“The Girl From Brussels”

This article contains content for Schattenkrieg, Nevermet Press’ alternate World War II pulp setting. Our content is community driven so we want feedback from you. Please leave a comment here, write about it on your own blog, or contact the Lead Designer, Michael Brewer, if you would like to contribute directly.

Written by Daniel Mullen

Edited by Cassey Toi

“You want to see who?” asked the dirty barkeep behind the counter, his back turned to the equally grubby woman.

Audrey spoke louder, but her voice remained barely audible, somewhere between a whisper and complete silence.  “I said, I’m looking for the Shade.”

“Never heard of him.”

The bartender heard a sigh, a thud, and a click, the unmistakable click the hammer of a handgun makes as it’s being brought back into place. He turned to discover an alien-converted, semi-automatic pistol resting on the sticky wooden counter, pointed directly at his chest.

“Believe me, this gun is the least of your worries if you refuse to help me.”

“Ok, ok, so maybe I’ve heard of him,” he chuckled.  “Calm down.  No need to get crazy.  Why don’t you put that down before you hurt yourself?”  The bartender relaxed as the stranger slouched towards him and returned the hammer to its original resting place, but kept the pistol on the table and pointed at him.  She looked around at the other patrons of the dingy hole in the wall.  None of them paid her any attention.  This sort of thing must happen frequently, she thought.  Perhaps she had come to the right place.

“Where is he?”

“Why would you want to get a hold of that guy?  The normal psychos lurking around here not frightening enough for you?” he asked.

“I thought this was Erie City, where no one asks, especially if there’s the potential of profit.”

She was right.  If you could guarantee a cut of the profits with a minimal amount of risk, 95% of the citizens in Erie City would help someone smuggle, recover or eliminate just about anything…or anyone.  “So, you’re telling me I’m getting a cut if I tell you where he’s at?”

“Maybe…” she answered, “If the info proves to be worth half a shit.”

“Found your voice, huh?”  The bartender winked at her.  “I know just about everything in this town.  Information gets passed around faster than a $10 whore at a bachelor party…er…sorry about that,” the bartender’s small sense of propriety squeaked out in a half-hearted apology for his vulgarity.

“Swear all you want.  I don’t care.  I’m a big girl.”

“Alright,” he continued.  “There are a few groups who have had contracts with Von Ostheim’s merc squad, MAUL, so let’s start with them.”

“Who’s Von Ostheim and what’s MAUL?” she asked.

“You’re kidding me.  Anyone who knows the Shade knows he works for Ostheim.  MAUL is the brainchild of Ostheim and another scientist named McHenry, but no one’s seen him in forever.  I can’t believe you haven’t heard of them.  Mutation and Alien Utilization Labs?  Nothing?”

Getting impatient, Audrey tapped the gun on the counter and said, “All I know is that I have a drop to make.  A very close friend of mine died because of this piece of junk in my bag and I intend to see this delivery through.  The deal was set to go down here in Erie City this Friday, but our gang got busted.”

“Alright.  Well, let me catch you up to speed.  Before you find this guy, you should see what you’re getting yourself into.  The best way to understand the Shade is to use a Viewer.  I just so happen to have one, so for 10%, I’ll give you a peek.”  The bartender let a crooked smile spread across his face despite the deadly weapon pointed at his chest.

“Five and we have a deal,” countered the scrappy teen.

“Good choice.  Stay put,” he said.  “I’ll go get it.”

Within five minutes, the bartender returned with a metallic object no bigger than a basketball.  It glowed from within with a soft green light and was lighter than it appeared.

“Damned aliens. Only thing they’re good for is their tech.”

“I’ll take it to the corner table.”

“Fine.  Just put your face into the opening there,” the owner of the small pub said.  “You’ll see the entire scene, it’ll only take a few seconds.  By the way, what is it you’re trying to sell to him?”

“None of your damned business.”

Audrey took the device to a booth with one naked bulb several feet above the table in the corner of the small establishment and put her face into the machine.  When she opened her eyes, she aware of being in another body, yet being unable to control it, as if she were watching life through the eyes of someone else; this someone else was a burly soldier with a slight German accent.  She could feel the adrenaline pumping through his veins.  The only other person near the soldier was a man cloaked in dark robes.  Robes so dark he appeared to be the shadow of a shadow.

“I don’t trust you,” said the soldier.  Audrey was a girl raised in street gangs, so she caught on quickly.  In Brussels, you either adapt or die.  She figuratively sat back and let the soldier do all the moving and talking while she observed.

“Well, you’ll have to eventually, Frank,” came a voice from beneath the hood of the man in black.  “If this cockamamie team is ever going to work, you’ll have to.”

“No I won’t, and stop calling me Frank.  I hate when you call me Frank.”

“No problem…partner,” assured the other man.  “Frank” heard a wink and a smile tucked into that last word…partner…and it unsettled him.

Static popped in over their radios and a rough voice crackled through.  “Hey, boys.  Quit arguing.  Let’s get this thing done.”  It was the brains behind the whole operation, Dr. McHenry.  Colonel McHenry to be exact, but he was more scientist than warrior.  “Listen, it’s taken six months to get the artillery and air support to fall on this facility.  The Nazis will be quick to transport their experiments to another complex, so tonight’s our only opportunity.  Eliminate any guards you find and retrieve the experiment in Room 17.”

“Roger,” said the soldier.  “Jenkins out.”

Turning to the Shade, Major Jenkins ran through the plan once more.  “At sundown, shift changes, and we head down this hill by way of that drainage ditch, make our way past the fence one way or another, then into the complex until we find room 17.”

“Sounds about right,” said the mysterious man.

As the sun set, the teammates set out down the hill, crouching to eliminate as much of a silhouette as possible.  It wouldn’t do any good to get shot before even reaching their target.

“Two goose-steppers headed this way,” said Jenkins to his partner.  “I’ll take the one on the left; you can have the short one.”

Laughing, the Shade shot back, “It’s the little ones that pack the biggest punch, Frank.”

Shaking his head, Jenkins waited behind a moss-covered boulder until the two guards were upon them.  “Now!”

The two MAUL mercenaries leapt from behind their cover and knocked the two Nazi soldiers to the ground.  Jenkins began pounding the German’s face with his fists and elbows, bloodying them quite thoroughly.  He glanced over at the Shade who had his prey on the ground, his hood hovering a few inches over the poor soldier’s face.

“Jesus, it freaks me out every time you do that,” said the Major.

“Be thankful no one cares enough about you to hire my services against you,” chuckled the dark man.  The soldier on the ground began whimpering, then convulsing and throwing up.  His cries of fear and anguish spluttered through the vomit spilling from his mouth.  The Shade stood up and let his latest victim wallow in despair by himself.  The effects of the Shade’s hypnosis were only temporary; though he did enough damage in that short amount of time to mess up someone’s mind for years.

The two slipped past the barbed wire and made their way to the research complex, using the rocky landscape to their tactical advantage.  “What did you do to him?” asked Jenkins.

“He was afraid of heights.  It was written all over his face, so I showed him the world from the viewpoint of a bird.  He freaked out so much I thought he was going to shit himself.”

“Why didn’t you just make him forget who he was?  Why torture him like that?”

“You do your job your way and I’ll do mine my way,” retorted the Shade.

“That’s exactly why I don’t trust you.  There’s no accountability.  How do I know you’ve never erased my memory?”

“That’s where the trust comes in…comrade.”  If Jenkins could have seen the Shade’s face, he would have seen secrecy shrouded in doubt.  No one who’s seen the Shade’s face has survived, however.  It’s said to instill the gazer with such fear that the person’s heart simply stops out of fright.

Jenkins and his partner snuck around a corner and saw four German soldiers guarding a bombed-out section of the lab.  This was the Major’s specialty.  He withdrew his sniper rifle and took up position behind a large chunk of concrete.  With four quick shots, Jenkins had eliminated all four guards, but had broken the veil of silence they had until then enjoyed.  The two looked at each other and nodded, then turned toward the research facility.

They clambered into the building and hurried down the long, dark corridor.  As Jenkins observed the room numbers getting higher and higher, he also heard the stampeding of several German soldiers.  “Room 15…room 16…here it is.  Room 17.”

Jenkins kicked the door in and rushed headlong into a large, open room with a giant monstrosity chained to the wall.  In fact, he was chained to two different walls.  The beast had several extra appendages and metal grafted onto his body.  “Say hi to your grandpa, Frank,” commented the Shade.

“Eat me,” said the Major.  Just then, six Nazi soldiers burst into the room and the genetically mutated, alien-influenced man-creature roared in rage.  “I think we may have a friend here.”

The Shade pulled from his cloak a rifle, modified with Tesla coils and alien ammunition.  He aimed the weapon at the chains holding back the brute and fired.  The chains disintegrated wherever the charge from the weapon hit.  The two mercenaries dove behind desks as the creature ripped the remaining restraints from the wall.

“Mein Gott,” whispered one German soldier before the creature’s bio-mechanical arm spat a slimy substance at him.  He screamed in agony as the acid-like gel ate away at the soldier’s flesh, large chunks slipping off his bones and splattering onto the floor.

“Holy shit, did you see that?” asked Jenkins.  During his moment of awe, the Major lost situational awareness and remained standing, taking several rounds in his left shoulder from a German k98 rifle.  Jenkins whirled toward his assailant and pumped a dozen rounds into the confused Nazi.  Jenkins had been shot, but the wounds weren’t bleeding.  Within a matter of minutes, the creature had torn apart every German soldier in the room.  The Shade snuck up behind the man-like monster and timed his jump perfectly, landing on his back.  He jerked the thing’s head back and positioned his hood directly over it.  The beast went limp.  After a few seconds, the Shade slid off his new pet and walked casually to Major Jenkins.

“I’m going to call him Spot,” remarked the hypno-master.

“What did you do to that thing?” asked the amazed soldier.

“I convinced him he was our pet, and that he should destroy any more German soldiers we find on our way out.”

“That’s really creepy,” his partner said.

“How’s your shoulder?” asked the cloaked man.  “How long in the tank will that take to heal?”

Briefly contemplating his answer, Jenkins responded, “It’s fine.  Should be about 6 hours in the tank tonight.  He got me pretty good.  Guess it’s a good thing I didn’t make any plans.”

“Come on, let’s get out of here.”

The threesome bounded their way out of the lab and toward the safety of the forest, where they would rendezvous with transport out of Germany.  A civilian scavenger tucked a bundle under his arm and scampered away.  The locals were held under such tight control that none of them dared touch anything military in nature for fear of being held for treason.  Those who did take their chances selling some stolen weapon or piece of equipment had good reasons that defied the threat of death.  That, or they were discovered and never heard from again.  Some believed the looters were killed.  Others believed the Nazis did much more gruesome things with those caught stealing.  The three ignored him and continued toward their rally point.

Audrey Philips removed her face from the Viewer and blinked her eyes a few times to adjust to her surroundings.  The bartender and everyone else in the bar were in almost the exact positions they had been when she had placed her forehead against the thin leather strap of the device only a few seconds earlier.

The bartender waved and walked toward the young girl.  Sitting down, he explained, that was MAUL, well, the beginning of it anyway.

“Why didn’t time pass the same?” asked Audrey.  “And the soldier, Jenkins?  What’s his story?  What tank were they talking about?”

“I’m not sure,” he explained.  “The alien tech really messes with your senses.  I guess it messes with your sense of time, too.  Some people think Jenkins, The Major, died long ago, but the government brought him back.  Others think that he never had blood to begin with.  Whatever the case, I wouldn’t want to mess with him.  I hear he has a special tank that regenerates his organs and all that.  That pretty much sums up my knowledge of The Major.  So, about that 10%.”

“5%, jerk-off.”  She squinted her eyes at him.

“Ok, sorry, 5%.”

“What’s your name anyway?” asked the curious teen.

“No questions asked, remember?”

“Fair enough.”

The bartender extended his hand to shake the girl’s, but she only looked at it, then her own hand.  “Better not,” she said without elaborating.

“Ok.  You’d better come back here after you finish the deal.  A girl like you wouldn’t be hard to find, especially since I know all the right people.”

Audrey looked at the man as she slid from behind the table and walked toward the door.  Audrey would indeed seek out the bartender after her transaction was concluded, though you don’t really have to pay a dead man, do you?

Ghosting, an ability for all settings

Hello!

I’m Cassey Toi, and perhaps not one of the usual creative people you’ll find here at Nevermet Press, so I’m really pleased that I managed to have an idea that has the potential to work across all the NMP settings being developed. I’m talking about Ghosting, a new ability tied perhaps, to a particular race, but without too many details could be applied to any race as the game master or game designer deems appropriate.

Ghosting is an ability that allows the user to travel anywhere using another’s thoughts. As I mentioned previously I envision it would be tied to a specific race in a given setting; as opposed to being available to all races. The race with the ability is roughly split into thirds, those who have the ability to travel using others thoughts, those who can only act as thought providers (e.g. ”conductors”)  being traveled through, and those with no ghosting ability at all.

The way the ghosting ability works is simple. Those who have the power can jump, or ghost travel, to wherever a conductor is whenever the want. The ghosting person needs to simply think of the place or the person. A natural extension of this ability would be that people can be paired up, one with the ability – the Ghost -  and the Conductor. Character’s paired in this way would make great spy, covert operations, or assassin teams in any setting.

To allow for a bit more game balance, ghosting would need to be somewhat unstable. Perhaps it manifests during adolescence, and those with the ability need to study how to master it for years to get it to work without error. There could be drugs or physical devices that can be used to help with the training, extend its capabilities, make it easier to connect with a Conductors, or perhaps even to repress the ability or hide it from detection. Clearly the stronger the bond between a Ghost and a Conductor, the more powerful the ability manifests. Perhaps it could reach a point where both can travel using the ability on the Thought Lines of others.

Another option we discussed has thoughts being the very fuel needed to do ghost travel. I must admit to being influenced by the Study series by Maria V Synder, hence why I think that those with the ability are connected to an almost ozone like cover where from power can be drawn.

Please share your thoughts so we can get the discussion rolling.

Written by Cassey Toi

Edited by Jonathan Jacobs

Trolls in Loaerth & Feywyrd

As promised in yesterday’s overview of the races in Loaerth & Feywyrd, today we will take a closer look at trolls.

Trolls in Loaerth & Feywyrd are intelligent, playable humanoids and quite different from the creatures of the same name in the Savage Worlds Explorer Edition core book. Through out this article you will see how the troll concept evolved. The artists Rob Torno & Matt Lichtenwalner and I passed around concepts for a few weeks before settling in on the final concept (at the bottom).

Introduction

The trolls of Loaerth largely moved out of the city a century or so ago after a great fire burned the infamous Troll Ghetto to the ground. They have since created a few scattered settlements along tribal lines. Most of these villages are hidden away in valleys rarely traveled by city folk and far from the noisy railways. Along the frontier, it is not uncommon for them to be seen traveling in small groups, or as mercenaries in the employ of wealthy frontiersmen.

Physical Appearance

Trolls stand head and shoulders above humans and elves, and often are twice the height of dwarves. They resemble orangutans of the Known World, but stand upright on strong three toed feet. Trolls are capable of running on all fours when there is a need for such speed.

Their bodies are covered in a soft, short haired coat of fur that ranges in color from white, browns, to deep black. Their fur grows long along the forearms, along the crown of their heads and down their backs and lower torsos.  Although their fur keeps them warm at temperatures considered chilly by human standards, trolls nevertheless enjoy wearing brightly colored tunics, togas, or other clothing in styles that do not limit movement.

Male and female trolls are of similar height, although the males tend to be heavier and often grow braided beards as a sign of cultural respect or to show off some specific achievement. Troll females are known for their exotic and artistic furbrands, a type of tattoo that is burned into their coat.

Culture

Generally trolls are a quiet, thoughtful folk who are slow to anger. An angry troll is likely the last troll you’ll see before being clobbered; their great size can never be overlooked. Trolls frequently seek employment from merchants looking for protection while traveling, or from adventuresome explorers venturing our to the frontier in the hopes of finding lost riches or new veins of Dwarven Coal. They are also as smart as they are strong, and many trolls can be seen as gatekeepers, riddle masters, or even advisers to the human nobles of Loaerth.

Trolls are known for two exceptional art forms: howlsongs and troll quilts. Their cultural traditions play well into each. Howlsongs are a type of arcane ritual that can have powerful effects if the troll signing them is skilled enough. Troll quilts are the closest thing trolls have to written histories – each quilt describes something specific, and each patch reflects an individual troll’s view of it. Since the fey have returned, some troll quilts are rumored to have regained long lost magical qualities that had been lost for centuries.

Trolls, unlike dwarves, have a unique language that has never gone out of use: Trollspeak, or “Gua’Na”, is their native tongue. Most of them also speak Common.

Unlike the other races of Man, the trolls tend to keep an oral, as opposed to written, history. Their deep oratory traditions have made them masters of riddles and rhymes. It also has caused the troll people to be fractured for centuries into a dozen or more tribes who frequently have disputes about their history and culture, as well as land and property rights.

Player Character Traits

Size +1: Trolls are a full head and shoulders about humans in height.

Troll Might: Despite their lanky appearance, trolls have the strength of orangutans and other primates. Trolls start with a d6 in Strength attribute instead of a d4.

Fleet-footed: Troll lower bodies are built for speed. They all start the game with the Fleet-footed edge.

Oral Tradition: All trolls practice a tradition of oral histories, rhymes, riddles, and (best of all) gossiping. They therefore receive a +2 bonus to all Common Knowledge skill checks regarding anything in the Known World. *

Illiterate: Trolls do not have a written language, nor do teach their young how to write in Common or any other language for that matter. All troll PCs start with the Illiterate hindrance. Those who raise their Smarts attribute to at least a d6 will loose this hindrance once they become Seasoned as they will have learned to read by that time. PC trolls who raise their starting Smarts attribute to d8 do not start with the Illiterate hindrance.

All Thumbs: Trolls are not particularly handy when it comes to using or repairing Dwarven Coal powered or other mechanical devices, thus they start with the All Thumbs hindrance.

Ancestors of the Ghetto: Most trolls are descendants of the those who previously lived in the Loaerth Troll Ghetto. Others come from impoverished wilderness tribes. In either case, all troll PCs start with the Poverty hindrance.

Blood-oaths: Trolls all have a long memory of the wrongs done to them and frequently incorporate them into their own personal oral stories for others to hear. If the wrong is done to them, or to a family member, friend or person they respect, they will swear a blood-oath and thereafter stop at nothing to right that wrong. All trolls start with the Vengeful (Major) hindrance as a result.

Racial Hindrances

These optional Hindrances are only available to troll characters.

Grumpy Old Troll (Major)

Trolls with this hindrance are constantly muttering and complaining about their current situation and how horrible it is (even if there is nothing wrong). They suffer a -2 penalty to their Charisma and suffer a -2 penalty on all Stealth rolls that require silence. In addition, an added -2 penalty to Charisma and Stealth applies for each Fatigue or Wound the troll suffers up to a maximum of -8.

Racial Edges

These optional Edges are only available to troll characters.

Befuddling Tongue
Requirements: Novice, Troll, Spirit d8
Masters of rhyme and riddle, some trolls have a natural way with words that can befuddle and confuse anyone listening. Trolls with this Edge add +2 to their Charisma when attempting a Persuasion roll. If successful, the persuaded character also suffers a -2 penalty on Notice checks for 3d6 minutes while they try to figure out exactly what it was the troll said.

Magnificent Charge
Requirements: Novice, Troll, Agility d8
Some trolls have mastered how to use their body to execute a powerful charge in combat. Since the charge requires them to run on all fours they can not be carrying anything in either hand during the attack. If they move at least 6″ in a straight line during the charge, they add +2 to their damage roll with a successful Fighting attack.

Improved Magnificent Charge
Requirements: Veteran, Magnificent Charge, Troll, Agility d8, Strength d8
This edge increases the Magnificent Charge damage bonus to +4.

Additional Content for Savage Worlds Coming Soon

This is just a sampling of what trolls have to offer. In the upcoming Loaerth & Feywyrd Campaign Setting for Savage Worlds, you will also find more details about

• Arcane Background (Howlsong),
• Troll Quilts
• a full list of different Troll Furbrands
• a half-dozen more troll racial edges and hindrances
• troll pre-gen characters
• troll NPCs

Let us know what you think! Until the Loaerth & Campaign Setting for Savage Worlds goes into final drafting, everything is considered BETA. How does this race stack up? Do want to see more? Of the eight player races we’ve already previewed, which one would you like to see more details about? Leave a comment and let us know how we are doing!

Written by Jonathan Jacobs, Edited by Cassey Toi, Artwork by Matthew Lichtenwalner and Rob Torno.

* Thanks to razorwise for the excellent suggested change to Oral Traditions.

The Races of Loaerth & Feywyrd

Welcome back!

Over the next couple of weeks we will be detailing each of the player races that will be available in the Loaerth & Feywyrd Campaign Setting for Savage Worlds. Last month, I posted some musings about how the races might play out in L&F, and got some great suggestions from the community as a result. Today, I’ll reveal some details about each of them, allowing your imaginations to run wild. Tomorrow, I’ll be releasing the full details about the infamous Loaerth & Feywyrd Troll – it will be something to feast your eyes on!

And remember, as always with all things at Nevermet Press: your comments are welcome and expected! We take them to heart and want our games to be shaped by the community we are building here. If you are taking the time to visit, then the least we can do is return the favor by working on delivering games you enjoy. Don’t be shy, let us know what you’re thinking.

OK, now on with the line up!

What you see below is the evolution of the L&F racial line up. And yes – the figures are all male; a female lineup will be featured in the upcoming Loaerth & Feywyrd Campaign Setting. The illustrations are by Matt Lichtenwalner, one of Nevermet Press’ oldest supporters and an excellent illustrator who resides at Dragon Bones.

I just love how each of the races evolved as Matt stepped through multiple iterations of the line up. The last one above is not the final version. The final inked version of both male and female members of the races will appear in the Loaerth & Feywyrd Campaign Setting. What was really cool was how, at each stage, he would check in with the Nevermet Press developers (there are about 15 of us or so currently), get feedback, and then head back to the drafting table. As you look at these images, you can see what changes!

What you’ll likely notice right away is feytrolls and giants. The feytrolls are itsy bitsy, while the giants are, well, gianormous. This is something that has always bothered me about stock fantasy races – why are they always “medium sized”? Why not play a faery? Or a giant? In Loaerth & Feywyrd you will be able to play whichever one you like. Groups of PCs could very well be composed of giants or feytrolls, or both! It’s the story that matters, not the size of your character’s britches.

Now that you have seen the races, or at least concepts of them, allow me to tell you a bit more about them.

Dwarf

All that glitters is not gold. After the Helfay, most of the dwarves left the underground mines the elves forced them to work in favor of living under the sun and stars along with their fellow men in Loaerth. Since that time, through their ingenuity and inventiveness, all the races of man have seen the benefits. The dwarves later returned to these ancient mines and built massive foundries to refine the dwarven coal (DC) found within them. It is the secrets of the dwarven coal that has made the dwarven race as a whole rich in material wealth, but poor for spirit. The DC produced within these mines is sold throughout Loaerth to power all the latest technological wonders, and they keep the process of its production a secret from even their closest allies. With the recent return of the Fey,the dwarves of Loaerth have become the least trusting of their ancient masters. Many of them believe the elves have returned to once again strip the earth of its treasures. Those who do have banded together to protect their foundries at all costs and have not seen the light of day in years.

Elf

Banished to the Feywyrd after the Helfey, they want to return to their ancestral homes and seek revenge on those who caused the Helfey in the first place. Many Loaerthians fear the return of the elves, worried that they have the strength to dominate the Known World once again. Others, however, welcome them as masters of the magical arts and look to them as teachers of the Old Ways. The elves are not, however, a monoculture. While some elven factions are indeed plotting to take down the Loaerth crown, others are working to establish a peaceful enclave and university in Loaerth. Outside of Loaerth, a few brave elves have already ventured beyond the shores and are seeking to make a life for themselves along The Frontier.

Feytroll

These diminutive humanoids were one of the few fey creatures that remained in Loaerth after the Helfey. At no more than two feet in height, they resemble plump faeries with the eyes and wings of a common housefly. Felix Sundown, a feytroll, is currently doing a series of interviews about Loaerth & Feywyrd with Nevermet Press and check them out and learn more about his curious race.

Giant

True giants are massive humanoids standing well over twice the height of a man. In Feywyrd, they are called Skado or Skadan by the Fey. They are a minority race in Feywyrd that, due to their size and power, are seldom the target of war, violence, or mischief. They are also one of the Ancient Races who lives continue until they are taken by another: they are immortals. This special status has made them great diplomats, historians, and arbiters. Being native to Feywyrd, only a few have been seen on The Island, and none have yet to make the journey all the way to Loaerth itself.

Hodolu Animal

In the Feywyrd, there are tiny faeries that are often the cause of playful, sometimes even deadly, mischief. They are known as The Hodolu. They have no corporeal form beyond a point of light and warmth, Their voices are not much more than a flutter or a buzz only a few can understand. Many hodolu tried to come to the Known World, but to their horror, they soon discovered they were unable to live for more than a few hours beyond the shores of The Island unless they bonded with an animal from the Known World first. This bonding is permanent, and fuses the two minds of the creatures into one. After the bonding, the new “hodolu animal” frequently assumes a humanoid shape and gains the powers of speech, and fey like intelligence. Fully intelligent and sentient, hodolu animals could just as easily be a talking circus bear, a scorpion mastermind, or anything you could imagine.

Human

The humans remained in Loaerth after the Helfay, but in the power vacuum that followed, war and famine quickly overcame their societies and reduced it to ruin. Decades later, after the dwarves returned to the surface, the humans learned the secrets of dwarven coalcraft and were able to begin rebuilding their homeland. Centuries later, the world is still far less populated than during the time of the elven dominion – but it is an expanse that is open to conquering for anyone willing to do so. Humans have since built a society of inventors, pioneers, entrepreneurs, and explorers. They are an industrious people who have done many things to strengthen Loaerth’s power in the world.

Myrmidon

Myrmidons are a race of humanoid aquarians that, since the dawn of time, have preyed upon the elves of the Feywyrd. Mysterious and rarely seen on land, they are feared in all but the most cosmopolitan citys of the Feywyrd. They are visiting Loaerth for the first time and their appearance there signals that more will be coming.

Troll

Rugged, and built like apes, trolls stand head and shoulders above humans. They are covered by a course fur coat that gives way to longer hair along their forearms and legs. Male trolls often feature beards braided with colorful beads and strands of  yarn; female trolls are known for their colorful furbrands, a type of tattoo that is burned into their coat. Compared to the other Races of Man, the humans and dwarves, trolls are a somewhat primitive race that has not embraced the modern culture of coalcraft. Instead, they have kept their ancient oral traditions alive by becoming notorious orators, translators, diplomats, scholars, and riddle masters. Not all of them are happy about the return of the Fey to Loaerth, since during the time of the elves many of them were hunted for their fur pelts and seen as little more than apes. Nonetheless, most of the troll tribes welcome the opportunity to mend old wounds and to restore the ritual magic traditions of their ancestors.

Summary

So, that’s about it. As you can see, in Loaerth & Feywyrd there will be many opportunities to play rich, deeply developed races from a wide range of backgrounds.  Until we publish the Loaerth & Feywyrd campaign setting – each of these races should be considered “BETA”, or a work in progress. Let us know what you think and leave a comment!

UP NEXT? TROLLS IN FULL COLOR – coming tomorrow.

Written by Jonathan Jacobs, Edited by Cassey Toi, Artwork by Matt Lichtenwalner.

City of Spires

Edited by Cassey Toi

The begining
Treasures once filled even the beggar’s satchels, the towers of the least nobles reaching heights of a hundred feet or more, a red light district like none the world had ever seen, dens of vice filled with all sorts of vile and decadent pleasures, temples to gods long forgotten gilded in diamond plucked from trees of platinum, all this and more could be found in the City of Spires in central Shayakand. When the empire fell, and the endless hordes of raiders, pirates and poverty stricken from without the city came to the splendors, the saw for themselves an opportunity. Riches beyond imagining lay before them, and history thousands of years in the making lay at their fingertips. The rarest artifacts fell first. The royal seals, the genie king bottles, the diamond seeds of the platinum trees. In a matter of months the City of Spires was stripped bare, from its most secure vaults to its last drops of crystal clear water, everything disappeared, some ending up on the other side of the planet or on other planes entirely. For two hundred years, the Spires have stood, slowly crumbling beneath the weight of age.

However, one thing remains in the city, and draws power to it still. Unknown to even the most thorough of the looters, and even the last emperor himself, was that the gods always watched over the City of Spires. The instant it fell, an avatar of five gods manifested in the catacombs beneath the royal palace. They waited out the ransacking of the city and then walked its ruined streets, lay in its torn beds and searched the vaults for something to remember the glory by. Four gods found something that only they could connect to, took it into themselves, and departed back to the heavens. The fifth, who was not a full god  merely a demideity, had no ability to create avatars, and so was there in all his power. When he found something to take with him, something from deep within the earth, the very essence of the city and the planet, struck out at him. It was as though the corruption wrought in those months finally found an outlet in this young god. Wracked with divine, horrid agony, this unfortunate entity fell into a state of eternal torpor, a gaping hole in his chest that oozed strange, indescribable liquid.

For two hundred years this god, caught between life and death, called the mad, cruel and sick to the City of Spires. Only the most depraved and twisted can hear the call, and so some of the first to come were rakshasas, aboleths and powerful demons, devils and aberrations without name. With the god’s body entombed behind walls of enchanted, indestructible adamantine doors, the new denizens of the City of Spires have found their own ways to harness the powers of the corruption of the land, city and god. Their efforts drew many, lesser evils to the ruins, and now a ecosystem exists, hidden from the outside world by the machinations of those in control. Until one of the denizens finds a way to the god, none plan to make a move. Of course,  it’s just a matter of when.

Chattel District

The largest and dirtiest district of the City, made up of what was once the market, residential and beggar districts, the area is home to the various lesser aberrations, demons and devils that swear fealty, are slave to, or are bound to, the powerful leaders of the four factions. From chokers and assassin vines, bearded devils and dretches, lemures and quasits, imps and doppelgangers, the inhabitants live in squalor, the streets and buildings covered in two inch thick slime from the years of waste and torture and murder. The actual living quarters of the city vary in look and furnishing, catering to the various temperaments and desires of those residing in them.

For the devils, almost all of the various houses, shacks and lean-tos have their walls covered in paper, shackles and various implements of torture.  Of the aboleths, their servitors in the pit of the Chattel District do not walk its streets or crawl beneath them. Instead, their servants are, in fact, their larvae, maturing slowly on the waste, blood and entrails of outsiders, other aberrations and the lingering despair of the lost people of the city.

The demons, on the other hand, have no real reason to make anything of their homes, and so fill them with whatever they wish.  Among the demons and unknown to them is the shadow demon called Xirix. A being of extreme conflictions; his body is made of pure darkness but, contains a single mote of the first star to light the sky above Shayakand, Xirix serves the will of both the Abyss and Heaven at the same time. Thoroughly insane, Xirix currently works to subtly and constantly shift the balance of power from one faction to another, keeping the entire city in a state of constant chaos, but safeguarding the god’s corpse from desecration and exploitation. The only beings who know of its existence are the aboleth masters, but even with their supreme intellect, they can neither predict nor impede Xirix’s movements, and this fact infuriates them to no end.

Lastly, the rakshasa pashas, who reside in the spires of the royal palace where the Emperor lived his last days, hear reports from the various aberrations that infest the sewer system and the dark streets not even the demons or devils enter. These hordes chafe at their pride, however, and so the pashas count the whispers of the wickedest members of the former city populace as their allies. Not ghosts in any sense of the word, the whispers are more impressions, emotional runoff and secret wishes left behind not by death, but by the empire’s fall itself. Tapping into these reservoirs of strange energy through a means provided by their allies in the unknown planes, the rakshasa understand the city and its energy better than any save perhaps the whispers themselves. Because of this, they are the closest to finding the god’s corpse, yet progress has slowed. Something stands in their way, a thing of light and shadow, the very same being that stymies the aboleth and pits the demons and devils against not only each other but the rest of the city. Xirix does its work well.

Center of Conflict

Perhaps the most dangerous place in all of Shayakand, it is in this once glorious courtyard of the Grand Palace, that the open battles for territory, power, status, magic and souls take place. Demon blood, devil’s bile, the nameless fluids of the aberration all co-mingle here and are funneled, via the city’s complex sewer system as modified by the aboleth, into the Chattel District. For twenty years, the fighting has continued at all hours. The entire area is deemed the only place where fighting can occur by all of the major factions. In a rare show of co-operation, the nalfeshnee and ice devil lords agreed to forbid conflict anywhere else in the city. The rakshasas were not at all fond of the idea, but with fewer numbers and plots both groups could easily undo with force, they acquiesced and quietly await the day they find the corpse.

For the aboleth’s part, the whole mess is merely a tool for the advancement of their children’s growth. They have noticed, however, that the force hampering their progress does not deign to enter the Center, or the area within a thousand feet of it. Therefore, they are slowly shifting the centers of their plans to that area. To that end, several double agents among the ranks of the demons and devils that oversee the ongoing battle work for the aboleth and their own faction. On the demon side, several crystals of Abyssal ice are placed at key points in the courtyard, collecting energy the demons do not understand and the aboleth wish to keep secret. The devils draft contracts in concentrated aboleth blood and circulate them throughout the ranks of devils that both live in the area and have stakes in the fighting.

The rakshasas look down from their spires in the palace in disgust at the constant bloodshed while sipping cups of finely distilled Sanguine Ecstacy. They have knowledge of the double agents and know the general location of roughly one third of the strange crystals. They have copies of several dozen aboleth blooded contracts which they’ve tried, unsuccessfully so far, to decode and exploit. They too have noticed Xirix’s, for they know its name, lack of motion in this place. While they find it curious, their plans take place on a much subtler, more subterranean scale. The catacombs beneath the city swarm with the whispers, and as the rakshasas learn more of the deep vaults, the closer they come to their, goal.

Xirix is, of course, not inactive in the Center. Far from it. This is perhaps its favorite place to “play” as it calls it. It was Xirix who provided the rakshasa with their intel, not the whispers, though it would thank that strange phenomenon if it could or felt a need to. Traversing the line between law and chaos and blending in “more than perfectly,” as the aboleth would call it if they knew, Xirix gathers little trinkets from each of the factions and scatters them around the entirety of the Old Empire, from one side of the peninsula to the other. More importantly, Xirix has, hidden and locked away the collected knowledge, or the majority of it, of every faction combined. If any of the warring parties found Xirix and somehow extracted that information, that group would find the god within months, rather than decades. Flitting between loyalties, moralities and motivations by the day, sometimes the hour, Xirix remains, and shall remain, at large for a long while yet.

Hell’s Bastion

Dominated by a river of molten steel tempered with the blood of the damned, what was once administrative district now resesmbles nothing of the kind. The gates of the noble’s quarter, masked by impossible illusion, show Asmodeus himself spewing forth the river of crimson slag. All around this horrid testament to the power and will of Hell dance the mindless hordes of lemures that feed on the infernal metal, growing slowly into whatever their Lord wishes of them.

Where the river ends, a spire of supercooled lead rises, transformed from mithril while retaining the toughness. At the peak of the spire the eyes of the gelugon master of Hell’s hordes gaze out over the city, directing the movements of its lieutenants through telepathy and carefully worded trigger phrases. A cleric of Hell itself rather than any of the archdukes, the ice devil wants for nothing in its chilly demense, but can feel the power of the god-corpse surging through the ground and into the metal. A crystal culled from the Mines of Mammon acts as an indirect connection to the divine energies emanated from the corpse, but can divulge neither the keys to its prison nor the exact location of the vault.

Infesting the tower and spilling onto the fields of tempered steel that were once homes of the wealthy merchants not quite rich enough to live in the noble’s quarter. Barabzus and erinyes patrol the ground and the sky. Hell’s archers collect the wrath that still hangs in the air around the failed nobles’ former homes. Hamatulas prowl the rifts in the earth carved by the reshaping of the spire, searching for and secreting away the hidden clues to and of the god-corpse.

However, perhaps the most important task the devils undertake as they take part in their dual role of power acquisition and divine energy collection is the simplest. They want to continue the expansion of a virtually undetectable sphere of infernal energy, to cover the entire city, and, should all go well, the whole of Shayakand. Unfortunately, every other faction besides the demons know about the sphere. The rakshasa, through the whispers, knew of it first. The aboleth know the most, but either do not understand the intention or care enough to do anything. If the demons know, it is only their nalfeshnee leader who has any idea what it may or may not portend. Regardless, they seem little concerned, and the eternal bloodbath that occurs in their part of the city continues unabated. Xirix haunts them in the shadows of the lead tower and the darkest corners of the ice devil’s living quarters, smiling inwardly as the infernal pawn struggles against a chain it can never break.

Chaos Uncontrolled

At the center of the sluice, which feeds and dilutes into the Chattel District, is a simple mound, several dozen feet high, made of bones, disappointing demon servants and whatever else she feels like: the throne of Izirales, nalfeshnee vassal to the Lord of the Unknown. She makes few decrees to her servants, talking instead to groups divided by general ability and power. To them is a single task, to be carried out in whatever way they feel fit. Izir, as she calls herself, is in perfect tune with the pure chaos of the demon and knows that despite what her underlings do, ultimately, serve her purposes. Her agreement with the ice devil (whose name she wishes he would say, only so that she could defame it), is a direct order from the Lord and it chafes at her pride with every second that passes. The strict limitations the devil set down were approved before she read them, and her only solace is her master’s portfolio: the unknown.

The slums and waste pits of the City were the least of its splendors, yet there were beautiful things here to. Sinkholes for sewage blocked by obsidian stoppers and material waste incinerated into a fine violet mist. Now, those places spew forth untold repulsiveness. The sewers serve up both failed aboleth experiments for the demons to feast on and the worst the city has to offer. The demons use it as “bathwater.” The material waste is now just that: “wasted” pieces of the material, plucked away by demons, toyed with and cast aside. It molders and stinks, bending the air around it just enough to be revolting.

Because the demons do as they “wish,” they do not seem to have any overarching goals to drive their activities. Izir knows otherwise, as she wants nothing more than to spread the indescribable chaos of the Abyss across the entire world and into the space beyond it. That she cannot accomplish this alone or with the help of “her” servants she doesn’t know, but the aboleth are keenly aware of it and the contract with the ice devil clearly states as such. Xirix still feels the faintest attachment to the demons and so dances with his shadow demon cousins until they just begin to see him. Then he vanishes, seemingly without having done anything.

Caverns of the Unknowable

When they named their current base of operations, the aboleth were unaware their future neighbors would a) be demons and b) be servants to the Lord of the Unknown. Despite this, their pride and innate knowledge of “we were here first” keeps them from changing the name of the cave system. Besides its name, no one has any good idea of what the inner workings of their home looks like. Ostensibly, it simply is a large cave system with a huge central chamber, wherein a gigantic sphere of water, opaque enough to be almost a solid mass surrounded by strange apparatus that modern scientific and magical knowledge cannot begin to fathom. Whether this is actually what the caves look like, or indeed if they are even caves, is unknown to the demons, devils and rakshasa equally. None of them have the means to decode the infinitely complex equations that make up whatever it is that is happening down beneath the city streets. Yet the aboleth have the ability to connect to each and every section of the city through the sewers, and, barring their own connection to the whispers, they have ways of gathering information from anywhere and everywhere within the walls of the City of Spires.

Most importantly of all, not even Xirix can penetrate their barriers. He doesn’t have to. They move just slow enough for him to do everything he needs to do.

Palace of Masters

If anywhere is fit for the rulers of a city to reside, it is in the Palace of Masters. Every creature that resides in the city, even without bowing to them, gives credit to the rakshasa clan of fifteen members, all female. Their fortress of pleasures and splendor encompasses the nobles quarter and the once ruined former royal palace. After they arrived, only a year and a half after the aboleth, the fifteen, each more powerful than an average pit fiend, balor or aboleth master, set to work expanding the palace walls to the walls of the nobles quarter, making the palace the size of an entire district. Once completed, they populated their home with a variety of creatures from strange planes between the larger spheres. Jungle worlds with octopus plants, ocean worlds of freezing steam and fiery worlds of constant stellar wind are but three of the exotic locales from which the palace inhabitants come. The wonders that make up the inside of the castle defy description, as they are as varied as the creatures that dwell within.

The tallest spire in the City of Spires is the seat of power for the rakshasa and also the housing for the strange material that allows them contact with the whispers and their connections among the spaces between. It is from here that they guide the aberrations that serve them towards two goals: the god-corpse and a secret that only the rakshasa could keep. The fifteen rule as an oligarchy and make no decisions as individuals. Should any of them do so, the agreement set down on their creation as rakshasa is null and void, and the entire group would cease to exist. This natural connection lets them hear the whispers as though one were hearing it, and so they have full command of the information at all times. To their chagrin, the whispers knows next to nothing about the god-corpse, and what information it gathers is spotty and inconsistent. The wards on the vault of Shayakand are strong.

Xirix has no dealings within the palace. It’s reasoning is that there is simply nothing there for it.

Adventures Amongst the Spires

For low level adventurers:

The abundance of low power monsters that inhabit the City and their predations in the surrounding lands could lead to rescue missions to the Chattel District, retrieval of an imp’s binding contract for a friend or important NPC, the slaughter of a dretch horde massing near one of the gates. Stealth missions are truly the order of the day here, as the creatures in control may not have time to check everything that comes into their territory. However, escaping the City of Spires is just as much an adventure, for any overt action will draw the attention of the powerful in the city. Outsiders are not tolerated and exiting will be a danger beyond anything before it.

For mid-level adventurers:

Things become much more active once characters reach mid level. They have a name for themselves, their entry, or, if they’ve done something really exemplary, proximity to the city is almost immediately noticed. However, few in the city would directly oppose them at first. Curiosity is more prevalent than open hostility. Missions into the city could be minor assassination, bartering, trading, even. There could be diplomatic missions if they are not with demons, or with demons if the characters are good enough. The PCs are still too weak for an all out assault on the city.

For high-level adventurers:

If they are so inclined, the PCs could, go on a quest to undermine the power structure of the entire city. They could raise an army to topple it. They could make “peace” among the leaders of the four factions or call a complete cease-fire. At the ultimate level, the PCs could delve into the vault of the god-corpse and do as they wished with it. The possibilities are endless.

Cosmology of Shayakand

One of the inspirations for Shayakand provides a very different cosmology. The source for this alien cosmology is not Vedic, Funan, or Asian at all. It comes from a Greek philosopher and astronomer named Anaxagoras. The changes appear subtle at first, but the effects can be quite dramatic. Before discussing Anaxagoras, let’s take a look at traditional rpg cosmologies.

Many fantasy settings are set in a world that is roughly based on Aristotle’s ideas. There are four fundamental elements, fire, earth, air and water. The fifth element, aether, exists as the building block of the stars and the heavens. These ideas express themselves in-game worlds with elemental planes of existence for each of the four fundamental elements. Based on the existence of these elemental planes, all kinds of creatures, civilizations and a myriad of other items enter the game world. Pathfinder has their own product that describes the Inner and Outer Planes that uses these concepts.

Now, imagine a place where no one believes in the elemental planes of existence. In other words, there is no plane of fire/water/air/earth, or elemental chaos. What would the world look like without these staples?

The implications may not be obvious at first. The most obvious change would be the lack of elementals. However, it goes deeper than that. If there are no elementals, then the traditional power source for golems and other constructs is not available. That’s just two of the many effects. What other effects do you see in a fantasy setting based on a lack of elemental planes? Feel free to provide thoughts in the comments.

One other consideration is this: If there are no elemental planes, what takes their place in the universe? To address this, let’s look at Anaxagoras‘ specific ideas. These ideas are in summary form, so some of his conclusions may not appear obvious at first.

He held that everything but the mind is infinitely divisible and that even the smallest portion of matter contains some amount of every element. Element in this case is an idea, not a real thing. Anaxagora believed there was no such thing as a pure element. Nothing was pure gold, pure water, pure fire, pure metal, etc. So when he talks about an element, he is usually talking about some aspect of an object.

For example, he said that snow contains the opposites of black and white and is called white only because white predominates in it. The composition of snow goes beyond white and black; snow also contains hot and cold, water and earth, and other things. In a sense, snow contains the whole of reality, each snowflake containing a specific share of all other things. The differences in form result from different portions of the elements. The variety of substances and forms we perceive is thus explained by the complexity of seemingly endless numbers of possible combinations

What this means in practical game terms is that since there is no such thing as pure fire, pure water, etc, no elemental planes can exist. Someone could object and say that there are planes that are predominantly fire, predominantly water and so on. However, the ethereal plane is also gone because there is no pure ether. There is no vast ethereal plane that holds countless numbers of demi-planes.

What exists instead is addressed by looking at the mind. Anaxagoras held that the universe was created when the mind gave shape to the vast mixture of matter that exists at the beginning. The mind is the only pure element, it is not a mixture of anything. The mind can shape matter into anything, but cannot separate one element from another.

All of that is a bit heady, so let’s put it in simple game terms.

The gods gave shape to the universe. The gods appear to be limited only in the fact that they cannot create a pure element. In order for some plane to exist that is predominantly fire, predominantly water, etc is that a god or other great mind must want to shape a plane in that way. In essence, the only thing outside the material plane is what used to be called the Outer Planes.

So then the question may be asked, “what happens to elementals when they travel to Shayakand?” That’s a question I have ideas for, but I’d be really interested in hearing what others have to say.

One last thing – for those that are Greek philosophy scholars, I’m aware that there are some misstatements and inaccuracies in how I presented Anaxagoras’ ideas. I welcome any advice in clarifying his ideas to further pursue these ideas.

Operation Omniscience

This article contains content for Schattenkrieg, Nevermet Press’ alternate World War II pulp setting. Our content is community driven so we want feedback from you. Please leave a comment here, write about it on your own blog, or contact the Lead Designer, Michael Brewer, if you would like to contribute directly.

Stuttgart, 01:15, 12Mar42

“Ich hab’s gefunden!” the soldier whispered to himself as he stuffed the fluorescently glowing canister into his satchel.

Wilmot Schröder hurried along and heaved himself up and over what used to be the outer wall of Stuttgart’s most infamous Nazi research lab. It was now just a blackened mass of crushed concrete and twisted metal.  The night air carried with it no sound, nor smell, nor scent of life.  Putting out of commission Das Schloss, as the facility had come to be known by the Allied Forces, was no small challenge to the Allies or the Merc Squads that had assaulted it. Finally, a well-timed bombing raid proved successful in destroying the stronghold.

Schröder felt his bag to ensure that the canister was still there. It was the final component to his Dr. Merken’s masterpiece.  He thanked the Almighty he hadn’t had to use his pistol this time and disappeared into the night.

Ulm, 06:53, 12Mar42

“Where in the hell is that bastard?  He should have been here well over an hour ago!”  Professor Merken tapped his reading glasses against the instrument-laden table as he cursed his Vaterland-loving assistant in English.  Tomorrow it would most likely be French.  Merken appreciated the Nazis’ sense of scientific exploration, but didn’t give a damn about Greater Germany, the 3rd Reich or anything outside of his current legacy-in-the-making…The Viewer.

The door burst open and an exhausted Wilmot Schröder stumbled in, collapsing on the floor.  “Was ist passiert??” Merken demanded to know what had happened, though did not wish to waste any time with the boy’s pathetic English.

The boy, no more than 17, coughed up bright red blood onto the floor.  Between spats of blood and bile, he mouthed the word “Amerikaner”.

“Did you bring the battery?  Die Batterie.  Hast du die Batterie mitgebracht?” Professor Merken watched as Schröder’s life fled from his broken body.  There was little chance that Americans had actually wasted a bullet on his assistant.  Most likely it was a hunting party, little more than a band of thieves lurking in the dark forest between the Grand Research Facility and the small, private lab Merken called home.  He dug through the torn backpack, hoping to hell the battery hadn’t gotten lost or stolen.

“Yes.”  Merken felt the warmth of the alien device as he withdrew it and tossed the grungy bag aside.  “All this trouble for such a small piece of space rock.”  The professor looked at the metallic object, briefly forgetting the urgency of the moment.  The loud bell of the antique Swiss clock in the corner striking 7:00 am snapped him out of the hypnotic sway the object had held over him.  “Scheiße.”

The door opened and in stepped a highly decorated Gruppenführer of the SS.  “Heil Hitler,” he began, stepping over the dead assistant’s body without so much as a courtesy glance.  This guy was a real son-of-a-bitch.

Merken let a quiet Heil Hitler escape his throat.  “Good morning, Herr Schultz.”

“Is it ready?”  Straight to business.

“Almost.  My aide there brought the final piece to this puzzle just a few minutes ago,” Professor Merken explained as he nodded his head in Schröder’s general direction.

“Finish the assembly so I can get the hell out of this shithole you call a lab.”

“Yes, sir,” answered the frustrated and pressured scientist.  If everything wasn’t aligned perfectly, the device wouldn’t work.  “It’ll only take me a few minutes, then I’ll make sure my theories are correct…which they are.” Merken let that last sentence trail off into silence.

“Will this thing really do what you say?  Will it really open a portal to another dimension or are you just full of shit?”  Schultz had mastered the English curse words early in his studies, as he found English the perfect language in which to degrade someone.

Quite irritated now, Merken ran through the instructions to the obtuse officer who couldn’t see past the tip of his patriotic nose.  “No, it doesn’t open a portal…sir.  The Viewer allows the operator to instantaneously observe events as they unfold in parallel universes.  It’s the most perfect piece of reconnaissance equipment ever imagined.”

Merken tightened the final bolt and stepped back to enjoy the beauty of his new masterpiece.  He then placed his forehead against the leather strap designed exactly for that purpose and flipped on the machine.

“Scheiss—!” he screamed before falling completely silent and motionless for several seconds.  The SS Officer hurried to the machine and grasped the scientist’s shoulder but was shocked violently by a buildup of electric charge around the man.

Merken regained use of his motor skills and awareness as he removed his head from the device.

“You’re as white as my grandfather’s hair.  What’s wrong?” asked Schultz.  “Does it work?”

Merken stumbled slowly backward toward his fallen comrade lying on the floor of the modest lab, oozing what little blood remained in him.  “Yes…in a manner of speaking,” began the distracted man.

“What did you see?” Schultz demanded.

“I saw…well, that…” Merken grabbed the assistant’s Luger and quickly pointed it at the officer’s head.  “I saw that this is the only way I’m getting out of here alive.  In those few seconds I observed 14 different universes.  This is the only way I’m getting out of here.  You could have had this device to monitor Allied troop movements, figure out how to end this stalemate, get rid of those fucking aliens…anything…but you were going to kill me.”

“That’s the way things are done, Merken.  You can kill me, but there are many more of us than there are of you.  I can find a hundred assholes on the street that can do your job.  Why do you think we made you work in this rubble heap of a lab?  You’re nothing.”

“Fuck you.” He squeezed, and the Luger made a small pop. Five grams of lead flew into the waiting head of the German officer.  The bullet ripped the man’s eye apart and turned the right half of his brain to mush before bursting through the back of his skull, letting gray matter and blood splash against the floor and wall of the tiny work space.  Merken dropped the gun and grabbed his invention, rushing headlong into the night.

Algeria, 15:44, 08May42

“Sir, something’s cresting the hill.”

“I see it.  Looks like some sort of machine.  Sergeant, take a squad and flank it from the south.  I’ll stay here and confront it head on.”

As Staff Sergeant Young rounded up bravo section, Captain Trent and his soldiers took position behind some trashed mud huts.  They watched as a mechanic exosuit smoothly made its way down the hill and towards the waiting ambush.  In the middle of the battlefield the suit stopped and remained motionless for a few seconds, then animated again as a crackling spark of blue light traveled quickly from the suit into the ground.

“What the hell was that?” asked Corporal Jeffries.

Captain Trent shook his head, “No idea.”

The exosuit bolted toward the waiting soldiers and let loose a flurry of rocket-propelled grenades to the south from the launcher attached to its left arm.  As the grenades landed, Captain Trent heard cries of agony over the radio.

“How the hell did he know they were there?” asked Jeffries as the squad relinquished their hiding places and leapt into the open, releasing a barrage of gunfire at the mechanical monster.  Whoever was operating the suit knew exactly where to run and when to duck.

“This isn’t working, sir,” cried a private seconds before a bullet found its way through his neck.

“My God.  It must be one of the Fox’s new super soldiers,” said Trent.  “It doesn’t have any Nazi markings, though.”  He dodged the gunfire and falling soldiers as he a bee-line for the radio operator, who had gotten separated from the officer at the onset of the battle.  Reaching for the radio, Trent switched frequencies and managed to utter one sentence before his life ended.

“Germans have super soldier able to see the future…

A Brief Introduction to Schattenkrieg

This article contains content for Schattenkrieg, Nevermet Press’ alternate World War II pulp setting. Our content is community driven so we want feedback from you. Please leave a comment here, write about it on your own blog, or contact the Lead Designer, Michael Brewer, if you would like to contribute directly.

Edited by Cassey Toi

“Jesus Christ! What kind of sick fuck did that?” I spit the words past teeth clenched on one end of the tourniquet I’m applying to my shredded left arm. My forearm looked like hamburger and my blood was flowing freely. It would heal soon enough on its own, but I still wasn’t used to my new regenerative abilities.

Tying off the compression wrap, I kneel down to inspect the carcass of the hideous creature that had caused my injury. “Lieutenant, this is definitely the work of Fremder,” Zora informed me. Zora Skerrit was a biologist attached to my unit by the OSS. Her Slavic accent was more pronounced when she was frightened. “The mutations resemble similar specimens found in a laboratory in Argentina we believe he was operating. It also shares traits with the Parisian Marauders.”

Parisian Marauder MKII by Rob Torno

The creature was once human, or rather, several humans. It had been hanging from the ceiling in the passageway of the underground bunker we were searching, when it surprised us and pounced on me. It was disgusting. It scampered around on six arms… where six hands used to have fingers and thumbs, there were four razor sharp talons.

The arms were elongated, with an extra segment, effectively giving each arm two elbows. These arms protruded from three torsos conjoined at the waist, almost as if their flesh has been kneaded together like clay. The creature had obviously been formed out of two men and one woman. The mutant has no legs, but the other end of each torso terminates with a head in which resides a giant, impossibly large, needle-toothed maw. Each head sits atop a long rubbery neck.

One of those maws had minced my left forearm before my team had been able to react. It had continued to chew on my arm even after Sergeant Burgess had lit the other two heads on fire with his pyrokinetic blasts. I had to resort to my trusty sidearm to spray the mutant’s grey matter on the wall. Burgess’ fire did nothing to improve the smell of the beast either.

“Nazi bastards must have realized they were wasting a precious commodity by killing Jews and instead decided to turn them into beasts of war,” Private Jasinski, our scout, muttered as he turned over an arm with several digits tattooed along the forearm.

“We’re burnin’ daylight kids,” said Burgess. “Let’s get the shit we came for so we can get the hell out of here.”

I looked down at my arm, the wounds had already closed. I untied the tourniquet and used it to mop up the blood which was the only trace that an injury had ever occurred. I threw the blood soaked compression wrap onto the floor beside the mutant and nodded my head in agreement with Burgess, “You’re right, Sergeant. Men, check your weapons then move out. Continue down the corridor, don’t bunch up. Maintain a five yard distance with the man in front of you.”

Jasinski turned to me and said, “You know sir, you shouldn’t waste our medical supplies, some of us don’t recover from injuries as well as you do.”

I looked up at Jasinski, “I tend to forget I’m so resilient when my arm’s being chewed on by a mutant monster. Jasinski, I want you to take point.”

“Aye, aye, sir,” Jasinski responded as his form faded from sight. I couldn’t even hear the footfalls of combat boots as he moved ahead of the unit to keep anymore mutant nasties from surprising us. Privates Marcone and Campbell ensured their Thompsons were good to go before stepping off down the corridor at a brisk, but cautious pace. Zora and I followed while Burgess brought up the rear.

It’s early September, 1945, though I can’t quite remember the exact date; the days all run together after a while. We’ve been tracking and eliminating German insurgents that had been wreaking havoc behind the Paris front-lines for the past month. The local units had dubbed them the Parisian Marauders. Only these insurgents were not your average krauts; they were mutant terrors very similar to the beast we just put down. Except the ones tearing apart GIs in Paris were still single monstrosities instead of the macabre amalgamation we just encountered.

My squad is a special team of commandos assembled by the O.S.S., the Office of Strategic Services. Each of us had a unique gift that set us apart from regulars, even other highly trained commandos. Though people like us were becoming popularized on radio programs, newspapers, and even on the silver screen, I suspect people possessing powers beyond the capabilities of average humans have always existed. It sort of lends new credence to Greek myths like Hercules or even more recent legends and folktales like John Henry. Only, modern marvels like the television are making the world a smaller place along with radio and telephones. So information travels faster and is becoming easier to validate.

The governments of the world mostly ignored Extraordinaries, the label the papers have officially pinned on them, or treated them as threats. Them. I guess I mean us. Well, at least until the Great War. That’s when they began instituting programs to recruit them for use in clandestine missions. But they found it difficult to command what amounted to a bunch of hot shots with powers beyond the government’s limited imagination. So they turned to programs to develop Extraordinaries in-house, so to speak. Most of those programs failed too; Jasinski being one of a handful of recent successes from some project called Wraith. The rest of us were born Extraordinary or, like myself, gained that status through mishap.

I see Pvt. Jasinski’s form waver as if looking at a mirage as he and his equipment turns invisible so he can scout ahead of the squad. Hopefully we can secure this bunker without anymore surprises and shut down Fremder and his vile operation before anyone else falls victim to his experiments. I hear our boys in white lab coats back stateside are real close to finishing some super weapon to end this war; it could not end soon enough.

---

The D-Day invasion of Normandy by the Allies was not as successful as they had hoped. They had surprised the Germans, but Hitler’s war machine quickly recovered. The Allies were able to strike into Paris before the Wehrmacht was able to counter attack. The city is currently under the control of the Allies, but has switched hands twice since Operation Overlord. The war effort has devoured the resources of both the Allies and Axis in Europe which has resulted in what amounts to be a stalemate in the European theater. Hot spots still flare up along the front lines as the Axis and Allied powers test defenses, new tactics, and technologies.

America is still fighting a war of attrition in the Pacific and the atomic weapons that could end it have yet to be deployed. The Manhattan Project, which was tasked with creating the first functioning atomic bombs, has suffered several major setbacks from Axis agents who sabotaged their plutonium enrichment program. The African theater was secured as planned, but the Germans are using guerrilla warfare tactics against the occupying Allies in Egypt and proving difficult to root out.

The Soviets were routed during the German offensive of Operation Barbarossa. The winter was not as harsh as normal, and there are some intelligence reports that indicate some sort of Italian weather device guaranteed the Axis victory against the unprepared Red Army. The remnants of the Soviet military withdrew into the harsh expanse of Siberia after the destruction of Moscow, but have recently made contact with Allies and are planning a massive counter offensive against the Eastern Front of the Third Reich.

But this war is far from conventional.

As the second World War trudges on, both the Allied and Axis powers begin to look for alternative resources to secure the final victory. Thus the Shadow War, the Schattenkrieg has begun. UFOs have begun supplementing the Luftwaffe over Parisian skies. Dead soldiers are rising to eat their comrades. Strange electrical storms roll out from Siberia. Extraordinary people begin to make their presence known and are answering the call to arms. Become a part of Schattenkrieg and stop the Nazis and their evil agenda.

M&M Superlink

Earlier this week, we received communication from the Mutants & Masterminds Line Developer, Jon Leitheusser, that our M&M Superlink license query for the Schattenkrieg setting had conceptual approval.

This is great news as it means we are free to move forward on development of Schattenkrieg. Of course, all material is still subject to final approval prior to release by Green Ronin, but I’m confident we’ll be able to meet expectations.

As always, our patrons will be able to read most of the non-mechanics here on the NMP blog before everything is composed along with their mechanics and published in book form. In fact, return here tomorrow to read some fiction that introduces a little of the alternate WWII history of Schattenkrieg.

Get 25% Off “The Desire” And Thousands of Other RPG eBooks

It’s a bit unusual, but here at Nevermet Press we wanted to let our readers know that One Book Shelf, the worlds largest retailer of RPG eBooks and PDFs, is having their Annual GM’s Day Sale. It’s the single biggest sales event of the year at those sites – and it’s the best time to get the deepest discounts on literally thousands of PDFs. This is No Joke, it’s an amazing chance to get some of the best RPG content on the cheap. The sale runs March 3rd through March 8th and all the eBooks from participating publishers are 25% off!!!

This sale even includes our own eBook “The Desire“!!! This supplement is our first PDF and is fully compatible with 4th Edition Dungeons & Dragons. You can find out more about it here on Nevermet Press, or head over to RPGNow.com and pick it up at 25% OFF.

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