATIONS

More detailed descriptions and maps, if there are any, can be found in the Appendices.
Kavasto: A large city sitting on a bay off the Sea of Unity and on the edge of the Iron Plains of the north. It is an arid environment with an Ancient Mesopotamian feel to it. The City has a Parliamentary government, but that is really only a political puppet show. The true masters of the city are its criminal Organizations.
The Imp’s Tankard: One of the more popular and famous inns in the city. It is run by a group of Fiends.
Black Wash: A section of the sewers populated by the poorest and those who wish not to be found.

IMPORTANT NPCs

I will give a little better description and provide necessary Stat Blocks of these NPCs in the Appendices.
Yurgul, The Garbage Man: Tethren Damaxic’s favorite enforger. Yurgle is an Ogre who happens to have a crown of intellect on, making him brilliant. He is not someone you want to cross.
Sharrahs: The Succubus owner of the Imp’ Tankard.
Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon”: He is a Hobgoblin who is missing his pinky finger from his time as a member of Jamis “Three Fingers” crew aboard The Screaming Trident. He does not remember it fondly.
Lieutenant Gattis: One of the “good” guys in town. Grattis is a guard captain that would love to see the city free of the criminals that hold it. He has yet to really end up on their radar as a significant problem.
Raazus Khiseras: A Yuan-Ti messenger for the Heroditas Family. Raazus is a weasley little serpent who is always looking to get ahead for himself.
Lon Quatcher: A rising criminal influence. Lon is the head of the Spinning Coin Thieves Guild. A Guild that has aspirations of running the city.
Sister Cistern: A hag and information broker dwelling in Black Wash. She presents as either a young homeless maiden or a kind old lady. The residents of the sewer city trust and protect her. In return she cares for their needs and returns the favor. So when a child or two go missing each year, no one looks her way… even when they should.
Tooth: A nutty Wererat living in the sewers just outside of Black Wash.
The Cotterpins: A group of Gnomish brothers who have invented a style of cannon that extends the range of the weapon. They are currently in hiding looking to get out of the city before someone forces them to turn their creation over.
Vhisphad Heroditas: Head of the Heroditas crime family. Vhisphad is old and not long for this world. He is becoming desperate to extend his life. Most believe he is afraid of all the debts that are about to come due once he dies. He hates the Damaxics but understands his place in the world. His children not so much. Vhisphad is worried they’re going to do something stupid one of these days.
Tethren Damaxic: The Tiefling head of the Damaxic crime family. Tethren and his actual family run Kavasto from behind the scenes, sort of, everyone knows who is actually in charge, but Tethren likes others to feel as though they have some power. Rumor has it he is a powerful sorcerer who somehow kept his powers during the Weave Drought.

GAME OPENING

So this adventure may take a little more prep and thought than the typical run. I’m going to write the adventure from the main plot hook, but that doesn’t mean that the players will take that route or want to play as pawns in criminal schemes. So it may serve you well to give some thought to the other avenues they may take.
This adventure will work best if the players all know one another and you don’t have to pull any “You Start in a Tavern” business. But you can do that and I do love that trope! I recommend them already having found a reason to group together and that they are en-route to investigate an adventure opportunity. Their Characters would already know the city well and should be given access to the Kavast Map from the get go.

MAP LOCATIONS IN KAVASTO

The Coin Ward: The Merchant and Banking areas.
The Coppers: The slums and poor parts of town.
Wellworth: One of the more affluent areas of Kavasto.
Gold Streets: The wealthiest neighborhoods of Kavasto.
The Citadel: Where the Parliament and Ministers of the city conduct business. It also houses much of the Kavasto Military.
House of Order: The Legal and Judicial Establishment of the city operate out of this complex. It is home to the City Watch.
The Day Market: A large market area both indoor and outdoor.
The Walk of Kings: A street and plaza of monuments dedicated to the leaders of the past.
Shadow Cast: A dark and foreboding tower dedicated to the practices of black magic. It has sat silent for years only to have recently awoken when the Weave returned.
The Prison of the Damned: There are many Fiends that live and dwell in Kavasto. Those who need punishment find themselves here. Mortals that are sent here are never seen again.
The Temple of Inversion: The majority of the population worships either themselves or creatures from the Hells in small sects and cults. The largest of these meet at the Temple of Inversion.
The Fortress of Pain: Kavasto’s maximum security prison. Many who end up here didn’t do anything wrong, but instead they crossed the wrong people.
The Doorway: Kavasto has no cemeteries or graveyards. Instead they have zigurat mausoleums. The largest of these is the Doorway. It is of course rumored to be haunted.
The Gray Tower: Half Library half Arcane training center. The Gray Tower conscripts those who have the aptitude for magic from the populace and trains them here.
The Docks: The Docks of Kavasto both trade ports and a large military shipyard.
The Imp’s Tankard: One of the more popular and famous inns in the city. It is run by a group of Fiends. The Tankard is a hub for Criminals.
The Kavasto Lighthouse: Used as its name intends, but also owned by the Damaxic Family and used often for secret rendezvous.
The Heroditas Vinyards: The home of the second most powerful Crime Family in Kavasto.
The Damaxic Compound: Home of the ruling Crime Family.
Black Wash: (Under the Coin Ward) A section of the sewers populated by the poorest and those who wish not to be found. It is a functions sewer city.
The Night Market: The markets of Black Wash, basically the Black Market in a city run by criminals.

CUT-SCENE

"The Purple Tiefling with one gold and one silver eye dances a coin back and forth across his knuckles. He sits in a large leather chair behind a blood wood desk listening impatiently to the two Yuan-Ti making their excuses. His five children stand behind him in varying states of interest. An Ogre in finely cut clothes leans against the wall keeping an eye on the dealings. The Tiefling flicks his hand and the coin bounces on top of the desk. The Yuan-Ti stop talking. The gold piece rolls and wobbles a little and then tips toward tails. As it does, a mighty meaty hand, with immaculately kept nails, reaches out with lightning speed and rips the head off the Yuan-Ti on the left. The Ogre smiles and throws the severed head to the other snake man. “All is forgiven, but next time... don’t be late with your payments." The Ogre motions toward the door, but doesn’t really need to. The Yuan-Ti is already fleeing the room.”

ACT 01: A Bloody “Invitation”

In this act the players will almost immediately get mugged by some local thugs. The thugs are not really interested in talking and if the party attempts a conversation it is more likely that one of the thugs will take a stab at a party member. A Very Hard verbal skill check can be made though if they truly want to try and talk their way out of a mugging. But typically this is going to end in a fight.
EVENT: You’re Being Mugged
MAP: Kavasto Scenes
“A group of rugged individuals surrounds you as you pass down the street. They are armed and have a dangerous and desperate look in their eyes.”
ENCOUNTER: 4 Bandits

• REWARDS: 6d4+10 Silver, Poor Equipment, a letter from “The Garbage Man”

HANDOUT 1: Yurgul’s Letter

• “To the members of the Spinning Coin, You have been interested in proving your worth to Mr Damaxic. I have a task that can accomplish that goal. Meet me just east of the Day Market outside of the Rat’s Nest Tavern precisely at noon. Do not be late. There will not be another opportunity. - The Garbage Man

EVENT: The Garbage Man
As they read the letter (or if they didn’t look for it) they will be approached by a finely dressed Ogre. He will introduce himself as Mr Damaxic’s Garbage Man. Meaning that he deals with the trash. He will take note of what has happened and ask if the players are interested in a job. If they agree, there will be no problems. If they refuse then Yurgul will politely threaten them. They killed those Mr Damaxic intended to hire, and so now they must fulfill the job, find someone to do it for them, or suffer a similar loss in their personal life.
DM Note: In my setting the world has just regained access to magic and if the players used any then that will surely have caught Yurgul’s attention and he will be even more interested in recruiting them into the Damaxic Family.
However this conversation plays itself out, Yurgul will send them to make contact with “Pinky” a Hobgoblin over at the Imp’s Tankard in The Coppers. He is to be their contact for the rest of the job. Pinky can either set them on the trail for the job or put them in contact with someone they can recruit to do the job for them… which will be expensive and almost certainly push them back toward doing the job for themselves. Thus I have decided not to flush out that avenue in the adventure.

ACT 02: Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon

There is a bit going on here in Act 2, so let’s get to it! The Players will be headed across town into the Coppers, the poorest neighborhoods in the city. This is likely a place they are pretty familiar with. There is a fairly well renowned establishment there, The Imp’s Tankard.
LOCATION: The Imp’s Tankard
“The three story building ahead stands out from smaller buildings nearby. It looms over the neighborhood like the eldest schoolboy in the yard. It stands out in other regards as well. The architecture is a bit different, but it is less square and has a tiered design, almost like a narrow ziggurat or stout tower. It fits in over all aesthetically, but the decor and color of the building hints at a bit darker tone. It also isn’t run down or falling apart as the surrounding neighborhood is. Most odd though is the sound, or lack thereof, strangely it feels quieter the closer you draw near. The noise of the street fades away as you approach the front doors that are carved to represent dozens of Imps drinking out of the same enormous tankard.”
“But once you enter all that changes. What from the outside was an ominous structure is inside nothing but a lively place of entertainment. People sit everywhere eating, drinking, laughing, gambling, carousing, and well... more carousing. A large winged fiend stands near the door and looks you over as you enter but does not stop you. In fact it motions you toward a lightly dressed Yuan-Ti man who asks if you would like to be seated or if you have other business in the Tankard today.”
The Tankard covers a lot of bases for services, and those range from drinking to whatever debauchery your table is comfortable with. It is run by several of the fiends that live in the city and is owned by a Succubus that goes by the name Sharrahs. “Pinky” the Hobgoblin operates a fencing gig out of one of her private rooms in the basement. Sharras will not be overly interested in helping the players find “Pinky” nor will she warn them that he hates that nickname. But there are multiple ways to grease those wheels. Being a good paying customer, offering a bribe, dropping the Garbage Man’s name. Those types of things will get her attention.
EVENT: Pinky.
When they find Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon, he will be wrapping up a deal with a Bugbear for a large pile of items including some expensive looking jewelry. He will be working from behind a barred window, the Bugbear feels like he is being cheated and the following scene will unfold…
“You enter a 10x10 stone room. Unlike most of what you’ve seen of the Tankard so far there are no decorations at all and the walls are not painted. On the far side of the room an orange skinned Hobgoblin works a trade through a barred window. He is engaged in a heated discussion with a Bugbear. There is a large pile of coin and a large pile of jewelry on the counter under the window. The Bugbear reaches a boiling point and lunges through the bars at the hobgoblin… whose response is simply to stand there as a blade comes hurtling down from above the bars and removes the bugbear’s arms. As it topples to the floor bleeding out and wailing for help you hear the clicking of gears as the blade retracts into the ceiling. The Hobgoblin has swept all the loot, and the arms, out of sight though his counter is still covered in blood. He begins wiping it up with a towel and looks in your direction. “Next.”
The players need Pinky to tell them about the job. Which he will, It has come to the attention of Mr Damaxic that a trio of Gnomes, brothers to be precise, have just invented a cannon that can add considerable distance to the shot. Mr Damaxic wants to acquire these cannons for himself and keep them out of the hands of others. The players have been given the job to track down the Gnomes, deal with them. Afterward they are to let Pinky know where they are so that they can be retrieved.
Now Pinky was only paid to be a contact for the players and to start them off and close up their dealings, but he also has people out looking for the location of these gnomes, and will tell the players once his people report back, but… seeing as how he doesn’t know the players, and maybe he heard that they just killed some friends of his, they’re going to have to do a job for him first.
DM Not: The players can attempt to do this for themselves if they wish, but that will prove much more difficult. Thus, I have not written up that avenue of the adventure. However if they were to do that I would have them head to the same locations listed in the next few acts, only with different motives and results.
Before Pinky tells them anything else he wants them to head down to Black Wash (The Sewers) and find a certain Wererat, goes by the name Tooth, that owes him a large sum of money. They are to collect this money and return. They may also collect Tooth’s Teeth, if he doesn’t have the cash. Pinky would prefer that they leave him alive if possible, but won’t be heartbroken if Tooth ends up dead. They can access the sewer canals from the Tankard but they’ll have to get Sharrahs’ permission to do so, or they can go find another entrance in the city. Sharrahs will ask them to head down the street and remind the Brewhouse there that they should not be late again with their deliveries, in return for that quick favor she will unlock the entrance to the sewers for them. Whatever they do to find an entrance it should not be hard… unless you want it to be.
DM Note: Pinky has access to some “adventuring gear” Most importantly he has Healing Potions and Silvering Oil which will help against the Wererat. If it comes to a fight. It will cost the players 10gp a vial though. Pinky will run a line of credit with high interest if necessary. Take too long and they will share his nickname.
DM Note: This isn’t the only offer the players are about to get. So if they decide not to work with Pinky it is ok. One of the other factions are about to make offers, and they may have what the players need.

ACT 03: Competing Offers

They are now off to Black Wash (Expanded Lore). But before they arrive they will be intercepted by one or more of the following NPCs and given a counter offer to working for the Damaxic Family. The DM should pick the faction that is going to be most tempting to the players. Don’t make it overly obvious, but the story ends with a bit of a fun twist if they take a counter offer. Using more than one, or all, of these additional hooks will be fun and give the city an “everyone is always watching” feel if done right. But it could be very time consuming as the players attempt to devise a way to complete the mission in multiple ways.
POSSIBLE EVENT: The Upstart
Lon Quatcher is upstairs in the Tankard and has been waiting for the players to return from their meeting with Pinky. Two of his goons will “invite” them over to his table for a chat. As the up and coming Thieves Guild Lon wants to make a name for himself and is offering a lot of money to see that the gnomes end up in his possession. The players can do what they want with the Cannons as an additional reward.
POSSIBLE EVENT: The Rival
Whichever entrance to the sewers they find they will encounter Raazus Khiseras just inside the canals. Someone in the Heroditas family wants the Gnomes and the cannons for themselves and to keep them out of the hands of the Damaxics. He is authorized to reward them appropriately, with half up front, and doesn’t ask if they agree. This is a “You will do this or else” deal. He should be an intimidating force and will clearly will threaten them if they offer any resistance to his offer.
POSSIBLE EVENT: The Honorable Man
Lieutenant Gattis will be waiting just down the street from the Tankard. He is that - Last Honorable Man in the City of Evil - trope, which actually in this setting makes him really interesting and fun. Gattis will attempt to appeal to the better nature of the players. He would like them to convince the gnomes to come work for the city guards under his command. Gattis can offer gear based rewards and weapon enhancements If this avenue is taken. As well as further jobs. Once the Gnomes are convinced Gattis’ team will set up a “Raid” and take the Gnomes into protective custody.

ACT 04: Black Wash

They are now in the sewer tunnels and off to Black Wash. Lead them up the tunnels to the Night Market.
“The air down here is damp and thick with the smell of rot and excrement. The passage has an almost unnoticeable slope to it, heading ever deeper into the ground as it travels away from the city. Rats scurry about the area. The sounds of people talking and music come from somewhere in the direction of the upward path.”
“The tunnels open up into a large junction room some 200’ in diameter. Built onto the walkways and out over the canals and up onto the walls is a shanty town with a busy marketplace in the center. People bustle about everywhere like bees in a hive.”
Black Wash and the Night Market provide several options for the players, most of them simply grimey and vile versions of the things they could do up on the surface. But if they are into the dark and wicked side of things that is highly present here. Kavasto even though it is full of actual Fiends, still presents as a fairly normal city. Black Wash and the Night Market have no such issues.
Their main goal here will be to ask around and find out where Tooth is. The options to do so are really up to their imagination and the DMs. I wouldn’t make it overly difficult to locate Tooth, but in Black Wash there is a cost for everything, especially for City Folk. I recommend a kindly old lady that will tell them what they need to know in exchange for a few locks of their hair or a precious memento or two. When I say kindly old lady, you should read Hag… certainly a Hag. Sister Cistern, as she is commonly know, in Black Wash is the primary dealer in information and would love nothing more than to “help”.
However, they gather the information they’re off deeper into the tunnels. I do recommend a few “Random Events” to happen while down here. I’ve put in some suggestions. And a hunk of the map is dedicated to the Black Wash Canals.
MAP: Kavasto Scenes

• As they traverse the canals they watch the rats begin to frantically climb the walls. The cisterns have been emptied and a wash is coming. They players will have to get up on the walls or risk being washed away.
• A mysterious beggar is found sitting in a nook. He will offer them his gift of “foresight”. This can be real or made up. I like to have them roll a d20. A good roll gets them a good fortune and a bad roll… well bad… what that is? That’s up to you, but I suggest later giving advantage or disadvantage to a player in an important situation. I’ve also marked a player for “death” with encounters like these. You don’t have to kill them, but you could!
• Something dark and ominous. They are in a city full of cults and crime. So a body left as a message or used in a dark ritual will really help set the tone.
• And of course there is always the potential attack from sewer creatures. Now this is written toward Level 1 characters so an Otyugh is probably out of the questions… but a baby Otyugh with a mamma nearby that they have to flee, well that probably isn’t questionable at all!

Eventually they’ll get to Tooth’s Hideout. Tooth is a nutjob Wererat who isn’t really interested in a fight but also won’t give up the cash easily. He will ask them for food and tools. If they come up with enough they don’t have to fight him. After dealing with Tooth, the player can search his lair for enough loot to bring back Pinky who will then give them the information they need to find the Gnomes.
MAP: Kavasto Scenes
LOCATION: The Lair
There are a few routes and dead-ends on the trip to the Lair Room. I highly recommend putting some easy to spot low damage traps in those tunnels simply put them on guard for the Lair Room.
ENCOUNTER: Tooth
Tooth’s lair is filled with traps that he will use against the players in a fight. He will bonus action disengage and run to cover behind a trap. He also has two Giant Rat pets to help him out. He will not intentionally put the rats in danger.
REWARDS: The players will need to get Tooth’s Teeth for Pinky
Tooth caries

• A serrated Shortsword. Striking at five over a targets AC will cause an additional point of damage and a Studded Leather

The Trash piles d20 Roll, the higher the roll the better the treasure

• Searching through the random trash piles will reward them with some random treasure
• 3d6gp worth of Coins most of them lower quality
• 1d4 10gp gems or jewelry pieces
• 2 random trinkets from the trinket table.
• One Potion of Poison
• Scroll of Cure Wounds
• One Chair that doesn’t smell like pee

ACT 05: The Workshop

When they return to Pinky the deal should conclude simply. They return with whatever they need to appease him, smart (non good aligned) players will have killed Tooth and found the cash. They’ll give Pinky Tooth’s teeth and keep the money. But that’s on them not you. Either way, Pinky will keep up his end of the bargain and give them the address of the home in which the Gnomes are working out of. Surprisingly it is over in the Wellworth neighborhood. One of the more wealthy areas. He isn’t sure how they pulled that off, but that doesn’t really matter to him. He just throws that fact out there. It is kind of a clue that there is someone powerful pulling the strings here.
A quick trip across town and they should be at the house. It appears unoccupied and for sale. Asking anyone in the neighborhood will give them a little insider information. That house has always been up for sale. No one looks at it though. But that doesn’t mean it is unoccupied. There are different people that come and go from there. Most recently a Gnome.
MAP: Kavasto Scenes
The Gnomes are working out of the cellar of the house. The upper floors will appear vacant. They are guarded by four “repurposed” Modrons who will look like large metal shapes at first. The Modrons will activate and attack as soon as the players are surrounded by them. After dealing with the Modrons the players will encounter the Gnomes, who will obviously be unhappy about being discovered and will threaten violence when the players enter the shop. They will be behind their cannons and will follow through with their threats if the players fail to convince them to stand down. As far as any deals go the Gnomes will only willingly work with the City Guards. Most every other option will boil down to violence. But players are creative so you never know what they may do. Maybe offer them a “witness protection program” type escape? Who the heck knows.
ENCOUNTER: Modron Guardians
The Modrons will activate and attack as soon as the players are surrounded by them. This fighting will alert the gnomes who will bar the doors to the workshop and scramble to their cannons. (Use Modrons appropriate to the character’s level.)
ENCOUNTER: The Cotterpins
This encounter could go a number of ways… but most likely this ends in a fight. The only people the Gnomes are even slightly interested in working with are the Guards. But they are really self invested and don’t want others getting their hands on their work. So convincing them to work with any of the criminals will ultimately result in a fight. (Remember: a successful persuasion check only moves the NPC one tick closer to what the PC is trying to convince them of, not a flat out switch-er-roo of morals and opinions). However, they can be persuaded to work with the guards if the PCs succeed with a Hard Check.

CLOSING: Mr Damaxic Would Like to See You

Once the Gnomes have been subdued one way or another, and now the players need to wrap up their business. This likely means they will be headed back to Pinky, or waiting for their other contacts to show up. Both scenarios resolve themselves in a very similar fashion.
Scenario 1: Head back to Pinky
This scenario assumes that the players did not attempt to double cross Tethren Damaxic… a very wise choice. They will head back to Pinky who will give them a message and half their payment. If they want the other half they are to head to the Docks and take a boat to the lighthouse for a meeting. If they are nervous Pinky will assure them that this is normal. (And it is).
Scenario 2: Working For The Competition
Whichever faction they have chosen to work with this scenario works out the same. Their employer’s people show up and collect the Gnomes and Cannons. They will be given instructions to head to the Docks and take a boat to the lighthouse for a meeting to collect their payment. If they are nervous one of the people collecting the cannons will assure them that this is normal. (And it is).
EVENT: The Lighthouse
“Your boat docks at the Lighthouse and you enter as you were directed to. As you pass the doorway two individuals slip up behind you blocking your exit. They silently point up the stairs. At the same moment you hear an awful shrieking sound. Like an animal being tortured. A familiar large and well dressed Ogre strolls down the steps grinning from ear to ear revealing a row of adamantine teeth. “Mr Damaxic would like to meet with you.””
Yurgul will escort them to the the top of the lighthouse where an Aaracockra is being… plucked… Tethren Damaxic will be sitting at a finely set table eating a steak on a balcony nearby. Yurgul will sit down and Tethren will motion for the Players to join him. There are places set for them and drinks of their liking already poured. No matter what they decided to do with the cannons, Tethren will tuen back to his meal and eat silently. As he does a cargo ship will dock and workers will be unloading the cannons and the Gnomes into the lighthouse.
Ultimately whatever they chose to do, Tethren was always behind it to get the upper hand. He already has his people deep in the Spinning Coin Thieves Guild. He has almost all of the City Watch in his pocket so it wasn’t hard at all to pay them off to deliver the cannons to him and not Gattis. And the Heroditas house is weak and its people disloyal making them vulnerable to being bought, so he did.
Once they have chosen to sit or not. Tethren and Yurgul will finish their meals. Mr Damaxic will then look at them intently, and say...
““Now my new friends… let us talk about how our business will conclude today…”
That is a great place to conclude the adventure. However your players may want a touch more. So you can embellish on this part however you see fit. Particularly if you are planning a followup campaign or adventure.
-- The End --

Thanks for playing an AOG Adventure.

If you enjoyed it please leave me some comments on wherever you found this adventure.

APPENDICES

PLAYING AN A.O.G. ADVENTURE

If you’ve never played an AOG adventure, I thought it wise to give you some notes on how I write them. Cuz I do some stuff non traditional like. I’ll put those notes down in the Appendicies.
Homebrewed World
First off, almost all my adventures are set in my Homebrew World of Taalist, particularly the Continent of Krenshad. Which the majority of has a very Gothic Art and Renaissance Period cultural feel to it. With some Greek and Middle Eastern CUltre from the same time period thrown in there for flavor. That said… Almost all of my Adventures can be easily ported into your location of choice. If you would like to play in Taalist my Campaign Guide (All 150+ Pages of it) can be accessed on our Discord for Patreon Members.
The Lay Out
I divide my adventures into “Acts”. An Act doesn’t necessarily reflect an amount of time, but more of an important series of events or locations. Some Acts may take 5 minutes, some 5 hours. Why? I dunno, ask the players who over complicate simple matters and simplify the overly complex.
SKILL CHECK DCs
I don’t spend a lot of time defining DCs as I play with a bit wider scale of success and failures. What does that mean? So for reference the DC scale in 5E looks like this.... Very Easy DC5, Easy DC10, Medium DC 15, Hard DC 20, Very Hard DC 25, Nearly Impossible DC 30. When I list a DC I will tell you it is Hard. But Hard for one party may be easy for another so I leave the actual number value up to you. I also play with a “Success but with Consequences” mentality so if they get close they still accomplish their goal but there is a “but” to that success. An Example? Hard Stealth DC is 20, they roll an 18, I tell them “You sneak past the guard you see but the guard you didn’t see heard something and is headed your way.” I think it adds more to the story that way.
Search Checks
I often reference Search Checks. What is a Search Check? When the players want to “search” something or for something I let them use either Investigation or Perception. I know that isn’t RAW but it just makes things so much easier. I got real tired of explaining to players who have been playing with me for years the difference between the two… just let them look for stuff!
Opening Cutscene
I like to start my games with an Opening Cutscene which is read before anything else happens. These are usually really vague bits of information that give a glimpse into something that will maybe happen later, happened before the adventure, or is story adjacent to it. I have found these to be great tools to set the mood and create a little mystery.
Setting, Background Info, and Hooks
These portions can be used as you see fit. Each one is a little different, so it is hard for me to say how best to use them. Some will play better if you can get them into the hands of the players before the game. Others may have better influence when read just after the Cutscene. Some are really only relevant to moments in the story. But as in all things you do what is best for your game! That is always the way to go.
Skill Challenges
I use the idea of Skill Challenges a lot. What is that? It is an event in the game that isn’t quite an encounter and it isn’t a simple skill check. It is a problem they solve with their whole skill set. Typically they must get three successes before three failures in order to succeed in a skill check. The thing about a Skill challenge is they’re are vague on purpose to allow players to be creative in solving a problem. An example may help here.

• DM says “Your Boat is taking on water. What would you like to do?”
• Player 1 responds with “I use my carpentry tools to fix the hole” and they make a Tool Check. But they roll a 2 so they fail. Too much water.
• Player 2 says “ wants to row harder with the crew to get us toward shore faster” They make an Athletics Check and roll an 18. So that is a success.
• Player 3 “I use Destroy Water to get water out” OK, well it only destroys 10 gallons so it isn’t super helpful, but the momentary reprieve allows a little drywork to happen and allow player 1 to reroll.
• Stuff like this.

QUICK PITCH

Kavasto is a city that does not worry about morals and of little compassion. It is more likely to stab you in the back for a copper than it is to give you a hand up for a silver. Still, it is a city of rules and for those who know how the streets are run, who understand how the game is played, and learn to pay proper respects to those who are in charge, for them Kavasto can be a city of opportunity.
It is a place where rags to riches stories of self made people aren’t uncommon…
But more common are cautionary tales of those who ended up dead along the way.

ADVENTURE SYNOPSIS

One way or another a group of fledgling “adventurers” becomes entangled with THE local Crime Family. This is an entry level jaunt into the underworld of crime, so whether they are aspiring criminals themselves, or those looking to push back against the moral decay that the Crime Syndicates of Kavasto represent matters little. They are about to become pawns in a much larger game. A game played by people with real power. People who care little for the lives of individuals outside of their circle. People who are willing to do anything necessary for what they see as the greater good, more accurately their greater good.
The group is contacted by a messenger. There is a task that needs doing. A group of gnomes has invented some new longer range ship cannons (Or cannons period if your game does not yet have them. They plan on going into business for themselves, but the city’s factions all have their own plans for the cannons. Those plans do not include the gnomes retaining sole proprietary of their invention. The party will be presented with a few different options as to who they end up taking the job from. But ultimately they will end up working for the Damaxic Family.
Most of this adventure is interactive with Humanoid NPCs and therefore easily adaptable to higher levels. It also should present a lot of opportunities to play outside the normal lines of “heroes” and do quite a few “bad” things. They don’t have to play it that way, but a lot of the adventure will lend itself toward intimidation and strongarm tactics. There are few altruistic people in the city of Kevasto and fewer who openly do the right thing, but they are there and even if the players get tangled up in some ugly things there are still ways to end the adventure doing something that feels “good”. Or they could just be the anuses they’ve always wanted to be and call it a day!

• Target Party and Level: 4 level 1 players (Easily Adapted to Higher Levels)
• Expected Playtime Playtime: 3-4 Hours
• Tone: Underworld Criminal Story

Free PDF with Maps, Expanded Lore and Info, and Stat Blocks can be found here! Amplus Ordo Games Patreon

PROGRESSION OVERVIEW

The adventure starts on a minor railroad, and that is intentional. There is a bit of the trope that otherwise “good” people are often forced into the services of bad people. And that is where the story starts. It ends with a much broader range of action, but it should always end the same. The House Always Wins… or so I’m told. The players are contacted by a Mob Enforcer and given a job. If they don’t take it… that enforcer will find a way to make them take it. Maybe a kidnapped family member or some other blackmail that can be held over their head. Afterward they’re going to need to do some investigatory work to track down the gnomes. There will be some options here. During their investigation they will be presented with even more options. This is done in order to give them an overwhelming sense of being small fish in a big pond… because that is what they are. After heading all over the place, the adventure should end back on rails as the group finds out that no matter who they were being paid by… everyone works for the Damaxic Family.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

• SETUP INFORMATION
• ACT 1: A Bloody “Invitation”
• ACT 2: Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon
• ACT 3: Competing Offers
• ACT 4: Dens and Warrens
• ACT 5: The Workshop
• ACT 6: Mr Damaxic Would Like to See You
• CLOSING
• APPENDICES

PLAYING AN A.O.G. ADVENTURE

If you’ve never played an AOG adventure, I thought it wise to give you some notes on how I write them. Cuz I do some stuff non traditional like. I’ll put those notes down in the Appendices.

CREDITS AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

• Wizards of the Coast and D&D for the amazing job they do providing RPG Content for us to use!
• Original Story Written by Amplus Ordo Games
• Most Maps and Handouts were done by Amplus Ordo Games using Inkarnate
• Oleg Dolya’s Fantasy City Generator was for one of the maps! Awesome program!
• PDF Formatting done using The Homebrewery

SETUP INFORMATION

SETTING
Kavasto, (See Expanded Lore) was once a part of the Kren Empire Kavasto was usurped by Yuan-Ti, Tieflings, and actual Fiends. They have a very dark reputation, which has been well earned. If it has a redeeming quality it is that the city became a safe haven for some of the more rejected races of Krenshad. The current racial attitude could be summarized with “I don’t care what you were born with, I care about what you can do for me.” Culturally, they have an Ancient Mesopotamian feel to them. Where they really diverge from other cultures on the continent is in their racial and religious profile. Racially they are 25% Tieflings, 25% Yuan-Ti, 25% Fiends, 25% Other. Religiously, they are anything goes, with a heavy leaning of Fiend Patronage and Worship This makes for a strange mix of cultural sophistication and diabolical tendencies. It should come as no surprise that the city is run by cults and syndicates. Although there is a constant tension among the ruling powers, they do tend to keep the city from devolving into a bloody gang war. The current reigning syndicate is headed by Tethren Damaxic, a Tiefling whose family has been rumored to have held onto sorcerous powers through the Weave Drought (See Expanded Lore). There are laws, but most of them are highly flexible, if you have the power and means to flex them. The reigning philosophy is “Take what you Need. Seize what you Want. Own what you Seize. Plan for others to think likewise.”
BACKGROUND STORY
A Simple Man’s Job: (Link) The story of an Ogre who works as an enforcer for Mr Damaxic and suddenly finds brilliance.
HOOKS
Main (Bystanders caught in the crime web): The Players defend themselves against thieves. After defeating them a Syndicate Contact who was about to hire the thieves forces the players to do a job.
Backup (Criminals doing their thing): The Players are Recruited by a Syndicate Contact at some location they are used to being. A tavern, a guild hall, etc...
Backup Backup (Heroes going undercover): The players are recruited by a local guard who wants to clean the city up.

IMPORTANT LOCATIONS

More detailed descriptions and maps, if there are any, can be found in the Appendices.
Kavasto: A large city sitting on a bay off the Sea of Unity and on the edge of the Iron Plains of the north. It is an arid environment with an Ancient Mesopotamian feel to it. The City has a Parliamentary government, but that is really only a political puppet show. The true masters of the city are its criminal Organizations.
The Imp’s Tankard: One of the more popular and famous inns in the city. It is run by a group of Fiends.
Black Wash: A section of the sewers populated by the poorest and those who wish not to be found.

IMPORTANT NPCs

I will give a little better description and provide necessary Stat Blocks of these NPCs in the Appendices.
Yurgul, The Garbage Man: Tethren Damaxic’s favorite enforger. Yurgle is an Ogre who happens to have a crown of intellect on, making him brilliant. He is not someone you want to cross.
Sharrahs: The Succubus owner of the Imp’ Tankard.
Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon”: He is a Hobgoblin who is missing his pinky finger from his time as a member of Jamis “Three Fingers” crew aboard The Screaming Trident. He does not remember it fondly.
Lieutenant Gattis: One of the “good” guys in town. Grattis is a guard captain that would love to see the city free of the criminals that hold it. He has yet to really end up on their radar as a significant problem.
Raazus Khiseras: A Yuan-Ti messenger for the Heroditas Family. Raazus is a weasley little serpent who is always looking to get ahead for himself.
Lon Quatcher: A rising criminal influence. Lon is the head of the Spinning Coin Thieves Guild. A Guild that has aspirations of running the city.
Sister Cistern: A hag and information broker dwelling in Black Wash. She presents as either a young homeless maiden or a kind old lady. The residents of the sewer city trust and protect her. In return she cares for their needs and returns the favor. So when a child or two go missing each year, no one looks her way… even when they should.
Tooth: A nutty Wererat living in the sewers just outside of Black Wash.
The Cotterpins: A group of Gnomish brothers who have invented a style of cannon that extends the range of the weapon. They are currently in hiding looking to get out of the city before someone forces them to turn their creation over.
Vhisphad Heroditas: Head of the Heroditas crime family. Vhisphad is old and not long for this world. He is becoming desperate to extend his life. Most believe he is afraid of all the debts that are about to come due once he dies. He hates the Damaxics but understands his place in the world. His children not so much. Vhisphad is worried they’re going to do something stupid one of these days.
Tethren Damaxic: The Tiefling head of the Damaxic crime family. Tethren and his actual family run Kavasto from behind the scenes, sort of, everyone knows who is actually in charge, but Tethren likes others to feel as though they have some power. Rumor has it he is a powerful sorcerer who somehow kept his powers during the Weave Drought.

GAME OPENING

So this adventure may take a little more prep and thought than the typical run. I’m going to write the adventure from the main plot hook, but that doesn’t mean that the players will take that route or want to play as pawns in criminal schemes. So it may serve you well to give some thought to the other avenues they may take.
This adventure will work best if the players all know one another and you don’t have to pull any “You Start in a Tavern” business. But you can do that and I do love that trope! I recommend them already having found a reason to group together and that they are en-route to investigate an adventure opportunity. Their Characters would already know the city well and should be given access to the Kavast Map from the get go.

MAP LOCATIONS IN KAVASTO

The Coin Ward: The Merchant and Banking areas.
The Coppers: The slums and poor parts of town.
Wellworth: One of the more affluent areas of Kavasto.
Gold Streets: The wealthiest neighborhoods of Kavasto.
The Citadel: Where the Parliament and Ministers of the city conduct business. It also houses much of the Kavasto Military.
House of Order: The Legal and Judicial Establishment of the city operate out of this complex. It is home to the City Watch.
The Day Market: A large market area both indoor and outdoor.
The Walk of Kings: A street and plaza of monuments dedicated to the leaders of the past.
Shadow Cast: A dark and foreboding tower dedicated to the practices of black magic. It has sat silent for years only to have recently awoken when the Weave returned.
The Prison of the Damned: There are many Fiends that live and dwell in Kavasto. Those who need punishment find themselves here. Mortals that are sent here are never seen again.
The Temple of Inversion: The majority of the population worships either themselves or creatures from the Hells in small sects and cults. The largest of these meet at the Temple of Inversion.
The Fortress of Pain: Kavasto’s maximum security prison. Many who end up here didn’t do anything wrong, but instead they crossed the wrong people.
The Doorway: Kavasto has no cemeteries or graveyards. Instead they have zigurat mausoleums. The largest of these is the Doorway. It is of course rumored to be haunted.
The Gray Tower: Half Library half Arcane training center. The Gray Tower conscripts those who have the aptitude for magic from the populace and trains them here.
The Docks: The Docks of Kavasto both trade ports and a large military shipyard.
The Imp’s Tankard: One of the more popular and famous inns in the city. It is run by a group of Fiends. The Tankard is a hub for Criminals.
The Kavasto Lighthouse: Used as its name intends, but also owned by the Damaxic Family and used often for secret rendezvous.
The Heroditas Vinyards: The home of the second most powerful Crime Family in Kavasto.
The Damaxic Compound: Home of the ruling Crime Family.
Black Wash: (Under the Coin Ward) A section of the sewers populated by the poorest and those who wish not to be found. It is a functions sewer city.
The Night Market: The markets of Black Wash, basically the Black Market in a city run by criminals.

CUT-SCENE

"The Purple Tiefling with one gold and one silver eye dances a coin back and forth across his knuckles. He sits in a large leather chair behind a blood wood desk listening impatiently to the two Yuan-Ti making their excuses. His five children stand behind him in varying states of interest. An Ogre in finely cut clothes leans against the wall keeping an eye on the dealings. The Tiefling flicks his hand and the coin bounces on top of the desk. The Yuan-Ti stop talking. The gold piece rolls and wobbles a little and then tips toward tails. As it does, a mighty meaty hand, with immaculately kept nails, reaches out with lightning speed and rips the head off the Yuan-Ti on the left. The Ogre smiles and throws the severed head to the other snake man. “All is forgiven, but next time... don’t be late with your payments." The Ogre motions toward the door, but doesn’t really need to. The Yuan-Ti is already fleeing the room.”

ACT 01: A Bloody “Invitation”

In this act the players will almost immediately get mugged by some local thugs. The thugs are not really interested in talking and if the party attempts a conversation it is more likely that one of the thugs will take a stab at a party member. A Very Hard verbal skill check can be made though if they truly want to try and talk their way out of a mugging. But typically this is going to end in a fight.
EVENT: You’re Being Mugged
MAP: Kavasto Scenes
“A group of rugged individuals surrounds you as you pass down the street. They are armed and have a dangerous and desperate look in their eyes.”
ENCOUNTER: 4 Bandits

• REWARDS: 6d4+10 Silver, Poor Equipment, a letter from “The Garbage Man”

HANDOUT 1: Yurgul’s Letter

• “To the members of the Spinning Coin, You have been interested in proving your worth to Mr Damaxic. I have a task that can accomplish that goal. Meet me just east of the Day Market outside of the Rat’s Nest Tavern precisely at noon. Do not be late. There will not be another opportunity. - The Garbage Man

EVENT: The Garbage Man
As they read the letter (or if they didn’t look for it) they will be approached by a finely dressed Ogre. He will introduce himself as Mr Damaxic’s Garbage Man. Meaning that he deals with the trash. He will take note of what has happened and ask if the players are interested in a job. If they agree, there will be no problems. If they refuse then Yurgul will politely threaten them. They killed those Mr Damaxic intended to hire, and so now they must fulfill the job, find someone to do it for them, or suffer a similar loss in their personal life.
DM Note: In my setting the world has just regained access to magic and if the players used any then that will surely have caught Yurgul’s attention and he will be even more interested in recruiting them into the Damaxic Family.
However this conversation plays itself out, Yurgul will send them to make contact with “Pinky” a Hobgoblin over at the Imp’s Tankard in The Coppers. He is to be their contact for the rest of the job. Pinky can either set them on the trail for the job or put them in contact with someone they can recruit to do the job for them… which will be expensive and almost certainly push them back toward doing the job for themselves. Thus I have decided not to flush out that avenue in the adventure.

ACT 02: Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon

There is a bit going on here in Act 2, so let’s get to it! The Players will be headed across town into the Coppers, the poorest neighborhoods in the city. This is likely a place they are pretty familiar with. There is a fairly well renowned establishment there, The Imp’s Tankard.
LOCATION: The Imp’s Tankard
“The three story building ahead stands out from smaller buildings nearby. It looms over the neighborhood like the eldest schoolboy in the yard. It stands out in other regards as well. The architecture is a bit different, but it is less square and has a tiered design, almost like a narrow ziggurat or stout tower. It fits in over all aesthetically, but the decor and color of the building hints at a bit darker tone. It also isn’t run down or falling apart as the surrounding neighborhood is. Most odd though is the sound, or lack thereof, strangely it feels quieter the closer you draw near. The noise of the street fades away as you approach the front doors that are carved to represent dozens of Imps drinking out of the same enormous tankard.”
“But once you enter all that changes. What from the outside was an ominous structure is inside nothing but a lively place of entertainment. People sit everywhere eating, drinking, laughing, gambling, carousing, and well... more carousing. A large winged fiend stands near the door and looks you over as you enter but does not stop you. In fact it motions you toward a lightly dressed Yuan-Ti man who asks if you would like to be seated or if you have other business in the Tankard today.”
The Tankard covers a lot of bases for services, and those range from drinking to whatever debauchery your table is comfortable with. It is run by several of the fiends that live in the city and is owned by a Succubus that goes by the name Sharrahs. “Pinky” the Hobgoblin operates a fencing gig out of one of her private rooms in the basement. Sharras will not be overly interested in helping the players find “Pinky” nor will she warn them that he hates that nickname. But there are multiple ways to grease those wheels. Being a good paying customer, offering a bribe, dropping the Garbage Man’s name. Those types of things will get her attention.
EVENT: Pinky.
When they find Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon, he will be wrapping up a deal with a Bugbear for a large pile of items including some expensive looking jewelry. He will be working from behind a barred window, the Bugbear feels like he is being cheated and the following scene will unfold…
“You enter a 10x10 stone room. Unlike most of what you’ve seen of the Tankard so far there are no decorations at all and the walls are not painted. On the far side of the room an orange skinned Hobgoblin works a trade through a barred window. He is engaged in a heated discussion with a Bugbear. There is a large pile of coin and a large pile of jewelry on the counter under the window. The Bugbear reaches a boiling point and lunges through the bars at the hobgoblin… whose response is simply to stand there as a blade comes hurtling down from above the bars and removes the bugbear’s arms. As it topples to the floor bleeding out and wailing for help you hear the clicking of gears as the blade retracts into the ceiling. The Hobgoblin has swept all the loot, and the arms, out of sight though his counter is still covered in blood. He begins wiping it up with a towel and looks in your direction. “Next.”
The players need Pinky to tell them about the job. Which he will, It has come to the attention of Mr Damaxic that a trio of Gnomes, brothers to be precise, have just invented a cannon that can add considerable distance to the shot. Mr Damaxic wants to acquire these cannons for himself and keep them out of the hands of others. The players have been given the job to track down the Gnomes, deal with them. Afterward they are to let Pinky know where they are so that they can be retrieved.
Now Pinky was only paid to be a contact for the players and to start them off and close up their dealings, but he also has people out looking for the location of these gnomes, and will tell the players once his people report back, but… seeing as how he doesn’t know the players, and maybe he heard that they just killed some friends of his, they’re going to have to do a job for him first.
DM Not: The players can attempt to do this for themselves if they wish, but that will prove much more difficult. Thus, I have not written up that avenue of the adventure. However if they were to do that I would have them head to the same locations listed in the next few acts, only with different motives and results.
Before Pinky tells them anything else he wants them to head down to Black Wash (The Sewers) and find a certain Wererat, goes by the name Tooth, that owes him a large sum of money. They are to collect this money and return. They may also collect Tooth’s Teeth, if he doesn’t have the cash. Pinky would prefer that they leave him alive if possible, but won’t be heartbroken if Tooth ends up dead. They can access the sewer canals from the Tankard but they’ll have to get Sharrahs’ permission to do so, or they can go find another entrance in the city. Sharrahs will ask them to head down the street and remind the Brewhouse there that they should not be late again with their deliveries, in return for that quick favor she will unlock the entrance to the sewers for them. Whatever they do to find an entrance it should not be hard… unless you want it to be.
DM Note: Pinky has access to some “adventuring gear” Most importantly he has Healing Potions and Silvering Oil which will help against the Wererat. If it comes to a fight. It will cost the players 10gp a vial though. Pinky will run a line of credit with high interest if necessary. Take too long and they will share his nickname.
DM Note: This isn’t the only offer the players are about to get. So if they decide not to work with Pinky it is ok. One of the other factions are about to make offers, and they may have what the players need.

ACT 03: Competing Offers

They are now off to Black Wash (Expanded Lore). But before they arrive they will be intercepted by one or more of the following NPCs and given a counter offer to working for the Damaxic Family. The DM should pick the faction that is going to be most tempting to the players. Don’t make it overly obvious, but the story ends with a bit of a fun twist if they take a counter offer. Using more than one, or all, of these additional hooks will be fun and give the city an “everyone is always watching” feel if done right. But it could be very time consuming as the players attempt to devise a way to complete the mission in multiple ways.
POSSIBLE EVENT: The Upstart
Lon Quatcher is upstairs in the Tankard and has been waiting for the players to return from their meeting with Pinky. Two of his goons will “invite” them over to his table for a chat. As the up and coming Thieves Guild Lon wants to make a name for himself and is offering a lot of money to see that the gnomes end up in his possession. The players can do what they want with the Cannons as an additional reward.
POSSIBLE EVENT: The Rival
Whichever entrance to the sewers they find they will encounter Raazus Khiseras just inside the canals. Someone in the Heroditas family wants the Gnomes and the cannons for themselves and to keep them out of the hands of the Damaxics. He is authorized to reward them appropriately, with half up front, and doesn’t ask if they agree. This is a “You will do this or else” deal. He should be an intimidating force and will clearly will threaten them if they offer any resistance to his offer.
POSSIBLE EVENT: The Honorable Man
Lieutenant Gattis will be waiting just down the street from the Tankard. He is that - Last Honorable Man in the City of Evil - trope, which actually in this setting makes him really interesting and fun. Gattis will attempt to appeal to the better nature of the players. He would like them to convince the gnomes to come work for the city guards under his command. Gattis can offer gear based rewards and weapon enhancements If this avenue is taken. As well as further jobs. Once the Gnomes are convinced Gattis’ team will set up a “Raid” and take the Gnomes into protective custody.

ACT 04: Black Wash

They are now in the sewer tunnels and off to Black Wash. Lead them up the tunnels to the Night Market.
“The air down here is damp and thick with the smell of rot and excrement. The passage has an almost unnoticeable slope to it, heading ever deeper into the ground as it travels away from the city. Rats scurry about the area. The sounds of people talking and music come from somewhere in the direction of the upward path.”
“The tunnels open up into a large junction room some 200’ in diameter. Built onto the walkways and out over the canals and up onto the walls is a shanty town with a busy marketplace in the center. People bustle about everywhere like bees in a hive.”
Black Wash and the Night Market provide several options for the players, most of them simply grimey and vile versions of the things they could do up on the surface. But if they are into the dark and wicked side of things that is highly present here. Kavasto even though it is full of actual Fiends, still presents as a fairly normal city. Black Wash and the Night Market have no such issues.
Their main goal here will be to ask around and find out where Tooth is. The options to do so are really up to their imagination and the DMs. I wouldn’t make it overly difficult to locate Tooth, but in Black Wash there is a cost for everything, especially for City Folk. I recommend a kindly old lady that will tell them what they need to know in exchange for a few locks of their hair or a precious memento or two. When I say kindly old lady, you should read Hag… certainly a Hag. Sister Cistern, as she is commonly know, in Black Wash is the primary dealer in information and would love nothing more than to “help”.
However, they gather the information they’re off deeper into the tunnels. I do recommend a few “Random Events” to happen while down here. I’ve put in some suggestions. And a hunk of the map is dedicated to the Black Wash Canals.
MAP: Kavasto Scenes

• As they traverse the canals they watch the rats begin to frantically climb the walls. The cisterns have been emptied and a wash is coming. They players will have to get up on the walls or risk being washed away.
• A mysterious beggar is found sitting in a nook. He will offer them his gift of “foresight”. This can be real or made up. I like to have them roll a d20. A good roll gets them a good fortune and a bad roll… well bad… what that is? That’s up to you, but I suggest later giving advantage or disadvantage to a player in an important situation. I’ve also marked a player for “death” with encounters like these. You don’t have to kill them, but you could!
• Something dark and ominous. They are in a city full of cults and crime. So a body left as a message or used in a dark ritual will really help set the tone.
• And of course there is always the potential attack from sewer creatures. Now this is written toward Level 1 characters so an Otyugh is probably out of the questions… but a baby Otyugh with a mamma nearby that they have to flee, well that probably isn’t questionable at all!

Eventually they’ll get to Tooth’s Hideout. Tooth is a nutjob Wererat who isn’t really interested in a fight but also won’t give up the cash easily. He will ask them for food and tools. If they come up with enough they don’t have to fight him. After dealing with Tooth, the player can search his lair for enough loot to bring back Pinky who will then give them the information they need to find the Gnomes.
MAP: Kavasto Scenes
LOCATION: The Lair
There are a few routes and dead-ends on the trip to the Lair Room. I highly recommend putting some easy to spot low damage traps in those tunnels simply put them on guard for the Lair Room.
ENCOUNTER: Tooth
Tooth’s lair is filled with traps that he will use against the players in a fight. He will bonus action disengage and run to cover behind a trap. He also has two Giant Rat pets to help him out. He will not intentionally put the rats in danger.
REWARDS: The players will need to get Tooth’s Teeth for Pinky
Tooth caries

• A serrated Shortsword. Striking at five over a targets AC will cause an additional point of damage and a Studded Leather

The Trash piles d20 Roll, the higher the roll the better the treasure

• Searching through the random trash piles will reward them with some random treasure
• 3d6gp worth of Coins most of them lower quality
• 1d4 10gp gems or jewelry pieces
• 2 random trinkets from the trinket table.
• One Potion of Poison
• Scroll of Cure Wounds
• One Chair that doesn’t smell like pee

ACT 05: The Workshop

When they return to Pinky the deal should conclude simply. They return with whatever they need to appease him, smart (non good aligned) players will have killed Tooth and found the cash. They’ll give Pinky Tooth’s teeth and keep the money. But that’s on them not you. Either way, Pinky will keep up his end of the bargain and give them the address of the home in which the Gnomes are working out of. Surprisingly it is over in the Wellworth neighborhood. One of the more wealthy areas. He isn’t sure how they pulled that off, but that doesn’t really matter to him. He just throws that fact out there. It is kind of a clue that there is someone powerful pulling the strings here.
A quick trip across town and they should be at the house. It appears unoccupied and for sale. Asking anyone in the neighborhood will give them a little insider information. That house has always been up for sale. No one looks at it though. But that doesn’t mean it is unoccupied. There are different people that come and go from there. Most recently a Gnome.
MAP: Kavasto Scenes
The Gnomes are working out of the cellar of the house. The upper floors will appear vacant. They are guarded by four “repurposed” Modrons who will look like large metal shapes at first. The Modrons will activate and attack as soon as the players are surrounded by them. After dealing with the Modrons the players will encounter the Gnomes, who will obviously be unhappy about being discovered and will threaten violence when the players enter the shop. They will be behind their cannons and will follow through with their threats if the players fail to convince them to stand down. As far as any deals go the Gnomes will only willingly work with the City Guards. Most every other option will boil down to violence. But players are creative so you never know what they may do. Maybe offer them a “witness protection program” type escape? Who the heck knows.
ENCOUNTER: Modron Guardians
The Modrons will activate and attack as soon as the players are surrounded by them. This fighting will alert the gnomes who will bar the doors to the workshop and scramble to their cannons. (Use Modrons appropriate to the character’s level.)
ENCOUNTER: The Cotterpins
This encounter could go a number of ways… but most likely this ends in a fight. The only people the Gnomes are even slightly interested in working with are the Guards. But they are really self invested and don’t want others getting their hands on their work. So convincing them to work with any of the criminals will ultimately result in a fight. (Remember: a successful persuasion check only moves the NPC one tick closer to what the PC is trying to convince them of, not a flat out switch-er-roo of morals and opinions). However, they can be persuaded to work with the guards if the PCs succeed with a Hard Check.

CLOSING: Mr Damaxic Would Like to See You

Once the Gnomes have been subdued one way or another, and now the players need to wrap up their business. This likely means they will be headed back to Pinky, or waiting for their other contacts to show up. Both scenarios resolve themselves in a very similar fashion.
Scenario 1: Head back to Pinky
This scenario assumes that the players did not attempt to double cross Tethren Damaxic… a very wise choice. They will head back to Pinky who will give them a message and half their payment. If they want the other half they are to head to the Docks and take a boat to the lighthouse for a meeting. If they are nervous Pinky will assure them that this is normal. (And it is).
Scenario 2: Working For The Competition
Whichever faction they have chosen to work with this scenario works out the same. Their employer’s people show up and collect the Gnomes and Cannons. They will be given instructions to head to the Docks and take a boat to the lighthouse for a meeting to collect their payment. If they are nervous one of the people collecting the cannons will assure them that this is normal. (And it is).
EVENT: The Lighthouse
“Your boat docks at the Lighthouse and you enter as you were directed to. As you pass the doorway two individuals slip up behind you blocking your exit. They silently point up the stairs. At the same moment you hear an awful shrieking sound. Like an animal being tortured. A familiar large and well dressed Ogre strolls down the steps grinning from ear to ear revealing a row of adamantine teeth. “Mr Damaxic would like to meet with you.””
Yurgul will escort them to the the top of the lighthouse where an Aaracockra is being… plucked… Tethren Damaxic will be sitting at a finely set table eating a steak on a balcony nearby. Yurgul will sit down and Tethren will motion for the Players to join him. There are places set for them and drinks of their liking already poured. No matter what they decided to do with the cannons, Tethren will tuen back to his meal and eat silently. As he does a cargo ship will dock and workers will be unloading the cannons and the Gnomes into the lighthouse.
Ultimately whatever they chose to do, Tethren was always behind it to get the upper hand. He already has his people deep in the Spinning Coin Thieves Guild. He has almost all of the City Watch in his pocket so it wasn’t hard at all to pay them off to deliver the cannons to him and not Gattis. And the Heroditas house is weak and its people disloyal making them vulnerable to being bought, so he did.
Once they have chosen to sit or not. Tethren and Yurgul will finish their meals. Mr Damaxic will then look at them intently, and say...
““Now my new friends… let us talk about how our business will conclude today…”
That is a great place to conclude the adventure. However your players may want a touch more. So you can embellish on this part however you see fit. Particularly if you are planning a followup campaign or adventure.
-- The End --

Thanks for playing an AOG Adventure.

If you enjoyed it please leave me some comments on wherever you found this adventure.

APPENDICES

PLAYING AN A.O.G. ADVENTURE

If you’ve never played an AOG adventure, I thought it wise to give you some notes on how I write them. Cuz I do some stuff non traditional like. I’ll put those notes down in the Appendicies.
Homebrewed World
First off, almost all my adventures are set in my Homebrew World of Taalist, particularly the Continent of Krenshad. Which the majority of has a very Gothic Art and Renaissance Period cultural feel to it. With some Greek and Middle Eastern CUltre from the same time period thrown in there for flavor. That said… Almost all of my Adventures can be easily ported into your location of choice. If you would like to play in Taalist my Campaign Guide (All 150+ Pages of it) can be accessed on our Discord for Patreon Members.
The Lay Out
I divide my adventures into “Acts”. An Act doesn’t necessarily reflect an amount of time, but more of an important series of events or locations. Some Acts may take 5 minutes, some 5 hours. Why? I dunno, ask the players who over complicate simple matters and simplify the overly complex.
SKILL CHECK DCs
I don’t spend a lot of time defining DCs as I play with a bit wider scale of success and failures. What does that mean? So for reference the DC scale in 5E looks like this.... Very Easy DC5, Easy DC10, Medium DC 15, Hard DC 20, Very Hard DC 25, Nearly Impossible DC 30. When I list a DC I will tell you it is Hard. But Hard for one party may be easy for another so I leave the actual number value up to you. I also play with a “Success but with Consequences” mentality so if they get close they still accomplish their goal but there is a “but” to that success. An Example? Hard Stealth DC is 20, they roll an 18, I tell them “You sneak past the guard you see but the guard you didn’t see heard something and is headed your way.” I think it adds more to the story that way.
Search Checks
I often reference Search Checks. What is a Search Check? When the players want to “search” something or for something I let them use either Investigation or Perception. I know that isn’t RAW but it just makes things so much easier. I got real tired of explaining to players who have been playing with me for years the difference between the two… just let them look for stuff!
Opening Cutscene
I like to start my games with an Opening Cutscene which is read before anything else happens. These are usually really vague bits of information that give a glimpse into something that will maybe happen later, happened before the adventure, or is story adjacent to it. I have found these to be great tools to set the mood and create a little mystery.
Setting, Background Info, and Hooks
These portions can be used as you see fit. Each one is a little different, so it is hard for me to say how best to use them. Some will play better if you can get them into the hands of the players before the game. Others may have better influence when read just after the Cutscene. Some are really only relevant to moments in the story. But as in all things you do what is best for your game! That is always the way to go.
Skill Challenges
I use the idea of Skill Challenges a lot. What is that? It is an event in the game that isn’t quite an encounter and it isn’t a simple skill check. It is a problem they solve with their whole skill set. Typically they must get three successes before three failures in order to succeed in a skill check. The thing about a Skill challenge is they’re are vague on purpose to allow players to be creative in solving a problem. An example may help here.

• DM says “Your Boat is taking on water. What would you like to do?”
• Player 1 responds with “I use my carpentry tools to fix the hole” and they make a Tool Check. But they roll a 2 so they fail. Too much water.
• Player 2 says “ wants to row harder with the crew to get us toward shore faster” They make an Athletics Check and roll an 18. So that is a success.
• Player 3 “I use Destroy Water to get water out” OK, well it only destroys 10 gallons so it isn’t super helpful, but the momentary reprieve allows a little drywork to happen and allow player 1 to reroll.
• Stuff like this.

EDIT

My sincere apologies. I just realized that the vast amount of the adventure did not paste. I have fixed the problem.

CANNONS OF KAVASTO: QUICK PITCH

Kavasto is a city that does not worry about morals and of little compassion. It is more likely to stab you in the back for a copper than it is to give you a hand up for a silver. Still, it is a city of rules and for those who know how the streets are run, who understand how the game is played, and learn to pay proper respects to those who are in charge, for them Kavasto can be a city of opportunity.
It is a place where rags to riches stories of self made people aren’t uncommon…
But more common are cautionary tales of those who ended up dead along the way.

ADVENTURE SYNOPSIS

One way or another a group of fledgling “adventurers” becomes entangled with THE local Crime Family. This is an entry level jaunt into the underworld of crime, so whether they are aspiring criminals themselves, or those looking to push back against the moral decay that the Crime Syndicates of Kavasto represent matters little. They are about to become pawns in a much larger game. A game played by people with real power. People who care little for the lives of individuals outside of their circle. People who are willing to do anything necessary for what they see as the greater good, more accurately their greater good.
The group is contacted by a messenger. There is a task that needs doing. A group of gnomes has invented some new longer range ship cannons (Or cannons period if your game does not yet have them. They plan on going into business for themselves, but the city’s factions all have their own plans for the cannons. Those plans do not include the gnomes retaining sole proprietary of their invention. The party will be presented with a few different options as to who they end up taking the job from. But ultimately they will end up working for the Damaxic Family.
Most of this adventure is interactive with Humanoid NPCs and therefore easily adaptable to higher levels. It also should present a lot of opportunities to play outside the normal lines of “heroes” and do quite a few “bad” things. They don’t have to play it that way, but a lot of the adventure will lend itself toward intimidation and strongarm tactics. There are few altruistic people in the city of Kevasto and fewer who openly do the right thing, but they are there and even if the players get tangled up in some ugly things there are still ways to end the adventure doing something that feels “good”. Or they could just be the anuses they’ve always wanted to be and call it a day!

• Target Party and Level: 4 level 1 players (Easily Adapted to Higher Levels)
• Expected Playtime Playtime: 3-4 Hours
• Tone: Underworld Criminal Story

If you would like the PDF with maps, handouts, and statblocks please send me a chat request.

PROGRESSION OVERVIEW

The adventure starts on a minor railroad, and that is intentional. There is a bit of the trope that otherwise “good” people are often forced into the services of bad people. And that is where the story starts. It ends with a much broader range of action, but it should always end the same. The House Always Wins… or so I’m told. The players are contacted by a Mob Enforcer and given a job. If they don’t take it… that enforcer will find a way to make them take it. Maybe a kidnapped family member or some other blackmail that can be held over their head. Afterward they’re going to need to do some investigatory work to track down the gnomes. There will be some options here. During their investigation they will be presented with even more options. This is done in order to give them an overwhelming sense of being small fish in a big pond… because that is what they are. After heading all over the place, the adventure should end back on rails as the group finds out that no matter who they were being paid by… everyone works for the Damaxic Family.

PLAYING AN A.O.G. ADVENTURE

If you’ve never played an AOG adventure, I thought it wise to give you some notes on how I write them. Cuz I do some stuff non traditional like. I’ll put those notes down in the Appendices.

CREDITS AND ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

• Wizards of the Coast and D&D for the amazing job they do providing RPG Content for us to use!
• Original Story Written by Amplus Ordo Games
• Most Maps and Handouts were done by Amplus Ordo Games using Inkarnate
• Oleg Dolya’s Fantasy City Generator was for one of the maps! Awesome program!
• PDF Formatting done using The Homebrewery

SETUP INFORMATION

SETTING
Kavasto, (See Expanded Lore) was once a part of the Kren Empire Kavasto was usurped by Yuan-Ti, Tieflings, and actual Fiends. They have a very dark reputation, which has been well earned. If it has a redeeming quality it is that the city became a safe haven for some of the more rejected races of Krenshad. The current racial attitude could be summarized with “I don’t care what you were born with, I care about what you can do for me.” Culturally, they have an Ancient Mesopotamian feel to them. Where they really diverge from other cultures on the continent is in their racial and religious profile. Racially they are 25% Tieflings, 25% Yuan-Ti, 25% Fiends, 25% Other. Religiously, they are anything goes, with a heavy leaning of Fiend Patronage and Worship This makes for a strange mix of cultural sophistication and diabolical tendencies. It should come as no surprise that the city is run by cults and syndicates. Although there is a constant tension among the ruling powers, they do tend to keep the city from devolving into a bloody gang war. The current reigning syndicate is headed by Tethren Damaxic, a Tiefling whose family has been rumored to have held onto sorcerous powers through the Weave Drought (See Expanded Lore). There are laws, but most of them are highly flexible, if you have the power and means to flex them. The reigning philosophy is “Take what you Need. Seize what you Want. Own what you Seize. Plan for others to think likewise.”
BACKGROUND STORY
A Simple Man’s Job: (Link) The story of an Ogre who works as an enforcer for Mr Damaxic and suddenly finds brilliance.
HOOKS
Main (Bystanders caught in the crime web): The Players defend themselves against thieves. After defeating them a Syndicate Contact who was about to hire the thieves forces the players to do a job.
Backup (Criminals doing their thing): The Players are Recruited by a Syndicate Contact at some location they are used to being. A tavern, a guild hall, etc...
Backup Backup (Heroes going undercover): The players are recruited by a local guard who wants to clean the city up.

IMPORTANT LOCATIONS

More detailed descriptions and maps, if there are any, can be found in the Appendices.
Kavasto: A large city sitting on a bay off the Sea of Unity and on the edge of the Iron Plains of the north. It is an arid environment with an Ancient Mesopotamian feel to it. The City has a Parliamentary government, but that is really only a political puppet show. The true masters of the city are its criminal Organizations.
The Imp’s Tankard: One of the more popular and famous inns in the city. It is run by a group of Fiends.
Black Wash: A section of the sewers populated by the poorest and those who wish not to be found.

IMPORTANT NPCs

I will give a little better description and provide necessary Stat Blocks of these NPCs in the Appendices.
Yurgul, The Garbage Man: Tethren Damaxic’s favorite enforger. Yurgle is an Ogre who happens to have a crown of intellect on, making him brilliant. He is not someone you want to cross.
Sharrahs: The Succubus owner of the Imp’ Tankard.
Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon”: He is a Hobgoblin who is missing his pinky finger from his time as a member of Jamis “Three Fingers” crew aboard The Screaming Trident. He does not remember it fondly.
Lieutenant Gattis: One of the “good” guys in town. Grattis is a guard captain that would love to see the city free of the criminals that hold it. He has yet to really end up on their radar as a significant problem.
Raazus Khiseras: A Yuan-Ti messenger for the Heroditas Family. Raazus is a weasley little serpent who is always looking to get ahead for himself.
Lon Quatcher: A rising criminal influence. Lon is the head of the Spinning Coin Thieves Guild. A Guild that has aspirations of running the city.
Sister Cistern: A hag and information broker dwelling in Black Wash. She presents as either a young homeless maiden or a kind old lady. The residents of the sewer city trust and protect her. In return she cares for their needs and returns the favor. So when a child or two go missing each year, no one looks her way… even when they should.
Tooth: A nutty Wererat living in the sewers just outside of Black Wash.
The Cotterpins: A group of Gnomish brothers who have invented a style of cannon that extends the range of the weapon. They are currently in hiding looking to get out of the city before someone forces them to turn their creation over.
Vhisphad Heroditas: Head of the Heroditas crime family. Vhisphad is old and not long for this world. He is becoming desperate to extend his life. Most believe he is afraid of all the debts that are about to come due once he dies. He hates the Damaxics but understands his place in the world. His children not so much. Vhisphad is worried they’re going to do something stupid one of these days.
Tethren Damaxic: The Tiefling head of the Damaxic crime family. Tethren and his actual family run Kavasto from behind the scenes, sort of, everyone knows who is actually in charge, but Tethren likes others to feel as though they have some power. Rumor has it he is a powerful sorcerer who somehow kept his powers during the Weave Drought.

CUT-SCENE

"The Purple Tiefling with one gold and one silver eye dances a coin back and forth across his knuckles. He sits in a large leather chair behind a blood wood desk listening impatiently to the two Yuan-Ti making their excuses. His five children stand behind him in varying states of interest. An Ogre in finely cut clothes leans against the wall keeping an eye on the dealings. The Tiefling flicks his hand and the coin bounces on top of the desk. The Yuan-Ti stop talking. The gold piece rolls and wobbles a little and then tips toward tails. As it does, a mighty meaty hand, with immaculately kept nails, reaches out with lightning speed and rips the head off the Yuan-Ti on the left. The Ogre smiles and throws the severed head to the other snake man. “All is forgiven, but next time... don’t be late with your payments." The Ogre motions toward the door, but doesn’t really need to. The Yuan-Ti is already fleeing the room.”

ACT 01: A Bloody “Invitation”

In this act the players will almost immediately get mugged by some local thugs. The thugs are not really interested in talking and if the party attempts a conversation it is more likely that one of the thugs will take a stab at a party member. A Very Hard verbal skill check can be made though if they truly want to try and talk their way out of a mugging. But typically this is going to end in a fight.
EVENT: You’re Being Mugged
MAP: Kavasto Scenes
“A group of rugged individuals surrounds you as you pass down the street. They are armed and have a dangerous and desperate look in their eyes.”
ENCOUNTER: 4 Bandits

• REWARDS: 6d4+10 Silver, Poor Equipment, a letter from “The Garbage Man”

HANDOUT 1: Yurgul’s Letter

• “To the members of the Spinning Coin, You have been interested in proving your worth to Mr Damaxic. I have a task that can accomplish that goal. Meet me just east of the Day Market outside of the Rat’s Nest Tavern precisely at noon. Do not be late. There will not be another opportunity. - The Garbage Man

EVENT: The Garbage Man
As they read the letter (or if they didn’t look for it) they will be approached by a finely dressed Ogre. He will introduce himself as Mr Damaxic’s Garbage Man. Meaning that he deals with the trash. He will take note of what has happened and ask if the players are interested in a job. If they agree, there will be no problems. If they refuse then Yurgul will politely threaten them. They killed those Mr Damaxic intended to hire, and so now they must fulfill the job, find someone to do it for them, or suffer a similar loss in their personal life.
DM Note: In my setting the world has just regained access to magic and if the players used any then that will surely have caught Yurgul’s attention and he will be even more interested in recruiting them into the Damaxic Family.
However this conversation plays itself out, Yurgul will send them to make contact with “Pinky” a Hobgoblin over at the Imp’s Tankard in The Coppers. He is to be their contact for the rest of the job. Pinky can either set them on the trail for the job or put them in contact with someone they can recruit to do the job for them… which will be expensive and almost certainly push them back toward doing the job for themselves. Thus I have decided not to flush out that avenue in the adventure.

ACT 02: Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon

There is a bit going on here in Act 2, so let’s get to it! The Players will be headed across town into the Coppers, the poorest neighborhoods in the city. This is likely a place they are pretty familiar with. There is a fairly well renowned establishment there, The Imp’s Tankard.
LOCATION: The Imp’s Tankard
“The three story building ahead stands out from smaller buildings nearby. It looms over the neighborhood like the eldest schoolboy in the yard. It stands out in other regards as well. The architecture is a bit different, but it is less square and has a tiered design, almost like a narrow ziggurat or stout tower. It fits in over all aesthetically, but the decor and color of the building hints at a bit darker tone. It also isn’t run down or falling apart as the surrounding neighborhood is. Most odd though is the sound, or lack thereof, strangely it feels quieter the closer you draw near. The noise of the street fades away as you approach the front doors that are carved to represent dozens of Imps drinking out of the same enormous tankard.”
“But once you enter all that changes. What from the outside was an ominous structure is inside nothing but a lively place of entertainment. People sit everywhere eating, drinking, laughing, gambling, carousing, and well... more carousing. A large winged fiend stands near the door and looks you over as you enter but does not stop you. In fact it motions you toward a lightly dressed Yuan-Ti man who asks if you would like to be seated or if you have other business in the Tankard today.”
The Tankard covers a lot of bases for services, and those range from drinking to whatever debauchery your table is comfortable with. It is run by several of the fiends that live in the city and is owned by a Succubus that goes by the name Sharrahs. “Pinky” the Hobgoblin operates a fencing gig out of one of her private rooms in the basement. Sharras will not be overly interested in helping the players find “Pinky” nor will she warn them that he hates that nickname. But there are multiple ways to grease those wheels. Being a good paying customer, offering a bribe, dropping the Garbage Man’s name. Those types of things will get her attention.
EVENT: Pinky.
When they find Ebilius “Pinky” Rhogon, he will be wrapping up a deal with a Bugbear for a large pile of items including some expensive looking jewelry. He will be working from behind a barred window, the Bugbear feels like he is being cheated and the following scene will unfold…
“You enter a 10x10 stone room. Unlike most of what you’ve seen of the Tankard so far there are no decorations at all and the walls are not painted. On the far side of the room an orange skinned Hobgoblin works a trade through a barred window. He is engaged in a heated discussion with a Bugbear. There is a large pile of coin and a large pile of jewelry on the counter under the window. The Bugbear reaches a boiling point and lunges through the bars at the hobgoblin… whose response is simply to stand there as a blade comes hurtling down from above the bars and removes the bugbear’s arms. As it topples to the floor bleeding out and wailing for help you hear the clicking of gears as the blade retracts into the ceiling. The Hobgoblin has swept all the loot, and the arms, out of sight though his counter is still covered in blood. He begins wiping it up with a towel and looks in your direction. “Next.”
The players need Pinky to tell them about the job. Which he will, It has come to the attention of Mr Damaxic that a trio of Gnomes, brothers to be precise, have just invented a cannon that can add considerable distance to the shot. Mr Damaxic wants to acquire these cannons for himself and keep them out of the hands of others. The players have been given the job to track down the Gnomes, deal with them. Afterward they are to let Pinky know where they are so that they can be retrieved.
Now Pinky was only paid to be a contact for the players and to start them off and close up their dealings, but he also has people out looking for the location of these gnomes, and will tell the players once his people report back, but… seeing as how he doesn’t know the players, and maybe he heard that they just killed some friends of his, they’re going to have to do a job for him first.
DM Not: The players can attempt to do this for themselves if they wish, but that will prove much more difficult. Thus, I have not written up that avenue of the adventure. However if they were to do that I would have them head to the same locations listed in the next few acts, only with different motives and results.
Before Pinky tells them anything else he wants them to head down to Black Wash (The Sewers) and find a certain Wererat, goes by the name Tooth, that owes him a large sum of money. They are to collect this money and return. They may also collect Tooth’s Teeth, if he doesn’t have the cash. Pinky would prefer that they leave him alive if possible, but won’t be heartbroken if Tooth ends up dead. They can access the sewer canals from the Tankard but they’ll have to get Sharrahs’ permission to do so, or they can go find another entrance in the city. Sharrahs will ask them to head down the street and remind the Brewhouse there that they should not be late again with their deliveries, in return for that quick favor she will unlock the entrance to the sewers for them. Whatever they do to find an entrance it should not be hard… unless you want it to be.
DM Note: Pinky has access to some “adventuring gear” Most importantly he has Healing Potions and Silvering Oil which will help against the Wererat. If it comes to a fight. It will cost the players 10gp a vial though. Pinky will run a line of credit with high interest if necessary. Take too long and they will share his nickname.
DM Note: This isn’t the only offer the players are about to get. So if they decide not to work with Pinky it is ok. One of the other factions are about to make offers, and they may have what the players need.

ACT 03: Competing Offers

They are now off to Black Wash (Expanded Lore). But before they arrive they will be intercepted by one or more of the following NPCs and given a counter offer to working for the Damaxic Family. The DM should pick the faction that is going to be most tempting to the players. Don’t make it overly obvious, but the story ends with a bit of a fun twist if they take a counter offer. Using more than one, or all, of these additional hooks will be fun and give the city an “everyone is always watching” feel if done right. But it could be very time consuming as the players attempt to devise a way to complete the mission in multiple ways.
POSSIBLE EVENT: The Upstart
Lon Quatcher is upstairs in the Tankard and has been waiting for the players to return from their meeting with Pinky. Two of his goons will “invite” them over to his table for a chat. As the up and coming Thieves Guild Lon wants to make a name for himself and is offering a lot of money to see that the gnomes end up in his possession. The players can do what they want with the Cannons as an additional reward.
POSSIBLE EVENT: The Rival
Whichever entrance to the sewers they find they will encounter Raazus Khiseras just inside the canals. Someone in the Heroditas family wants the Gnomes and the cannons for themselves and to keep them out of the hands of the Damaxics. He is authorized to reward them appropriately, with half up front, and doesn’t ask if they agree. This is a “You will do this or else” deal. He should be an intimidating force and will clearly will threaten them if they offer any resistance to his offer.
POSSIBLE EVENT: The Honorable Man
Lieutenant Gattis will be waiting just down the street from the Tankard. He is that - Last Honorable Man in the City of Evil - trope, which actually in this setting makes him really interesting and fun. Gattis will attempt to appeal to the better nature of the players. He would like them to convince the gnomes to come work for the city guards under his command. Gattis can offer gear based rewards and weapon enhancements If this avenue is taken. As well as further jobs. Once the Gnomes are convinced Gattis’ team will set up a “Raid” and take the Gnomes into protective custody.

ACT 04: Black Wash

They are now in the sewer tunnels and off to Black Wash. Lead them up the tunnels to the Night Market.
“The air down here is damp and thick with the smell of rot and excrement. The passage has an almost unnoticeable slope to it, heading ever deeper into the ground as it travels away from the city. Rats scurry about the area. The sounds of people talking and music come from somewhere in the direction of the upward path.”
“The tunnels open up into a large junction room some 200’ in diameter. Built onto the walkways and out over the canals and up onto the walls is a shanty town with a busy marketplace in the center. People bustle about everywhere like bees in a hive.”
Black Wash and the Night Market provide several options for the players, most of them simply grimey and vile versions of the things they could do up on the surface. But if they are into the dark and wicked side of things that is highly present here. Kavasto even though it is full of actual Fiends, still presents as a fairly normal city. Black Wash and the Night Market have no such issues.
Their main goal here will be to ask around and find out where Tooth is. The options to do so are really up to their imagination and the DMs. I wouldn’t make it overly difficult to locate Tooth, but in Black Wash there is a cost for everything, especially for City Folk. I recommend a kindly old lady that will tell them what they need to know in exchange for a few locks of their hair or a precious memento or two. When I say kindly old lady, you should read Hag… certainly a Hag. Sister Cistern, as she is commonly know, in Black Wash is the primary dealer in information and would love nothing more than to “help”.
However, they gather the information they’re off deeper into the tunnels. I do recommend a few “Random Events” to happen while down here. I’ve put in some suggestions. And a hunk of the map is dedicated to the Black Wash Canals.
MAP: Kavasto Scenes

• As they traverse the canals they watch the rats begin to frantically climb the walls. The cisterns have been emptied and a wash is coming. They players will have to get up on the walls or risk being washed away.
• A mysterious beggar is found sitting in a nook. He will offer them his gift of “foresight”. This can be real or made up. I like to have them roll a d20. A good roll gets them a good fortune and a bad roll… well bad… what that is? That’s up to you, but I suggest later giving advantage or disadvantage to a player in an important situation. I’ve also marked a player for “death” with encounters like these. You don’t have to kill them, but you could!
• Something dark and ominous. They are in a city full of cults and crime. So a body left as a message or used in a dark ritual will really help set the tone.
• And of course there is always the potential attack from sewer creatures. Now this is written toward Level 1 characters so an Otyugh is probably out of the questions… but a baby Otyugh with a mamma nearby that they have to flee, well that probably isn’t questionable at all!

Eventually they’ll get to Tooth’s Hideout. Tooth is a nutjob Wererat who isn’t really interested in a fight but also won’t give up the cash easily. He will ask them for food and tools. If they come up with enough they don’t have to fight him. After dealing with Tooth, the player can search his lair for enough loot to bring back Pinky who will then give them the information they need to find the Gnomes.
MAP: Kavasto Scenes
LOCATION: The Lair
There are a few routes and dead-ends on the trip to the Lair Room. I highly recommend putting some easy to spot low damage traps in those tunnels simply put them on guard for the Lair Room.
ENCOUNTER: Tooth
Tooth’s lair is filled with traps that he will use against the players in a fight. He will bonus action disengage and run to cover behind a trap. He also has two Giant Rat pets to help him out. He will not intentionally put the rats in danger.
REWARDS: The players will need to get Tooth’s Teeth for Pinky
Tooth caries

• A serrated Shortsword. Striking at five over a targets AC will cause an additional point of damage and a Studded Leather

The Trash piles d20 Roll, the higher the roll the better the treasure

• Searching through the random trash piles will reward them with some random treasure
• 3d6gp worth of Coins most of them lower quality
• 1d4 10gp gems or jewelry pieces
• 2 random trinkets from the trinket table.
• One Potion of Poison
• Scroll of Cure Wounds
• One Chair that doesn’t smell like pee

ACT 05: The Workshop

When they return to Pinky the deal should conclude simply. They return with whatever they need to appease him, smart (non good aligned) players will have killed Tooth and found the cash. They’ll give Pinky Tooth’s teeth and keep the money. But that’s on them not you. Either way, Pinky will keep up his end of the bargain and give them the address of the home in which the Gnomes are working out of. Surprisingly it is over in the Wellworth neighborhood. One of the more wealthy areas. He isn’t sure how they pulled that off, but that doesn’t really matter to him. He just throws that fact out there. It is kind of a clue that there is someone powerful pulling the strings here.
A quick trip across town and they should be at the house. It appears unoccupied and for sale. Asking anyone in the neighborhood will give them a little insider information. That house has always been up for sale. No one looks at it though. But that doesn’t mean it is unoccupied. There are different people that come and go from there. Most recently a Gnome.
MAP: Kavasto Scenes
The Gnomes are working out of the cellar of the house. The upper floors will appear vacant. They are guarded by four “repurposed” Modrons who will look like large metal shapes at first. The Modrons will activate and attack as soon as the players are surrounded by them. After dealing with the Modrons the players will encounter the Gnomes, who will obviously be unhappy about being discovered and will threaten violence when the players enter the shop. They will be behind their cannons and will follow through with their threats if the players fail to convince them to stand down. As far as any deals go the Gnomes will only willingly work with the City Guards. Most every other option will boil down to violence. But players are creative so you never know what they may do. Maybe offer them a “witness protection program” type escape? Who the heck knows.
ENCOUNTER: Modron Guardians
The Modrons will activate and attack as soon as the players are surrounded by them. This fighting will alert the gnomes who will bar the doors to the workshop and scramble to their cannons. (Use Modrons appropriate to the character’s level.)
ENCOUNTER: The Cotterpins
This encounter could go a number of ways… but most likely this ends in a fight. The only people the Gnomes are even slightly interested in working with are the Guards. But they are really self invested and don’t want others getting their hands on their work. So convincing them to work with any of the criminals will ultimately result in a fight. (Remember: a successful persuasion check only moves the NPC one tick closer to what the PC is trying to convince them of, not a flat out switch-er-roo of morals and opinions). However, they can be persuaded to work with the guards if the PCs succeed with a Hard Check.

CLOSING: Mr Damaxic Would Like to See You

Once the Gnomes have been subdued one way or another, and now the players need to wrap up their business. This likely means they will be headed back to Pinky, or waiting for their other contacts to show up. Both scenarios resolve themselves in a very similar fashion.
Scenario 1: Head back to Pinky
This scenario assumes that the players did not attempt to double cross Tethren Damaxic… a very wise choice. They will head back to Pinky who will give them a message and half their payment. If they want the other half they are to head to the Docks and take a boat to the lighthouse for a meeting. If they are nervous Pinky will assure them that this is normal. (And it is).
Scenario 2: Working For The Competition
Whichever faction they have chosen to work with this scenario works out the same. Their employer’s people show up and collect the Gnomes and Cannons. They will be given instructions to head to the Docks and take a boat to the lighthouse for a meeting to collect their payment. If they are nervous one of the people collecting the cannons will assure them that this is normal. (And it is).
EVENT: The Lighthouse
“Your boat docks at the Lighthouse and you enter as you were directed to. As you pass the doorway two individuals slip up behind you blocking your exit. They silently point up the stairs. At the same moment you hear an awful shrieking sound. Like an animal being tortured. A familiar large and well dressed Ogre strolls down the steps grinning from ear to ear revealing a row of adamantine teeth. “Mr Damaxic would like to meet with you.””
Yurgul will escort them to the the top of the lighthouse where an Aaracockra is being… plucked… Tethren Damaxic will be sitting at a finely set table eating a steak on a balcony nearby. Yurgul will sit down and Tethren will motion for the Players to join him. There are places set for them and drinks of their liking already poured. No matter what they decided to do with the cannons, Tethren will tuen back to his meal and eat silently. As he does a cargo ship will dock and workers will be unloading the cannons and the Gnomes into the lighthouse.
Ultimately whatever they chose to do, Tethren was always behind it to get the upper hand. He already has his people deep in the Spinning Coin Thieves Guild. He has almost all of the City Watch in his pocket so it wasn’t hard at all to pay them off to deliver the cannons to him and not Gattis. And the Heroditas house is weak and its people disloyal making them vulnerable to being bought, so he did.
Once they have chosen to sit or not. Tethren and Yurgul will finish their meals. Mr Damaxic will then look at them intently, and say...
““Now my new friends… let us talk about how our business will conclude today…”
That is a great place to conclude the adventure. However your players may want a touch more. So you can embellish on this part however you see fit. Particularly if you are planning a followup campaign or adventure.
-- The End --

Thanks for playing an AOG Adventure.

If you enjoyed it please leave me some comments on wherever you found this adventure.

Four months of pause and this is what came out. Despite the fact, that Forces hold a great significance in HS/CoK practice (on par with Matter), i've struggled to simultaneously make these Rotes true to alchemical tradition and a lot more vague, so as to not restrict any players to western branch of the Art.
Hope y'all enjoy this, although feedback and criticism are always appreciated ;)
p.s. I would also like to give a big shoutout to work of Mr. Kaworo, who in turn inspired my own project and helped me redesign some of these Rotes
---
Previous Spheres:
PRIME - MIND - SPIRIT
FORCES
Keywords: Precision, Energies, Formulas, Weather, Folklore, Apparatus, Extremes
O Under Cover Of Night: Secrecy was always a prominent feature of the Golden Art, though reasons for it differed depending on the time period. In Mythic Age covert study helped Enlightened folk to set themselves apart from the unwashed masses; in Medieval Times such behavior was motivated by the desire not to be burned at the stake; in Modern Nights these causes became inverted: while Solificati yearn to share their knowledge with Sleepers, they cannot do so due to metaphysical (Paradox) and real threats (Technocracy). And that's why they employ series of practices, which allow to work even in a completely unlit warehouses, while being uncannily wary of every sign, that can betray the source of danger. One could spread this sort of hyperawareness to other senses, so that any substance and device in the laboratorium can be identified by mere graze, whiff or lick.
The most common techniques include either exposure to strong stimuli, or complete sensory deprivation: covering eyes, ears and skin with cloth, rearranging fragile apparatus and volatile materials, monotonously reciting recipes, or blindly drawing sigils and calculations with chalk. Repetition is the Key to mastering every skill, perceptive ones included. At a certain point magus will become so in tune with his surroundings, that even the slightest squeeks of a floorboard, rise in device's temperature or gust of wind will not go unnoticed. Many brethren use this effect not for oh-so-needed obscurity, but for effective experiments, eavesdropping or reconnaissance.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to lower difficulty of Perception and Alertness Rolls up to -3, while residing in dim or loud environments; or get rid of Penalties, when artisan is either blinded or deafened.
O Stellar Syntax: One should not view language as trait, exclusive only to the sentient beings. Nature speaks constantly in a series of complex visions and hints, that can be easily missed, if conversationalist doesn't pay close attention. Luckily, Crowned Ones hold unimaginable sum of astro-meteorological knowledge, that helps decipher any words, uttered by the celestial bodies. With their guidance one can acquire intel about impending/ongoing storms, droughts, wildfires, or more mild natural phenomenon, like change of lunar phases, river currents, atmospheric pressure drops, etc. In the times of hardships, this effect helped Solificati not to just flee from dangerous situation, but assess, if the moment for any deed is blessed by the Earth herself.
Such divine forecasting is done through observing constellations or cloud patterns, calculating movement of the planets, using measuring instruments and looking for examples of weather lore: blood-red sky, loud croaking of frogs, absence of morning dew... Much mystically inclined alchemists try to gather information from Sagani, spiritual manifestations of the environment. Because elementals cannot understand human speech, as we cannot comprehend their way of communication, intermediary linguistic tools come in handy: drawing of arcane symbols, sending smoke signals, keeping ears close to the ground, and the like.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to predict or analyze weather conditions/astronomical events for the next hour, days or a couple of weeks. The same goes for gathering information about hazards, potentially dangerous wilderness or spike in any physical characteristic.
OO Lightning In The Bottle: Fire tongue licks the dagger's blade, glass vial bursts with deafening sound, copper rod shines with electric sparks - these wonders are just minor examples of Solificati mastery over violent energies. While distant observer might think, that they arise from nothing, nothing can be farther from truth. In order to expel something, one needs to collect it beforehand. Thus, alchemists rely on Principle of Physical Memory, which goes as such: ritually prepared objects, that were subjected to extreme conditions, can memorize some quantity of elemental force, as they themselves partly consist of the same rawstuff. With addition of will or some trigger, ordinary-looking things transform into dangerous weapons in the Crowned One's hands.
In order for some tool in question to become such container, one or a couple of the following procedures may be required: covering object with focusing sigils, playing loud and inviting music around it, hitting it with discharge, tying with red-hot chains, holding over the chemical bonfire or colored light rays, etc. Sometimes creators want to show off their craftsmanship skills, so they adorn the final product with occult filigree, precious gems, metallic coating, expensive fabric, or anything, that could "convince" the captured Element to stay in it a tidbit longer. Of course, if not used in a short amount of time, the freedom-loving flames or winds come out in a malevolent display of power.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to hold up to 3 levels of bashing, lethal or aggravated damage from fire, cold, sound, light or electricity in a certain object. Depending on the number of Successes, gathered during required Craft Roll, the contained energies may be stable for a couple of hours or days.
OO Touch Of Royalty: While Sleeping chemist mostly plays the role of an observer in the processes he studies, the Solificato becomes a metaphorical ruler of every experiment. He feels the transformations taking place in beakers, crucibles and vials, as if they were contained within his own body and soul. What the elements experience physically, alchemist does so spiritually, trying to internalize the microscopic dance in which components swirl, boil, condense and disperse. In order to manipulate energies in question, one can employ series of imperious gestures, assertive vocalizations and objects, that in some way resemble regal paraphernalia: handmade tiaras, scepters, cross-bearing orbs, rings, gloves, dress, etc.
A prepared Crowned one has the ability to hold a drop of poison in the bottom of a glass, while still drinking the beverage; carefully blowing over a vial, mage may direct how fumes spread in the environment; and by holding his own breath, artisan can cut the explosions from source, that feeds them. As years go by, he slowly becomes the emissary of Higher Forces, so those earthly ones try to avoid harming him to the best of their ability. Of course, such privilege comes in price: if Awakened individual doesn't hold himself with grace and humbleness on a constant basis, the rebellious elements of Nature turn against him in no time.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to control the movement and intensity of existing forces, either using them for utilitarian purposes; or in order to negate lethal and aggravated damage for a number of rounds, equal to number of Arete Successes.
OOO Release Inner Spark: A strong dualism runs through Alchemical Art, which sees all cycles in the natural world as resulting from the dynamic interplay of opposite yet complementary forces and qualities. Although many of them may be observed interacting in the environment, the Hot/Cold and Dry/Wet polarities are called primary because they drive all change, that comes on the Path of Perfection. Introducing imbalance to this fundamental construct results in an object's self-combustion, freezing, electrocution, or other phantasmagorical transformation.
A single match, made with blessed sulfur, may burn down a room full of air; superlight powder, created from bird bones, can emulate levitation; while smoking tobacco, grown in a dark cellar, will get rid of ambient lighting in no time. The main trick is to overwhelm the target in question with symbolic substances, that call out to the hidden basic qualities, established by the divine design. Alternatively, one could bring the change with series of rituals, signs, katas and mantras, which invoke the passion of that or other element.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to change some form of energy into another. If a mage wants so, he can quicken this process from gradual to instantaneous, thus harming anything close to the transformed element. The amount of damage depends on the number of Arete Successes.
OOO Emanation Currents: Everything derives from the higher spheres of existence or self-contained infinity, that some regard as the Absolute. Over time these idea embryos become materialized, though beings at every step below the source of All are less pure, less perfect, less divine. Still, a process of ebb and flow in which spirit gradually unfolds itself in physicality, can be reached and simulated by Solificato's will. Surrounding yourself with fundamental exemplars of certain objects - helps in upholding high standards of one's Craft.
To direct the streams of Great Emanation is to either connect it to the physical image of desired item, or a mental one. So Crowned Ones make use of (with alchemical twist) sculpture, drawing, stone- and woodwork, shadow play, chemistry, and more technologically advanced ones - optics, computer modelling, lightshow, etc. Those, that like to manifest creations with their mind castle, employ enigmatic poetry, psychic practices, self-hypnosis, psychedelic sessions and even formulaic "prayers" to the deistic Supreme Being.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to create illusory objects, that affect all human sensations, touch included. The number of Arete and Craft/Art Rolls Successes determine the difficulty of seeing through these mirages and their duration.
OOOO Becoming The Athanor: To exalt is to become the instrument of progress, that is being held by one's own hand. Heavy reliance on apparatus sooner or later becomes the bane of every Solificato, as he struggles to understand one main Truth, which is - the Change can be brought by sole dedication, growing in alchemist's heart. Slowly, but surely he begins to understand, that tools of elemental rulership are being emulated within his own body: his mental hands extend as far, as the thought can travel; his tears make the sunniest day gloomy and dark; his breath, as hot, as a furnace, boils surrounding bodies of water...
The main trick, is to achieve hyperfocused state of consciousness, in which the Crowned one figuratively unites with his lab and nature. This can be done through: breathing techniques with use of incense, drawing alchemical symbols on one's skin, meditation among working contraptions, ritual body cleansing, burning own blood in a bonfire, etc. At a certain point artisan will notice, that deep inside of him has been born a warm moth - some of his colleagues regard it as a tiny fragment of the primordial Flame of Creation.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to affect large quantities or elemental forces, thus making rains more intense, telekinetically moving cars, instantly extinguishing fire in a mansion, etc. The radius, duration and intensity of the Effect depend on the number of Arete Successes.
OOOO Gremlins And Kobolds: One's aspirations with time become so complex, that the menial household chores start to tire and bore, despite their uttermost significance. To keep up with such mortal burden, while being more concerned with secrets of the Universe, alchemists look for the service of domestic beings. The latter are colloquially referred to as Kobolds - they can look like semi-real fairies or gnomes, though many prefer the company of chimps, automatons, octopi, clones or other critters, that have dexterous appendages. Depending on the type summoned and the required task, Children of Knowledge may employ occult circles, hallucinogens, chemical equipment, consecrated garden beds, modified 3D-printers, etc.
Some dishonorable/mischievous Solificati like to cooperate with malevolent entities, known as Gremlins. As their name suggests, instead of helping Master with keeping workshop in pristine state, they can destroy, break or mess with enemy's equipment. Similarly to Kobolds, "machine imps" hold no free will or personality, as they are the residue of Chaos. Considering this factor, a lot of artisans try to make servants stay on task by giving them symbolic offerings or presents. If one would not to appease them for prolonged period of time, then he will find his abode turned upside down or even worse - burned to the ground.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to lower the difficulty of certain Skill Rolls, made in his Sanctum or more mundane place of work. Also, speed of any kind of work done inside the house with Kobolds is amplified. As for the Gremlins - they can make some Technocrat's life a lot harder.
OOOOO Elemental Marriage: Relationships with elementals are one of the most complicated things, that surround Solificati practice as a whole. Apart from being useful companions in experiments and seekings for Knowledge, these primordial spirits can bestow their fellow human with innate mastery over that or the other energy form. Of course, the intensity of such gifts depend on the bond's strength. Some artisans take extra steps - refraining from intimate relationships with other people (which is why Crowned Ones are often viewed as hermits/celibates) and organizing wedding ceremony with respective accoutrement, glyphs and containers for elements.
Some colleagues might view these acts as too extreme, so they try to unite with spiritual reflections of Nature through demonstration of trust and purity. While many do leaps of faith, enter burning buildings or stay underwater with no air source, others invest years in courting salamanders, sylphs, undines and pygmies. By keeping giant bonfires, constructing symbolical mills, making beautiful bodies of water or planting a new forest - One can prove his loyalty to such extent, that he essentially becomes one with flames, winds, lightning, as if they were part of his own body.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to gain instinctual mastery over large quantities of energy, thus giving birth and commanding storms, wildfires, earthquakes, etc. Alternatively (and maybe with addition of Life Sphere), mage can transform his body into the Living Element, damaging objects and foes around him.
OOOOO Splendor Solis: First thing, that comes to mind of most Sleepers, when they hear about alchemy - is engravings of sun, green lions, rainbows, geometrical figures, conjoined people and other phantasmagorical entities. While these symbols were in actuality encrypted formulas of lab operations, they also carried a metaphysical significance for Solificati: Emerald Tablet, for example, represented the Solificato's journey, where in end he could've achieved True Understanding. Those, that gained such a higher state of conscience, wanted to share their discoveries in the most flamboyant way possible.
Masters of Art often invoked daylight after the sunset, thus celebrating victory of Light of Reasoning over the Darkness of Arrogance. In times of Massasa War these "White Nights" were essential for survival of many Crowned Ones, while also concomitantly impressing Sleeping folk through surreal imagery. Artisans believed, that such displays of power may have pushed some portion of humankind to the Universal Awakening. The Splendour of the Sun can be created with high-tech lightshow, mass ceremonies with acolytes, dressed in colorful robes, great number of focusing lenses, mirrors and similar instruments.
Rule Suggestions: This rote allows Solificato to cover great potion of land with blinding daylight or a surreal manifestation of the Great Work. In the latter occurrence, phantasmagorical critters (like wingless dragons, cherubs and golden knights) could be used for damage or utility purposes.

Translated from H.F. Cary's 1814 translation of the original by Dante Alighieri, with the Iambic Pentameter preserved.
 
(First) Previous <- -> Next
 
 
FREELY þe wise, þagh wrapt in faþ’mings high, Did nim þe teacher’s berþ, and milde began: “Þe woond, þat Maria clos’d, she open’d ferst, Who sits so liteful at Maria’s feet. Þe þerd in endberd, underneaþ her, lo! Rachel wiþ Beatrice. Sara next, Yudiþ, Rebecka, and þe gleaner maid, Liþeby forbear of him, who sang þe songs Of sore berewsing in his sorr’wful mood. All, as ich name hem, dune from deaf to leaf, Are in a stepwise sid sat on þe roose. And from þe sevenþ step, one after oþer, Adune þe breaþing blossom’s liteful cnots Still doþ þe line of Ebrish ladies forþ. For þese are a todealing wall, whereby Þe holy stairs are sunder’d, as þe troþ In Criste hem sunders. On þis deal, where each Leaf blossoms in fulwaxenness, are set Such as in Criste, or ere he came, belev’d. On þ’ oþer, where a betwixtsneading span Yet shows þe emty halftrendel, abide All hie, who lookt to Criste already cum. And as ure Lady on her þrumfast stool, And hie who on her stools beneaþ her sit, Þis way tomark’dness make: e’en so on his, Þe mighty Fulughter þat way marks þe line (He who so þol’d þe weesten and þe þrows Of þrowerdom, and for two years of hell, Yet still holy forþwent), and underneaþ, Augustin, Frankis, Benedickt, and þe lave, Þus far from ring to ring. So heav’n’s bodelock Foretells, þis yard so evenly to fill. Wiþ troþ in eghþer sight, forby or tow’rd, Learn too, þat duneward from þe steps, which cleaves Midway þe twain roomsteads, and none þere are Who stead do yet for worþ of þat her own, But have þrugh oþers’ worþminde freemed ben, On all set fettels: all þe goasts bedealt, Ere for hemselves hie had þe þrake to chose. And, if þuw mark and listen to hem well, Her childish looks and reard maþel as much.
 
“Here, swy as þuw nuw art, ich cnow þy twee; And gladly will ich loose þe cnot, wherein Þy deepest þoghts have bunde þee. From þis swail Uted, lavel no infare here may finde, No more shall hunger, þerst, or sorrow can. An ea unwendenly haþ onstell’d all; Nor is þere aght þuw seest, þat doþ not fit, As right as is þe finger to þe ring. It is not þerefore wiþute grunde, þat þese, O’erspeedy cummers to forever life, Are sundry in her shares of tortness high. Ure Mighty Lord—þat settelþ þis eþel In luve and in þat wen almighty such, Þat wish can dare no ferþer—ev’ry sowl, Beyetten in his wenful sight to dwell, Wiþ eest þat cweem so sundrily bestows. And for seeþing þe rine may well be ‘nogh. And ‘tis moreover moste sundrily mark’d In holy writs, where þose þe twins are said T’ have foght wiþin þe womb. Þerefore, as eest Inweaves þe wolderbee, so ev’ry bruw Weareþ its fitting hew of eastern light. And only fittingly to his ferst yift, Not as deedlean for a well-worþy deed, Haþ each his sundry hoad cnooded unto. In early times wiþ her own cleanness þere More was not lacking, þan þe cennends’ troþ, To neer hem: þose ferst elds gon by, behov’d Þat umbsniþing in weapon’dcinde shood imp Þe flight of fiþers clean: but sinse þe day Of eest haþ cum, wiþute fulughtly wons In Criste alasted, cleanness in herself Must terry yet beneaþ. Nuw rear þy sight Unto þe sight alike þe moste to Criste: For, in her wolder only, shalt þuw win Þe þrake to look on him.” Forþwiþ ich saw Such floods of gladness on her ansine shur’d, From holy goasts, beclipping þat high weght; Þat, whatsoever ich had yet beheld, Had not so much me wiþ wunder seemed, Or shown me such an alikeness of God. And he, who had to her alighted, onse, On earþ, nuw hail’d in heav’n; and on fiþer. “Ave, Maria, Gratia Plena,” sang: To whose sweet lovesong all þe blissful herd, From all deals answ’ring, rang: þat holier wen Brooded þe hoder deep. “Faþer worþied: Who buwst, for me, to yeeld þe canny stead, Wherein þuw sittest, by forever lot! Say, who þat angel is, þat wiþ such glee Beholds ure cween, and so besmitten glows Of her high lite, þat all afire he seems.” So ich ayen þoght back upon þe lore Of my wise teacher, he, whom Maria’s spells So disen’d, as þe sun þe morning star; Who þus in answer spake: “In him are ek’d, Whate’er of buxumness and freest wen May be in Goast, or in angel, be met: And so beseems: for þat he bare þe folm Dune unto Maria, when þe Sun of God Beteem’d to cloþe him well in earþly weeds. Nuw let þine ighs bide heedful on my words, And mark þuw of þis right and godly rich Þe mainest aþels. Þose, highest in bliss, Þe twain, on each hand next ure coasern sat, Are as it were two mores unto þis roose. He to þe left, þe cennend, whose rash smack Sooþes bitter to his seed: and, on þe right, Þat fernest faþer of þe holy cherch, Into whose ceeping Criste did yive þe ceghs Of þis sweet blossom, nigh behold þe seer, Þat, ere he swelted, saw all þe sweer times Of þe fair bride, who wiþ þe spear and nails Was won. And, near unto þe oþer, rests Þe leader, under whom on manna fed Þ’ unþankful þeed, so fickel and dwolen. On þ’ oþer deal, looking to Petrus, lo! Where Anna sits, so well cweemed to look On her luv’d doghter, þat wiþ stilled igh She sings þe lude hosanna: while, wiþer’d To þe ferst faþer of yewer earþly cinde, Is Lukia, at whose hest þe lady sped, When on þe edge of wrake closed þine igh.
 
“But (for þe sight so speedeþ to an end) Here break we off, as þe good werkman doþ, Þat shapes þe loþ in ceeping wiþ þe cloþ: And to þe formest luve ure cen shall rise; Þat þuw maist bore into þe brightness, far As sight can bear þee. Yet, alack! in sooþ Beating þy fiþers, þenching to go forþ, Þuw backward fall’st. Eest þen must ferst be earnt; Her eest, whose might can help þee. Þuw in bead Seech her: and, wiþ þat fondness, whilste ich seech, Besee, and yeeld me all þine hart.” He said, And þus þe holy, rising bead began.
 
 
(First) Previous <- -> Next

Misc.

Misc. Megathread
Misc. Debunk Wiki
Masterpost
China Megathread: Everything a Leftist Must Know
Graphic: Chinas a world supplier
Graphics: Ending China's poverty
Graphic China’s plan for High Speed Rails
What Was Life Like In Maoist China? [Full Documentary]
Some Strides In Queer Culture in China
Eight Nation Alliance Against China
DuBois in China
Ningxia Solar Farm & Poverty Reduction
Pop Culture in China
Graphic: Going Green In China
Graphic: Belt & Road Path
Graphic: China’s Rail Plan
Misc. Links About China
Sino-Vietnamese Split
Chinas Carbon Market with Rules
AOC Demands sanctions on China and Tibet
Poverty Alleviation Pictures

China Is Socialist

China as a Socialist & Marxist-Leninist State: A defense
Before Critiquing China, Drop your Western Biases
China is Socialist whether you like it or not, my dudes
What Would the Leftist Response to this Vox Video on Mao Be?
Is China State Capitalist?
Is China Staying True To Its Roots?
China’s Global Leadership Statistics (2019)
How Many People Support the CPC
Basic Arguments Debunk
Pictures of China 1960’s
Redditors Guide to Supporting China
Workers Rights in China

Tiananmen Square Protest

Tiananmen square Debunked
Tiananmen Square Protest Interview (1)
Tiananmen Square Protest Interviews (2)
Facts vs Fiction and Propaganda
Myth of British Lies
Quora Discussion Post
A Note on the Tiananmen Protests
PLA Soldiers Attacked pictures
Full Tankman video
Yes, you can look it up inside China

Theory

Maos Little Red Book
What are the principles of Maoism?
Changes In Chinas Socialist System
Chinas Socialist, But Not Like Stalin
Dengs Works
Reading List on Socialism with Chinese Characteristics
Xi Jinping - Up & Out Of Poverty
Chinese Socialism & Internationalism Quotes
Key Planning in Environmental Sustainability

Debunking Topics

One Child Policy
China’s one-child policy helps liberate women
What the hell is Falun Gong?
Organ Harvesting and the Fulan Gong
Workplace Democracy
African "Debt" (1)
African "Debt" (2)
Fake Christmas Card Uyghur Story
Huawei isn't built on Chinese state funding
Xi Jinping Motorcade Debunking Video
China "Watchers" Being Racist towards Muslims
No Evidence of Chinese Debt Trap
No Debt Trap Policy
China & Africa Resources
Rise of LGBT Recognition in China
More China/Africa Relations
Blatant Double Standard on China
How China’s money is shaping Africa

Hong Kong Riots

Sino Wiki
Timeline showing American politicians’ interference in Hong Kong
Imagine being China for a moment
Quora Discussion
False Equivalency of Comparing HK Police to US Police
List of Atrocities Committed by the Rioters

Uyghur & Re-Education Camps

General Contradictions
Reports on Xinjiang
List of Debunking
Another Debunking List
Another (Again) Debunking List
Adrian Zens worked with the US Congress
FBI Whistleblow about Operations
Countries that Visited & Investigated
Debunking Masterpost
Yes, yet another Masterpost
Media Manipulation
US Admitting about Uyghur Projects
Yes, even more Uyghur Debunks
Dropbox of Debunking Memes

Translated from H.F. Cary's 1814 translation of the original by Dante Alighieri, with the Iambic Pentameter preserved.
 
(First) Previous <- -> Next
 
 
When we had gon þe þreshold of þe gate (Which doþ þe sowl’s ill heeld unwont, in so Macing þe crooced seem þe straighter paþ), I heard its closing lude. Had mine ighes went, For þat hoocer what þing might hafe booted?
 
We climbed up þe rended roc, þat wunde On eiþer side wrixley, as þe iþe Flies and gose on. “Here doþ sum little list Behofe us,” said my leader, “þat ure steps Behold þe sundry bending of þe paþ.”
 
Þus we so slowly sped, þat wiþ cleft half Þe moon wonse more o’erhangs her wat’ry streen, Ere we þat narrow þreaded. But when free We came and open, where þe peac abufe Won starc body sweþers. I spent, wiþ swinc, And boþe, unwiss of þe right way, we stood, Upon a flat more lonesum, þan þe roads Þat yondfare weasten wildes. From whense þe brinc Doþ bunde upon þat emptiness, to foot Of þe steep banc, þat rises still, þe room Had meted þrise þe standing of a man: And, farlen as mine ighe cood wing its flight, To leftward nue and nue to right sent off, Þat oferhang efen in span atew’d.
 
Not yet ure feet had on þat barrow stept, When I onfunde þat þe high banc abute, Whose prude uprising all climbing forcwoþe, Was marmstone white, and was so alsuch wroght Wiþ oddest grafing, þat not þere alone Had Policletus, but efen cinde’s self Ben sham’d. Þe anyle who came dune to earþ Wiþ tidings of þe friþ so many years Wept for gainless, þat op’d þe heaf’nly gates From þat þeir long forbidding ‘fore us seem’d, In a sweet deed, so grafed to þe life, He looct no still anliceness. Man had sworn He had said, “Hail!” for she was meted þere, By whom þe ceigh did open to God’s lufe, And in her deed as anyetfully þruch Þat word, “Behold þe handmaid of þe Lord,” As liceness seal’d on wax “Mint not þy minde On won stead only,” said þe wise beluf’d, Who had me near him on þat deal which lies Þe hart of man. My sight forþwiþ I went And marct, behinde þe maiden moþer’s shape, Upon þat side, where he, þat shroþe me, stood, Anoþer tale ingrafen on þe roc.
 
I went aþwart þe bard, and drew me near, Þat it might stand more fitting for my sight. Þere in þe selfsame marmstone were ingraf’d Þe crat and cine, drawing þe hallow arc, Þat from unbidden wiccen aws mancinde. Before it came folc many; and þe whole Sunder’d in sefen boocs. Won anyet roopt, “Nay,” oþer, “Yes, þey sing.” Lice twee arose Betwixt þe ighe and smell, from þe crumpt smoce Of stoor nue breaþing up þe wellwroght swinc. Foregoing þe blest lafle, onward came Wiþ light tumb leaping, girt in eaþmood looc, Sweet Israel’s harper: in þat hap he seem’d Less and yet more þan cingly. Wiþerward, At a great raced, from þe hurdle forþ Looct Michol, lice a lady full of spurn And sorrow. To behold þe bred þe next, Which at þe hac of Michol whitely shone, I shroþe me. Þere was taled on þe roc Þe worþied wolder of Rome’s aþling writ, Whose mighty worþ shroþe Gregorius to earn His mighty o’erwin, Traian þe Coaser. A widow at his bridle stood, cloþed In tears and gnorning. Umb þem gaþered Full þrong of cnights, and oferhead in gold Þe erns floated, struggling wiþ þe wind.
 
Þe wrech atew’d amid all þese to say: “Ead wrace, faþer! for, woe beshrew her hart My son is mirþer’d.” He answering seem’d;
 
“Bide nue till I eftcum.” and she, as man Made rash by þat her gnorn; “O lord, if þue Dost not eftcum?”—“Where I am, who þen is, May right þee.”—“What to þee is oþer’s good, If þue forslac þine own?”—“Nue liss to þee,” At lengþ he answers. “It beseemeþ well My wiccen be freemed, ere I go hense: So wills rightwiseness; and rewþ bids me bide.”
 
He, whose cen noþing new doþ how, begat Þat seendly speacing, new to us and odd Þe lice not funde on earþ. Fondly I star’d Upon þose onalicenesses of heen, Shapes yet more worþful for þeir craftsman’s sace, When “Lo,” þe leeþer whisper’d, “where þis way (But slac þeir step), a manifold go on. Þese to þe lofty steps shall wise us on.” Mine ighes, þogh bent on sight of sundry þings Þeir lufed spaning, were not slow to wend.
 
Reader! I wold not þat amas’d þue miss Of þy good hoe, hearing hue rightwise God Doþe bode ure shilds be ended. Wonder not Þe shape of susle. Þinc on what cums next, Þinc þat at worst beyond þe mighty doom It cannot fare. “My teacher,” I began, “What I see hiþer caring, bears no spore Of manly liceness, nor of aght beside Þat my truct sight can gess.” He answ’ring þus: “So bent to earþ, beneaþ þeir heafy teems Of tintrey stoop þey, þat mine ighe at first Struggled as þine. But looc so nigh þiþer, And unbraid wiþ þy sight so worcing hard, What underneaþ þose stones nigh draweþ: nue, E’en nue, maist þue mace ute þe þroes of each.”
 
Cristmen and prude! O arm and wreched lot! Þat weacen’d in þe minde’s ighe, lean yowr trust Upon unstuc dwolenness! Cnow ye not Þat we are worms, yet made at last to mace Þe winged wig imped wiþ anyle shafts Þat to heaf’ns rightwiseness unhinder’d soars? Why float ye up aloft yowr unfledg’d sowls? So truccing þen and shapeless ye abide, Lice þe untimely tuder of a worm!
 
As, to uphold þe binding floor or roof, For strut is an aliceness sumtimes seen, Þat crumples up its cnees unto its breast, Wiþ þe fic’d bearing stirring rewþ unfic’d In þe beholder’s licing; so I saw Þese farrand, when I marced well þeir shape.
 
Each, as his bac was laden, came indeed Or more or less draw bac; but it atew’d As he, who show’d moste þilde in þat his looc, Wailing rooped: “I can it þole no more.”
 
 
(First) Previous <- -> Next

Translated from H.F. Cary's 1814 translation of the original by Dante Alighieri, with the Iambic Pentameter preserved.
 
(First) Previous <- -> Next
 
 
WHAT time bitterness burn’d in Yuno’s breast For Semele against þe Þebish blood, As more þan wonse in sliþe mishap was rew’d, Such deadly elning fanged Aþamas, Þat he his wife beholding wiþ a babe Laden on eiþer arm, “Spread ute,” he roopt, “Þe meshes, þat I tace þe leenen þere And þe yong lees at þe begang:” þen forþ Strecht he his rewþless claws, grasping a babe, Won helpless free of sin, Learcus nam’d, Whom swinging dune he dasht upon a roc, And wiþ her oþer burden self-forspilt Þe hapless moþer dofe, and when þe pride Of Troya o’erweening fell from its highþ, By whate oferwhelmed, and þe old cing Forfared wiþ his land, too Hecuba, A wrech forlorn and haft, when she saw fair Polixena first slaghter’d, and her son, Her Polidorus, on þe wilde sea-beach Next met þe gnorner’s sight, þen reft of rode Did she run barcing efen as a dog; Such mighty þrace had gnorn to wrench her sowl. Bet ne’er þe wraþs of Troya or of Þebes Wiþ such fell rewþlessness were seen, þeir goads Infast’ning in þe lims of man or deer, As nu two wan and naced goasts I saw Þat gnarling wildly sped, alice to swine Atwinded from his stye. Won reacht Capocchio’, And in þe nec-liþ sticcing deep his fangs Dragg’d him, þat o’er þe trum cobblestones rubb’d His belly newell strecht. Þe oþer shape, He of Arezzo, þere left bef’ring, space; “Þat shade of loft is Schicchi, in lice mood Of wanton hurt spread he still his illwill.
 
To whom I answ’ring: “Oh! As þu dost hope, Þe oþer may not flesh its chaws on þee, Be longmood to abreast us, who it is, Ere it speed hense.”—“Þat is þe fern, darc sowl Of wreched Mirra, “he answer’d, “who burn’d Wiþ moste unholy fire for her faþer, “And a lease shape nu tacing, so did she Þe deed of sin; e’en as þe oþer þere, Þat onward flies, dared to mace a sham Of Donati’s loocs, to lichetted race Þe seal fastening, þat himself might gain, For his own share, þe lady of þe herd.”
 
When swinded þose þe two wroþ shades, on whom Mine ighe was held, I went it bac to see Þe oþer cursed goasts. Man I did see Farrand lice a gamewood, had but þe grine Been sunder’d, where it meets þe forced deal. Swoln watery, misande’ening þe lims Wiþ illumbwended sew, þat þe belly Behofes þ’ ansine not, open’d wide his lips Gasping as in þe fefer’d man for druþe, Won t’ward þe chin, þe oþer upward curl’d.
 
“O ye, who in þis world of awful wo, Wherefore I cnow not, are unbunde from trey,” Þus he began, “nu heedsomely do deem Adamo’s wo. When lifing, nefer did Yare lac of me what moste I yissed dear; Won drop of water nu, alac! I crafe. Þe rills, þat glitter dune þe grassy slopes Of Casentino, macing fresh and soft Þe bancs whereby þey glide to Arno’s stream, Stand efer in my sight; and not gainless; For more þe attern liceness dries me up, Much more þan þe adle, which maces þe flesh Forsace þese snarched checes. So from þe stead, Where sinned I, rightwiseness stern shying, Taces means to cwiccen more my swincing sighs. Þere is Romena, where I wangled Þe bloom wiþ þe Fulloghter’s shape inþrucht, For which on earþ I left my body burnt. But if I here might see þe sorr’wing sowl Of Guido, Alessandro, or þe þird, For Branda’s cristle stream I wood not wend Þe welcome sight. Won is e’en nu wiþin, If trewly tell þe madden’d goasts, þat umb Are wand’ring. But wherein besteads me þat? My lims are fetter’d. Were I but so light, Þat I each hundred years might shriþe won inch, I had set forþ already on þis paþ, Secing him ute amidst þe shapeless crude, Alþogh elefen miles it winde, nor more Þat half of won aþwart. Þey broght me dune Among þis þeed; drawn in by þem I stampt Þe florens wiþ þree sinful carats mixt.”
 
“Who are þat wreched twosome,” next I frain’d. “Þat nighly bunding þee upon þy right Lie smocing, lice a band in winter steept In þe chill stream?”—”When to þis pit I dropt,” He answer’d, “here I funde þem; sinse þat stunde Þey hafe not went, nor efer shall, I ween, Till time haþ run his paþ. Won is þat wife Þe lease becaller of þe Hebrish yewþ; Sinon þ’ oþer, þat lease Grece from Troya, Sharp fefer drains þe recing wetness ute, In such a clude upsteam’d.” When þat he heard, Man, gall’d mayhap to be so darcly nam’d, Wiþ clenched hand smote him on belly steel’d, Þat lice a drum edluded: but forþwiþ Adamo smote him on þe head, þe blow Gifing wiþ his arm bac, þat seem’d as hard.
 
“Þogh my o’erweighty lims hafe ta’en from me Þe þrace to shriþe,” said he, “I hafe an arm Readied for such an err’nd as þis.” To whom Was answer’d: “When þu wentest to þe fire, Þu hadst it not so ready at behest, Þen readier when it smiþed þe lease gold.”
 
And þus þe swollen: “Aye nu speac’st þu trew. But þere þu gafest not such trew witness, At Troya, when þu wast frain’d of þe trewþ.”
 
“If I space lease, þu lease stampedst þe shat,” Said Sinon; “I am here but for won shild, And þu for more þan any imp beside.”
 
“To minde do call,” he spat, “O oaþbreacer, Þe horse call up, þat teemed wiþ fell deaþ, And all þe world be witness to þy gilt.”
 
“To þine,” shot bac þe Grece, “witness þe þirst Whense þy tung cracs, witness þe wat’ry munde Rear’d by þy belly up before þine ighes, A worsom cnot.” To whom þe stamper þus: “Þy muþe gapes wide as efer to let by Its efil saying. Me if þirst o’ersets Yet I wiþ sew am swoln. Þu art o’erdry Treys wrench þy head, no shying wood’st þu need To mace þee lap up Narcissus’ glass.”
 
I was all set to listen, when my wise Me chided: “Nu beware: a little more. And I do flite wiþ þee.” I cwic beheld Hu wroþ his words did come, and t’wards him went Wiþ shame so bitter, as beþoght again Doþ mase me. As a man þat dreams of harm Befall’n him, dreaming wishes it a dream, And þat which is, wishes þat it were not, Such þen was I, who wanting þrace to speac Wished to load myself, and all þat while Loaded me, þogh unweeting þat I did.
 
“Much swerer shild þan þine has been, less shame,” My master roopt, “might abye. Þerefore cast All sorrow from þy sowl; and if again Hap bring þee, where a lice mooting is held, Þinc I am efer at þy side. To hear Such wrangling is a wen for churlish mindes.”
 
 
(First) Previous <- -> Next