Beyond the Gates of Tallow

Listen closely and I will whisper to you the things that come after the end.

In the first instants, as the great black tear appeared in the heavens, The Prophet of the Deeps cried out, from his massive litter with its wheels of iron,  "The darkness devours the light and is not satisfied.  The fires of the enemy burn slowly but fire consumes also.  Forth for the innocents!  Forth for the creators!  For we are only made of their words and our words shall go forth and bring light to the darkness!"  And with that the assembled armies marched forth into the blackness of the chasm.  Countless slaves chained to the litter groaned as they pushed and dragged with their misshapen limbs but even they considered themselves fortunate for behind them The Source flickered out and The Expanse plunged into the first night it had ever known.

Then came forth the candle bearers and their fires roared and fed among the host.  Great was the battle, for the hosts of The Expanse fought with desperate fury for they were without recourse, they could never retreat for there was nothing left behind them.  Many fell to the dreaded fires in the eyes of the   candle bearers, but the Finians were long prepared by their prophet and sprayed water from their bloated forms and the candle bearers fell before them, their pallid flesh trodden under the mismatched feet of the mighty throng.

In the wake of their victory the darkness stank of charred flesh.  There was only darkness beneath their feet and darkness surrounded them.  In the darkness lay the endless maze of candle molds and rendering pots.  Skeletons, half eaten with shadows lay in the corners.

Towering over them in the flickering yellow candle light was chained a massive skeleton of curious shape.  Great was its head upon its body, and the host recoiled with fear and revulsion.  "They burn the innocents to fuel their candles!" cried the prophet of the deeps and the host wept for the horror of it.  Yet some whispered amongst themselves that The Innocents were small, though the skeleton surely resembled their tiny, flawless forms.  "Doubt it not," the prophet roared, "for size means nothing in this place between all things and ideas.  The innocents are small to us because they know themselves to be small and in this knowing made us small, but here, they have stature to match their glory.  And thus the candle bearers have sought to destroy them."

Come now and march with the hosts of the Expanse as they follow The Prophet of the Depths into Darkness and Madness.  Raise your broken voice with the host in places where thoughts and words shape worlds.  Tread paths through shadowed gates into realms beyond reason.  Or perish and be consumed by the void.

The kingdom of the candle bearers is large, but not without end.  Its inhabitants are as indigestible as their moulds and rendering pots.  As the battle turns against them, many flee through their twelve remaining gates or into the void.  Others seek to destroy the gates and thus deny the host access to other worlds.  For the creatures of the expanse cannot pass into other worlds by merely entering the lost and forlorn shadows as the innocents do.

In their realm there are no treasures, nor even written words.  And thus, while their threat to the innocents is ended, nothing of their purposes can be learned.  Worse still, the host is stranded with little provision and less hope for even the Prophet of the Deeps did not foresee that opening The Gates of Tallow would plunge the expanse into darkness.  At last when the last of the candle bearers have fallen, the host gathers to march into the darkness seeking a path to some other place before the last of its strength is spent and all is lost in shadow.

The Lashes of the Prophet

There is no measure of time in the void for the finest Nandrian watches fail to agree on its rate of passage.  In his wisdom and mercy The Prophet has prepared a standard to govern his people.  Upon his litter rides his faceless servant, large and darkly coloured, bearing a great, barbed lash in its hand.  In the very moment of the opening of The Gates of Tallow, this monstrous struck the prophet with the lash.  And each time the wound heals, another blow is struck.  Thus the host marches to the lashes of the prophet.

Danger lurks in the darkness and at times, twisting ribbons of solid blackness lash out against the dim lights of the host.  Flapping things, like sheets have also torn their haphazard path through the hapless throng. These strange entities are sharper than swords at their edges, cleaving limbs and even bodies in half.

Ebony Ribbon Worm

Bulk 50 / Grace 5
Originality 1 / Reason 1
Awareness 5 / Character 50
 
Counts As Armed.
Serpentine Belly

1d6 Black Terrors
Bulk 2d6 / Grace 20 - Bulk
Originality 1 / Reason 2
Awareness 10 / Character 10

Counts As Armed
Broad Pinions

There is no solid ground in the darkness.  Some claim that it is only the expectation of solidity upon which the host marches.  Others suggest that the host is forever falling at the same pace.  Upon this matter The Prophet has remained silent but scouting parties often return from odd angles above and below the body of the host.

Refuse Of A Thousand Lost Worlds

There are strange things lying underfoot in the darkness, half corroded echoes of worlds long vanished.  Bones of unknown creatures, machines of unfathomable purpose, scattered pages in languages that were never spoken all lie scattered about, often in little clusters and heaps.  Occasionally small ruins or shallow puddles of unknown liquids are also encountered.  But as time goes on it becomes more apparent that there are no resources in the darkness that can sustain the host.

Gleaming Like A False Hope

Like a single lamp in a sea of night, the shining city of Dyslaar gleams in the distance.  A last lonely star on the edge or perhaps in the center of nothing.  The streets of that city are paved with fine glass and beneath them lie the exquisite gardens that feed the citizens.  Towers of glass and steel reach up to the sky claiming every precious bit of ground.  There is no waste in that place, no not one drop of water or breath of air, nor could there be for there is nothing more to be had.  With each death, the birth of a single child is authorized but even the bones of the dead are burned to fuel the dwindling light.

In the great library tower of Dyslaar there are maps of a world now lost.  Names of cities long vanished into shadow.  There are lexicons of languages that have not been spoken in a million years and plans for amazing machines that can no longer be built for want of materials.

The coming of the host of the Expanse is at once the source of great hope and despair in Dyslaar, for here is evidence that there is evidence of something more than the dwindling light of the city.  Here is a resource that could feed the city's furnaces and lanterns.  Yet here is war and perhaps the final twilight, because the uncounted ranks of the newcomers are desperate and hungry.

The Black Gate

There is a great stone arch marked with unknown script waiting in the darkness.  When the scouts return with word of it, great excitement passes through the host and soon, the Prophet of the Deeps itself is making ready to journey to the site of this strange discovery.  The gate is ancient beyond all knowledge but it was built for this moment and waits to trap the Prophet.  When it opens, a great wave will surge out and seize the Prophet of the Deeps and draw him in.  Some brave souls, with the ability to survive under water, may brave the gate in hopes of saving the host's leader, otherwise the host is broken by its loss and the last creatures of the Expanse will wander lost and alone into the endless shadows.

Gozvarn is a mystical realm of water and stone.  A vast maze of unyielding rock filled with water.  The water at the lower reaches is thick with silt but it clears in the higher regions.  Here sit the ninety nine stone judges awaiting ultimate evidence of justice.

The Watchers At the Boundaries

The people of Shadlai are artificers beyond compare and have broken the veils between their world and the darkness.  Through their complex devices they pass into and through the endless night to explore and loot other worlds.  Passing like gray shadows in the darkness their cloaked and bandaged forms can, at times be seen lurking near the edges of the host.  Spying out secrets with long glasses and stranger devices.  Their intent is unguessable, but if one of their portal devices could be captured it might mean salvation for the host.

Shadlai is a world engulfed in a hurricane of incandescent energy.  Its surface is covered in strangely reflective plants which swiftly swarm into the craters and scars left by errant bursts of energy from the storm.  Even the canopied cities of the Shadlai are covered with tenacious vines and strangely swaying trees.  Upon noticing that there are no native animals a traveler will often wonder if the people are truly from here or have come from some other realm and decided to stay.  Within the cities, the people follow a complex and obscure ritual dance that permeates every life. Any interruption of their pattern infuriates them and is met with violence.

The gate ships of the Shadlai are wonders of gears and fins, in the shape of great fish, and possess wondrous beacons that cut through the darkness, but these are never brought within sight of the host.  And only a few scouts ever live to speak of them.

The Paradise of the Lost Gods
   The rock floats in the darkness, etched with long lost scripture and honeycombed with pits and channels.  From a distance it has the appearance of a bestial face with closed eyes.  Upon being sighted by a scouting party, The Prophet leads the host to stand before it.  The prophet is growing smaller now, having given much of itself to the lashes and to feed its starving charges.  Heaving itself from the litter to chant incantations at the rock to no avail.  Then the scribes are commanded to record the markings on the rock in their archives after which workers are called forth with hammers and chisels to break the rock asunder and reveal whatever might lie within.  But a voice as the voices of a legion speaks, as the first hammer is raised to strike the first blow. "Here lie the lost gods in their paradise.  They are not yet so weak as to permit you to defile the place of your rest."

   The smallest of the host are then called forth to enter into the pits of the rock and seek aid from these lost gods, but few of these ever return again and those that do report a world within the rock, as vast as time and space itself, where the gods of worlds long swallowed by the darkness wallow in decadence and intrigue.  Were the host ever able to enter there-in it would fall victim to those omnipotent beings.  Then, many would slough off their bulk, and live as slaves in the light rather than die in the darkness.  And after their leave taking, the diminished host feasted well and laid up stores against the next march.

The Magical Kingdom of Shandililoo

Lurking in the darkness among the detritus lies a wondrous book.  It's pages are filled with pictures of the innocents painted in bright hues as they wander among strange, leviathans and taller, spindlier versions of themselves.  Yet, greatest of the wonders, the book can be read and understood by all whatever language they may speak.  It tells of the travels of two pert young innocents, a boy and a girl as they travel from their amazing homes to sojourn in the Magical Kingdom of Shandililoo.  A delightful place where everyone's nice.  A kindly place you'd like to visit twice.  A home to the polite men of the city of glass who ride friendly dinosaurs and guard the pass.  The book is a gate to a world full of wonders all serving to correct children's mannerial blunders.

The gate can be opened by any magician who reads it to the end and says "Please May I?"  Upon which it folds up from the center of the book, a fabulous paper arch covered in vines and red flowers.  The Magical Kingdom is bright and colourful and everything therein is slightly shiny and always very clean.  Well ordered roads pass though vibrantly purple mountains and soar over jewel bright rivers on fancifully graceful bridges.  There are few insects and these only present themselves to comment on the manners of those who journey there and never bite as that would be terribly impolite.  The people of Shandililoo are related to the race of the innocents but are not in fact the same.  They are thinner, and taller, and their features quite exaggerated by comparison.  But it is in their courtesy, honesty, and propriety that the folk of the Magical Realm are most distinguished from the mature form of the innocents.

The ambassador of the city of glass, is, in contrast to his fellows short, jolly, and rolly-polly.  He tumbles into view almost immediately upon the arrival of the scouts of the host.  With a magnificent grin he dismounts from his smallish and overburdened riding lizard and welcomes them with a low bow.  There upon he introduces himself as Ambassador Thadeus Moses Brown and inquires to their well being.  If he is told they are hungry he rings a small bell and a pair of immaculately dressed butlers ride up in a carriage and lay out a most excellent picnic on a red checkered blanket.  If told of the plight of the host the Ambassador will daub tears from his eyes and offer to send such food as can be spared but warn the scouts soundly.  "Shandililoo is no place for the likes of you.  It isn't that we like to fight but that we shall endeavor when in the right!"

Ambassador Thadeus Moses Brown

Bulk 18 / Grace 6
Originality 3 / Reason 23
Awareness 10 / Character 20

Dreadfully Polite Master

Guardian Of The Pass

Bulk 12 / Grace 10
Originality 2 / Reason 18
Awareness 8 / Character 20

Noble Profession Master
Dreadfully Polite Journeyman

Dinosaur Mount

Bulk 30 / Grace 5
Originality 1 / Reason 1
Awareness 15 / Character 15

Dreadfully Polite Apprentice
Gaping Maw
Savage Claws

Of Creatures Grotesque and Unnatural

In the beginning you will be a grotesque creature with mismatched limbs and a terrible hunger, marching into the void with only your fallen comrades for provisions.  You will wander in the darkness facing strange and terrible forces and in time or out of it you will die.

The core of your being will be a jumble of words and numbers that will change as the void changes you. Eventually you will die and can create anew a persona that might well hail from any of the strange and wondrous places you have been.  In three instances, you must divide twenty points between two polar opposites after which you must select three traits from the  list which follows.  The three sets of polar opposites are Bulk and Grace, Originality and Reason, and lastly Awareness and Character.

Your first form is mutable, able to stretch and reshape to your will at the price of suffering pain and losing blood.  Most commonly you will have two arms, two legs, as well as two eyes and ears.  However, this form is anything but human, the limbs are poorly matched and ill shaped and the skin is dull and gray.  You may freely add traits from the following list to your form, but every trait has its price and many become useless when combined with others.

Bloated Belly – deeply you have drank until swollen like a tumor, you must roll along the ground.  But this price you have paid to be a weapon of the Prophet of the Deeps, for you can spray gouts of water to  extinguish the flames of the candle bearers and few can stand before your downhill charge.

Broad Pinions – alas though winged, if your Bulk exceeds your Grace you cannot fly, only being able to glide down safely from great heights.  As well, if they do not replace your arms, your Grace is reduced by two.  But those who have sacrificed their arms for wings have no hands and thus cannot pursue a trade.

Colourful Aspect – you have a beautiful and expressive body full of color and delight.  This makes you stand out in the crowd.  Yet, though others may envy the attention and recognition you receive, they do not suffer from it either.

Cumbersome Shell – bearing this bony burden reduces your Grace by five, though the force of your foe's blows is reduced by the same amount.

Drab Pelt – Your coloration is common and dull and thus you are troublesome to spot in many environs.

Dreadfully Polite - A proper upbringing has given you an acceptable grasp of acceptable behaviour.  While you seldom offend anyone it is most difficult to accept the crass nature of your fellows.

Fearsome Spines – Your back is covered with jagged peaks of bone and so you are well guarded to the rear.

Gaping Maw – so great is your jaw and so fearsome its jagged rows of teeth that you can swallow foes as much as half your size in a single bite.  Being hindered by their Bulk reduces your Grace equally, until they break free or are properly digested.

Graceful Symmetry – unlike most, you are a creature of delicate and refined tastes.  Your limbs are well matched and smooth.  Such rare beauty makes you an object of desire which is often as bad a blessing as one could hope for.

Loathsome Limbs – one of your members is like a serpent, strong and flexible, but without a hand or foot.  Such tentacles are wonderfully apt when climbing or grappling, but of no use at all when using tools or weapons.

Luminous Flesh - you're pallid green flesh emits a faint, unwholesome light. You can see even in the darkest places but you're also easy to see.

Majestic Horns – your head is crowned with a great rack of bone and these are a fearsome and noble weapon, but they will often draw the attention of those who seek trophies.

Mumbling Magician – you are, in fact, a humble student of the mystical arts, able to make small object appear and vanish or even caper about for your amusement.  With this arcane education you are able to discern magical objects and occasionally predict the future when it is particularly obvious.

Noble Profession – you are a journeyman soldier trained in battle and hardened with experience.  You are apt in the handling of a sword, bow, and spear, but are often scorned for your rough manner and morose demeanor.

Plurality of Members – being graced with an additional arm or leg allows you to hold another weapon or move faster but is confusing and unwieldy and thus reduces your Grace by one.

Savage Claws – your members are tipped as sharp as swords so that you are never unarmed.  Alas they are clumsy and ill suited for handling tools and thus you fare poorly in any trade you might set your clawed hands to.

Serpentine Belly – lacking proper legs, you must creep along in the dust like a serpent.  All though this is exceedingly useful when grappling, slows you not at all, and does not hinder you when climbing, it is an unseemly embarrassment.  

Sinister Trade – the failure of your parents at instilling you with proper moral fiber is best shown by your character's larcenous pursuits.  You are in short, a journeyman thief and pickpocket and no decent person should welcome your presence.

Unwholesome Miasma – either your digestion is distressed or perhaps it is an attribute you cultivate, never the less, it may truly be said that you stink.  This is a wonderful blessing in tight circumstances as others give you more space than you deserve and find you wholly undesirable for consumption.

Worthy Trade – it is your good fortune to have been apprenticed and learned a trade.  You might be a cooper or a smithy a candle maker or a wainwright, carpenter or butcher or what have you.  As a journeyman you are not without a certain honor and respect, never the less, it seems unlikely to be of much help here in the darkness beyond the end.

Wretched Fins – it is a mark of your lowly station that you have these dreadful fins upon your hands and feet and though you may delight in your freedom of movement in the water, it is your fate to forever be beneath those who walk upon the earth.


The Workings of Infernal Mechanisms

In the course of your travels your mettle will be tried and tested.  In most circumstances it is sufficient to exceed a number given by the Narrator on three dice to achieve success.  Should two or three of the dice match, the success or failure is especially auspicious and the results are either doubled or tripled in accordance with the number of dice that matched.

Of course, your mettle is being tried and so you may add one to the roll if you have a rating in excess of the number needing to be exceeded on one of the polar opposites which the Narrator indicates is of use in the task.  Two may be added to the roll if the rating is more than twice the value that must be beaten.  Further, a journeyman may add three to the roll and a master may add five should the task at hand fall within the compass of their trade.

In cases when you are faced with opposition, both parties shall roll the three dice adding one to the value being contested for each die that matches and acknowledging the being with the greatest total the victor.

When conflict arises those with the highest Grace act first.  Shooting a foe requires a roll greater than one fifth of the distance to the target.  When striking in melee, the target's Grace must be exceeded by the roll.  Those armed with a weapon inflict damage equal to their Bulk and those without one inflict half as much upon their foe.  The damage done is multiplied by two or three should two or three of the dice rolled to strike the target match.  Upon receiving damage equal to your Bulk you are rendered senseless and upon doubling it you are dead.

One may wish to grapple their foe with a successful attack instead of inflicting harm upon them, especially if they are small and slippery, for once held they may be struck automatically.  Once grappled they may attempt to break loose by undertaking a contest of Bulk, or to squirm loose in a contest of their Grace against your Bulk or your Grace if you prefer.

Upon grappling your foe, should their Bulk be less than one half of your own, it is possible to rend them limb from limb and thus reduce their Bulk and remove the limb permanently.  The permanent loss of bulk shall be assessed by the Narrator by dividing their bulk by half the number of limbs your unfortunate victim originally possessed.  The limb can, of course be eaten.

In the endless darkness there is nothing to eat except your comrades and yourself.  The candle bearers have proven to be unwholesome and provide no nourishment but other foes you may meet in might yet sustain you for a time.  You must consume a tenth portion of your Bulk each Lash of the Prophet, or lose the same amount from self consumption.

Acts of the Malleable Flesh

Those creatures which have risen up upon The Expanse to march through The Gates of Tallow are gifted with the ability to shape and mould their own flesh to their thought. Doing so, allows them to obtain any trait, excepting trades and skills. These can be obtained by eating those who have learned them but only at great risk to your self.

As the creature shapes itself it bleeds heavily. To make the change, roll against a ten, using your Character to aid you. Should you fail this causes damage equal to your bulk multiplied by the number of dice that matched and the trait is not obtained. If you succeed you suffer damage equal to your Bulk divided by the number of dice that matched.

When dining upon the flesh of your kind there is danger in eating too much. For if you consume more than half of your comrade, you must win a contest of Character or be overtaken by your dinner's mind and so possessed. If you roll three dice that match you may then absorb a learned trait your meal once knew

For those who haven't seen it, the original game "among the beautiful creatures"

http://www3.telus.net/public/uncouths/abcrtf.rtf

h'Okay David.  You've dumped a large amount of information here, and that's cool.  What's lacking is context.

What would you like us, as other human beings, to contribute to this conversation?

And I swear, if you say something pallid and uninspired like "Well, I'm mostly asking for opinions," then you will never see another post here from me again.  Specifics, please.  How can I help, without having to read your mind to figure out what it is you need?

hmmm...mostly I'm posting this here for James Hargrove.  He was very instrumental in getting "among the beautiful creatures" done and can't post on rpg.net anymore.

Some thoughts on the system would be appreciated.  The original system was too rules heavy, granted, but one of the places I bogged down originally was that to do stats for things I needed to have a system in place.

I'm also not sure I can maintain Faux Biblical voice for the rules.  I'm trying but it's difficult to say things like "Dreadfully polite gives a two point bonus to Character at the cost of one point of Originality" without breaking out of voice.

I've never been happy with the way the rules felt, in the original, very jarring and out of place with the rest of it.  On the other hand, the current language is not very helpful in figuring out how to play.

I do have the goal of keeping the actual rules under two pages.  I've always admired Palladium's original rules in Mechanoid Invasion for their brevity.

Awesome stuff, David, and welcome aboard!

-clash

Thanks guys...here's some more background stuff.  I guess this one railroads things a bit though ideally if the PCs want to invade Shandililo and stay forever that's an option too.  I just want a clear storyline or perhaps metaplot if you like.  I mostly see the PCs as scouts though other possibilities like plotting nobles or sorcerrers is also a possiblity.

I think I need to sketch out the game system in plain language.  The end result should be a second edition of abc for which Beyond the Gates of Tallow would be a supplement.  I guess.

The Composition of the Host
   Great was the wrath of the God King of Charn as his people searched the realm of the candle bearers for their inscrutable masters could not be found.  Crying defiance at the darkness he summoned his high magus to open the gates of tallow once more.  Thence to the frozen darkness of the Expanse marched the Dead of Charn, but the living dared not follow into the deadly cold.  Knowledge of what fate awaited them there is unguessable for even The Prophet.

   Those who joined the host as it marched from the utmost oceans to the crypt of the God King of Charn are the greatest part of the number of the host, followed by the Finnian houses that followed The Queen of Shadows and the Prophet of the Deeps on their long march, fewest in number are the living of Charn, though fewer of them fall as the lashes of the prophet heal.

A Better Window Than A Door

   A faint light draws the scouts onward to a strange edifice, made of crumbling white rock and wood a standing corner holding a single window of glass.  Through this window an uncanny world can be spied, where beasts of colourful metal rush about on streets of blackness.  Beings much like the innocents can be seen scurrying to and beside the streets, entering and leaving vast buildings of metal and glass.  Occasionally an innocent can be seen among the bustling throng.  Upon being led to the window, The Prophet observes it for a whole length in deep contemplation.  At last he pronounces in a sorrowing tone that it is indeed the divine home of the innocents that is seen through the glass and that, sadly, it appears their mature forms are unimaginative, dull, and impatient.  Many pause to gaze through the window as the host marches on, none can guess the meaning of what they see there.  At last, one seeking to escape from the darkness breaks the window, hoping to pass through, leaving only a hole in the strange structure, though which there is only the darkness.

Liquid Water and Heat

After a particularly long march, one scout, broken and half dead comes crawling back to the host to speak of a river and a strange warmth.  Of his attackers he saw nothing, only hearing their mocking voices and feeling their cruel barbs.  Water has grown scarce and the Prophet can see no other hope than to undertake this perilous chance.  As the sounds of the river draw near the host is assailed by unseen foes.  Creatures of pure darkness, only visible when caught between two lights.  The words of the attackers cannot be understood, yet their tone is mocking and derisive.  Though it suffers brutal losses, driven by desperation, the host is victorious and pursues its foes by the clamor of their retreat, only stopping when they reach the banks of the river.  Strange unseen grasses and shrubs brush against the refugees as they scramble down the banks to drink deeply.  Roaring with delight The Prophet itself, splashes deep into the water to frolic with delight.

While the host is in disarray, the enemy strikes again, now from the rear and sides.  A mad panic tears through the throng and they are driven into the river.  Some drown, but the Finnians are all but creatures of the water and cross the rushing waters with ease.  When order is restored it is found that nearly half of the host has fallen this day.  The Prophet, water wise, intones a great incantation and the river blazes into light.  Cauldrons of glowing water are hauled to the outskirts of the host and a watch is posted on all sides to watch for the enemy.

Soldiers of Darkness

Bulk 12/ Grace 8
Originality 11/ Reason 9
Awareness 13/ Character 7

Armed
Unseen -5 to be hit

The prophet then sends out the bravest scouts to discover the nature of the strange land they have wandered into.  Few return speaking of strange unseen structures, herds of unknowable beasts, and ever the soldiers of the enemy striking unexpectedly.  "The river must flow out of other worlds beyond the darkness!" proclaims The Prophet.  So, in desperation the host is marshaled and fords the river once more to take the battle to the enemy and reclaim there dead.  Now the host is prepared and many have grown feelers and great ears in order to better find their unseen foes and the field is won at little cost.  Here among the fallen, seeds are planted and nurtured and prodded that they consume the rotting flesh and grow great and tall until a wood stands in the darkness by the glowing river.  Four lashes of the prophet pass as the great wood grows.  From this wood are wrought three great ships with all the craft of the Finnians and all the sorcery of Charn.  And though these vessels cannot contain the whole of the host, when the ships are launched upon the river, there are many who chose to remain behind, to live on the fruits and crops they can scratch out from the growing patch of soil, preferring the threat of the soldiers of darkness to the endless exodus.

A Beacon Burning Bright

Up the river those three magical ships sail, scarcely touching the waters.  Broad sails like wings catching the darkness itself to draw them ever onward.  Three lengths on, a beacon is seen shining out from a high place, it's light reflecting off the river and naught else as it sweeps its long arc.  As the ships sail ever nearer, the beacon itself at last strikes the ship of The Prophet as it ventures ahead of its sisters.  Fire kindles where light touches and only a few of those aboard manage to escape the inferno.  The other two ships ? On the banks of the river and send what aid they can to the swimming survivors.     The Prophet emerges from the water horribly burned and barely alive.  The servant of the lash is lost forever to the flowing waters.  And thus at last, even time ends for the small band which is all that remains of the host.

Scouts are sent forth to investigate the beacon, studiously evading it's sweeping beam.  They find a great stone tower on the banks of the river where it flows out of a vast lake or ocean.  The tower turns slowly about on its base and the beacon atop it turns with the tower.  Within the tower await its three dreadful warders, watching the light that it should never fail.  These strange creatures are half shadow, half man, sorcerers of another place who have bound their fate to the tower to escape death.  They will gladly show the inner workings of the tower to the scouts should they inquire peacefully.  For they are long alone and half mad, each despising the other two as fools.  Each looking for an opportunity to destroy the others and grasp the tower's power for themselves.

The motion of the river turns the tower by a great wheel beneath the surface.  By the workings of a great network of gears, the rate of the tower's turning can be altered but never stopped.  Thus it would be possible for the two remaining ships to sail past in the course of a single sweep.  Atop the tower, on a helix of purest adamant, is a candle bearer bound.  Fed by the distilled essence of an innocent deep in the heart of the tower, it's gaze casts forth the terrible beacon to burn ships that sail across the waters and thus deny them passage to the river.  The Wardens know nothing of who built the tower or its original purpose, but each covets the power at its heart for their own.

Should the scouts or even the whole host come against the tower, the wardens will fight with unmatched fury to keep their treasure.

The Wardens of the Tower

Bulk 7/ Grace 15
Originality 15/ Reason 7
Awareness 15/ Character 7

Armed
Mumbling Magician Master
Noble Profession Master
Half Shadow Half Man
   Half of all the blows which land upon a warden pass through the shadow harmlessly.

I've missed you and your wonderful game ideas, friend! You are the undisputed authority (in my eyes) when it comes to making "baroque" both playable and alien. Not a lot of people can do that. Thank you for gracing theRPGsite with your words

[Edit: You know, in light of the special role that descriptors play in defining abc characters, you may want to take a look at EZ20. It's kind of like Risus with fewer dice, simplified d20 level progression, and a wound track.]

The Bottle of Abominable Contents

   Amidst the debris and ruin of a stone edifice, that rears up like an island in the darkness, is found a bottle of most curious workmanship, which glows faintly with an unearthly light.  Sealed with lead, it's contents appear to be broken light.  Shifting fragments of colours flash and glow within the murky glass.  The light cast by this mysterious artifact whispers in the darkness of the power of dissolution in fragments of sentences and paragraphs.  Those possessing the bottle would do well to treat it with great caution, for it contains a portal to the realm of Abominus that, should it be broken or unstoppered, will spread rapidly into the available space, consuming all that surrounds it.  Out of that gate will come the Abominable Legions who's touch is death, to seek and destroy all that might lay within their view.  This gate will cast a dreadful light that can be seen for many marches in all directions and will draw great flocks of Black Terrors and other fell things to it.

Senses Other Than Sight

   A movement rises in the host, too long lost in darkness.  A leader with eyes black as jet brings forth the gift of sight that is not sight.  Many flock to his banner to learn the way of seeing in the darkness.  Rejoicing they speak of the unseen paradise that lies all about the host.  The delights of sights unseen by unchanged eyes.  The Prophet is troubled by the change and a great division arises in the host.  The changed become fey and seem mad as they act upon things others cannot see.  Yet, one by one they vanish from the host and none can say if they have wandered away into the darkness or been consumed by what they have seen until none are left who ever learned the changing of their eyes.

Seas Black As Pitch And The Window of Heaven

Beyond the fell light house lies the sea, and from beyond it come sailing ships from another realm.  These ships are in the form of great fish, with eyes of glass and bronze.  Their crews are strange, silent beings, clad in extravagant robes of green scales.  These have been drawn down into the darkness through a great maelstrom which is ever draining the seas of their dying world.

Upon seeing the waters falling unlimited from above, The Prophet cries out "Thus the Dawn over the Expanse!  A gate of through which light fell from another realm!  Ever since crawling forth from the depths to gaze upon the distant source of all light and warmth in awe, has this inquiry directed mine course."

Spoiler

I should probably put a disclaimer here. Like "you probably shouldn't read this bit that came to me this morning", but that'll have the opposite effect, naturally. So instead I'll just mention that mysteries are always more complelling than the answers. Even so, the following bit will probably be a let down.

Epilogue: Inscrutable, Malevolent, and Omnipotent

Words, all words, are empty lies. Even the protestation of the ninety and nine stone judges is empty and meaningless. “It's not fair!” is nothing but an indistinct pronoun and an empty objection to a word describing an imaginary state.

Spoiler

Excerpt from THE WORDS OF THE PROPHET

The Prophet, small and withered from the pain of many journeys limped into the light. There was no longer a monolithic litter to haul his great bulk. No servant of the lash to stay it on its course, though the marks remained. Once it dreamed, vast, unspeakably ancient and powerful in the depths of a sea teaming with life. Now it staggered, small and alone through the desolate darkness towards the dawn.

The closet door opened. The room was cluttered with toys and a bright new Slaughterboy 9000, plugged into a large flat screen, still flecked with packing foam, dominated the space like a sacred alter. The Prophet, large eyes blinking in the glare were not deceived. This clean, delightful space was but a counterfeit of the innocents' native land. A boy, freckled and fair sat on the bed studying a small box of strange workmanship. A cruel smirk twisted his lips as his fingers twitched convulsively on the buttons on top of the box. “I guess I shouldn't be surprised to find you here, poking your long nose into things and looking for answers.” His voice contorted into a mocking imitation of dismay, “How ever did a place meant to be safe and warm for hurt little babies ever go so horribly wrong? What could possibly go wrong with a place that is only, ever, what you make of it?” Then, switching sharply to a mean spirited tone, like an adult lecturing a wayward child might take, he continued, “When we found it, wandering through dark forbidden places to prove our courage, under the steps, behind the furnace, in the shed, it was a paradise. Candy and ponies and happy, friendly dinosaurs. All for the poor hurt babies. It made us want to puke! So we took it from them. We weren't powerful like them there. Oh no, it was made to be what they wanted it to be and we were already so tainted by the things that made its makers sick. Already so grown up. But we were ourselves and they couldn't change that, so we entered their special place and remade it by hurting them. Little whiny babies, so scared, so stupid, we made it into a place from their nightmares. All those words meaning things they don't mean, all the lies the grownups tell them, all the fear and jealousy and anger. Some of us didn't make it, eaten by nasty imaginary critters. That's all you are, do you understand now? You're just words, just empty and meaningless words joined together in nonsensical phrases. You are nothing. But it wasn't working out, until we made the candle bearers, to do our work for us and we moved them into the dark between places that isn't a place, and we made them cruel. They collected the babies for us and drained them of their power, making it ours.”

Then the door to the room opened and they filed in, angry, mean spirited children of men. Boy and girls united in that cruel time between childhood and adolescence by their spite and bitterness. “We made this place from the broken dreams of dumb little babies and you can't take it from us. We can have everything we want here. Right when we want it. We're all powerful and you can't make us go back.”

The Prophet smiled meekly as he pulled a curiously glowing bottle from a fold in his tattered flesh. Voices whispered in the shadows cast by its fractured light. “You misjudge me.” protested the Prophet of the Deeps, old and treacherous as the deepest ocean, “I come as a supplicant bearing an offering.” And he pulled the stopper from the bottle and the light consumed them all.

The Last Bastion of Nandria

   A light is glimpsed, faintly in the distance.  Scouts, sent out to seek its source are long in returning but come back with a tale of wonder.  The Prophet rouses from its contemplation and urges the host to march with all haste before the light can be lost.

   The crooked tower is rimed in ice that spreads out like a blanket, stark white in the darkness that surrounds it.  Great lanthorns whir and rotate ceaselessly casting their futile lances into the void.  From a remote mineret a valient banner hangs.  A lone star in the darkness.  The blazon of the emperors of Nandria since the first of their line clawed its way up from between the cobbled streets of the final city.  Soldiers, in tidy uniforms march like clockwork around the perimeter of the ice, each armed with  harquebus and sabre and girt with a breast plate of bronze.

   There is a clock in that tower which gongs intermittently it's crisp and clear ring falling swiftly to a deadened thump in the darkness.  Though provisioned for a long siege, the men of the tower are desperate and on the razor's edge of unreasoning terror.  Only the will of their master holds them back from the last frantic spasm of violence and madness.

   One after another the lights of the tower sweep towards the host as it advances fixing on it's writhing, masses.  Great gears turn and open snaps the gate, like the jaws of a fell predator.  A well ordered company, marches forth, led by a noble figure.

   Cazdagrul Thrunk is a tall and broad shouldered man with great arms, each terminating in a large and powerful hand which has in it's palm a smaller hand with long, cleaver fingers.  His white engineer's uniform is pristine from its epaulets to its gold braided cuffs.  By his side stand two brazen clockwork legionnaires, each bearing a triple headed flail and a long incendiary siphon.  Upon conferring with The Prophet at length he turns on his clawed feet and marches back to the tower.  The men of Nandria shall not desert their post while it is in his charge.  Though many give hopeless, sidelong glances at the host as they turn on their heels and march back to their frigid grave.

   Rumours passing through the host speak of a machine devised by Thrunk that plunged the tower into darkness as darkness and cold swallowed up the Expanse.  Many speculate what his purpose may have been and to what ends the machine might be turned, but The Prophet commands the host to move on.

Nandrian Soldier

Bulk 12 / Grace 9
Originality 8 / Reason 13
Awareness 10 / Character 12

Mindless Discipline
Noble Profession

Cazdagrul Thrunk

Bulk 14 / Grace 9
Originality 9 / Reason 16
Awareness 10/ Character 13
Cunning Artificer Master
Noble Profession Master
Heartless Dictator


A Voice of Confusion and Fear

   In a forlorn place, where no rubble of void eaten worlds can be spied in the darkness, a voice can be heard whispering.  It whispers of the woes of worlds long lost, sometimes in languages that have never been spoken, other times in words that even the dumb animals can understand clearly.  It whispers of hunger.  Loss and loneliness it laments.  A mumbling magician's auguries can only profess that it can only be the voice of the darkness itself as lone and hungry as any straggler which loses sight of the host might be.  Upon hearing of the voice The Prophet urges the host to turn aside from it and march in a new course, for surely the very center of the void must be near and who can tell what fate might wait in such a place.

Down the River
   Beyond the great flood gate the remaining ships encounter shores in the darkness, and other rivers.  The Prophet, discontented, orders the ships to return to the river from whence they came, to seek again the majority of the host, to resupply and rest.  Past the dread, burning tower they sail.  But the colony is not found.  After some lashes sailing, a single post in a half hearted ruin is found, with a nonsense word scrawled in the text of the Charnial scribes, "Croatan".  The Prophet weeps for the paradise lost to the darkness until the next lash steels its will to the task.  The ships sail on into the shadows.

The Rules in Plain English

   While I feel that the flowery pseudo-biblical language I've presented the rules in is necessary to the tone of "among the beautiful creatures", there is something to be said for the clarity of plain language and simple charts.

Creatures
   All the creatures in abc are defined by a set of six paired traits.  When creating a creature, you divide 21 points between each pair.  You can do this by rolling 3d6 for one of the traits if you are so inclined.

Bulk represents your creature's musculature, fitness, and general size and is paired with Grace, which represents your creature's agility, reflexes, and general coordination.

Your creature's Originality is their artistic, musical and magical ability.  It is paired with Reason, which is their ability to come to correct conclusions using the information they have available.

Lastly, Awareness defines the acuity of the creature's senses and its ability to derive information from its surroundings.  This is paired with Character, which represents their self-esteem, willpower, and general bloody mindedness.

   The creature is assumed to be roughly humanoid, but by selecting various features it can be made very different.  Any number of traits can be chosen but only one of them can be a trade.  Trades are treated exactly like the other traits because the creatures of the Expanse master the various forms they take through practice and study.  Trades are essentially skills and initially provide +3 to actions they apply to.

Bloated Belly
Broad Pinions
Colourful Aspect

Cumbersome Shell
Cunning Artificer
Drab Pelt
Dreadfully Polite
Fearsome Spines
Gaping Maw
Graceful Symmetry
Heartless Dictator
Loathsome Limbs
Luminous Flesh
Majestic Horns
Mindless Discipline
Mumbling Magician
Noble Profession
Plurality of Members
Savage Claws
Serpentine Belly
Sinister Trade
Unwholesome Miasma
Worthy Trade
Wretched Fins

Success And Failure
   The narrator sets the difficulty of any actions attempted, with 10 being average.  Success rolls are made on 3d6 and must beat the difficulty.  Rolling doubles indicates an exceptional success or  failure and triples indicate an amazing success or failure.

   The creature's trade bonus is added to the roll.  If they have an appropriate trait rating that exceeds the difficulty they get a one point bonus.  If their trait is more than double the difficulty the bonus is two points.  Traits that are three times the difficulty add three to the roll and so forth.

   Contests are resolved with a difficulty of ten.  However, the opponent's traits are compared to each other instead of the difficulty and if the opponent's rating is greater a penalty is applied instead of a bonus.  For example a creature with a  Grace of 6 wrestling another with a Grace of 15 would need to roll a 12 or more to succeed but their foe would only need a 12.

   Generally speaking the contestant with the highest related trait rating gets to go first but they can opt to go second.  Before the dice are rolled, any bonus for an appropriate trade must be divided between applying a bonus to their own roll or a penalty to their opponent's.

Combat
   Each combatant takes their action in order, from the highest Grace to the lowest.  It is possible to wait, but this reduces the combatant's point in the turn sequence to the level they waited to, unless they wait through the entire turn without acting.

Close Combat
   Hand to hand fighting is a contest of Grace and the Noble Profession trade.  A successful roll indicates a blow has been landed and damage is applied to the target.  A successful attack can be declared a grapple, which allows subsequent attacks to hit automatically.  The target then has the option of squirming out of the hold on their turn with a contest of Grace or breaking free with a contest of Bulk.

Shooting
   Ranged attacks have a basic difficulty of ten with a one point penalty after ten paces, and an additional penalty for each doubling of that range.

In both cases, exceptional successes double the damage inflicted and amazing successes triple it.  An exceptional failure indicates that the weapon has been dropped and an amazing failure indicates it is broken.

Weapons
   Weapons are treated in a very general manner.  They are divided into shooting and fighting weapons.  Armed attacks do damage equal to the attacker's Bulk.  Unarmed attacks do half that but strike at twice the creature's Grace.  Heavy weapons do twice the Bulk but are slow, striking at half of the attacker's Grace.  It should be noted that the damage is a feature of the weapon's size and that any weapon can actually be used with a penalty or bonus to Grace equal to the difference between the weapon's Damage and the character's Bulk.

Damage
   A creature is incapacitated if they take more points of damage than their Bulk.  If they take twice that they are killed.  Armour is represented by subtracting a fixed number of points from the damage done by attacks.

Morphing
   A creature can attempt to develop any trait that isn't a trade by making a roll against a difficulty of thirteen aided by their Character.  Doing so causes a damage equal to the creature's Bulk.  Obviously making the change over a prolonged period of time helps to reduce the risk of dying in the attempt.  If successful the damage is divided by the number of dice that match and if unsuccessful it is multiplied by the number of dice that matched.

Eating
   A character needs to eat Bulk equal to one tenth of their own rating each length, whether they eat someone else or themselves.  If they eat  more than half of an individual they risk possession and must win a contest of Character to avoid it.  An amazing success allows them to take on one trait of their dinner, even a trade.  A creature can increase its Bulk by one if they manage to eat extra Bulk equal to their own over any period of time.

Healing
   A creature recovers one tenth of its bulk each Length as long as it's getting enough to eat and rest equal to the time it's active.  If it can get double the required food and rest for the full Length it recovers twice as many points of damage.

Experience
   Each time a creature attempts an action where they need a 15 or more to succeed they gain one experience tally for the trade being used.  When they have tallied one more learning experience than their bonus for the trade, it is increased by one and the tally is started over.

I quite like this game mechanic.  I devised it a while ago for an sf game which I may eventually wind up doing instead of Galaxies in Shadow.

Yes, it's a deadly little game.  I hope it's clearer in plain english.

Sometimes I'm tempted to go with a systemless source book, because everyone likes different types of rules.  Personally I can't stand narrativist games.  I think it's because I dislike any sort of metagame construct.  But that's another rant entirely.

But if I set it up for my beloved Rolemaster Standard System, I think I'd really wind up limiting my audience.

here's a sketch...

http://www3.telus.net/public/uncouths/scan.jpg

A curious tale may be read in the histories of the lost empire of Danzail.  Saved by the power of an innocent which mighty one provided means of recalling him from that world from whence he came should need arise once more.  This great and secret power did give the empress confidence to undertake audacious wars of aggression.  Diverse enemies did unite in desperate alliance to contend with the aggressor and Danzail's fortunes fell.  In desperate battle, facing ignoble defeat, the innocent was summoned.  Large and grotesque was the creature that appeared , with hair upon it's face and a great, distended belly.  But dimly could he recall his prior incarnation, now lacking the innocent's grace and purity, no longer firm of purpose or certainty of mind.  Thus did an empire fall.  It is said in folk tales which have come down from thence, that whatever might befall an innocent upon The Expanse is not as horrible as the fate that awaits them in their own place.

   Of the diverse rites by which conjurers and various sorcerers of countless realms do work wonders under the dawn upon the face of The Expanse, this humble work cannot hope to expound in great detail.  Never the less, it is all done by means of appealing to those spirits, which though unseen inhabit all things.  These are appeased by the application of words and symbols with craft and focus of will and thusly is the desired thing done.  Else than the abominable rites and fixed measures of Nandria, no wonder is worked by the hands of thinking creatures of which this is not true.

   Mumbling magicians which would work wonders must then set their hands to materials of symbolic significance to that which they would do.  Of the subject, hair or treasured possessions have much power.  Totems and heraldric creatures depicted upon the subject's crest may also give the magician power.  Materials of like type or having association with it, ashes and candle flames for fire, birds and feathers for flight, cards and children for the future.  Such materials as unite the unseen eye and the mind, rare incense and larsh are beneficial in all mystical rites as is blood ever desirable to the spirits.

   It is most desirable when undertaking such dire acts that the magician should have the utmost privacy and as much time as may be had.  Great dangers await those which seek to rouse the spirits with haste or little consideration and study of the matter at hand.  Maleficent spirits abound in great numbers and ever seek the destruction of such as might dare disturb their peace for idle ends.  One must ever be mindful their own inner state for the spirits may act upon intents and desires implied within ill considered words.

   The working of a wonder by ritual means requires a roll greater than thirteen on three dice.  The mumbling magician's mettle in his trade and Originality apply to the chance of succeeding.  Those spells affecting creatures must overcome their Character in a contest in order to succeed.  Appropriate materials increase the chance by as much as three points as the Narrator sees fit.  Likewise, the chance or succeeding or failing is modified by as much as three points to reflect the amount of time and solitude available to the magician.

   Should the magician's failure be Amazing then they are possessed by malign spirits and lost until circumstances and the efforts of others allow them to fully regain their faculties.  Failures which are merely Exceptional provide the spirits a weaker hold upon the body, thus only possessing it for a Length.  Exceptionally successful wonders are doubly efficacious even as Amazingly successful ones are threefold so.