Another blogwagon time. This go around its a hex for a Christmas themed hexcrawl in the style of them old Rankin/Bass stop motion pictures outta the 60's. You know the one: young kid runs away from home because he's different from the others, meets various barely contained psychopaths, and returns years later to be accepted because the cruel taskmaster overlord needs to exploit him. A noble yeti is forced into domestication via violence. Something about a toy Vapula? Yeah, that's the one. That and it's eighteen sequels.
Only trouble is, well, fuck this holiday. It's a miserable time of year when the corporations pump their propaganda on an already broke and breaking working class, guilting them into buying the over priced slop that no one needs. At one point, Saint Nicholas only gave to the needy; a good and proper thing to do. Nowadays, Santa Claus is a false idol in the worship of materialism. Buy that overpriced, easily broken, unrepairable, beeping, blinking, do nothing piece of plastic and precious metals that will sit in the remains of a landfill long after your carcass has crumbled to ash OR ELSE YOU HATE YOUR LOVED ONES. "Consume, you ignorant bastards, it's on sale!" They continue, having jacked the prices, only to cut them by a meager amount to make it look as if you're saving money.
Fuck that. Fuck them. Fuck it. And the holiday they rode in on. Especially for making me agree with the Calvinists on this.
"But Wayspell, the lights and decorations are so pretty. Everything is so happy and cheerful." I can't help you if you're going to intentionally blind yourself to the reality at large with glittering trinkets, like some sort of mutant magpie on hallucinogenics. I'd tell you to "put on the glasses" but that would make me Roddy Piper, you Keith David, and, well, my back already hurts.
But, I didn't come here to go on and on about your shortcomings. I came here to tell you about -
The Grumpus
Crossing the borders of this forested hex is a notable ordeal: whatever snow was falling, whatever whimsical song was playing in the background, whatever merry time was being had - ends. It all just ends. The snow stops falling, melting upon the ground. Background music goes from wintery bells bullshit to something more appropriate for Halloween. The trees are no longer beautiful pines, hearty and strong, but sad, cruel, twisted things, hunched over and bare of all needles. Ravens caw and mock just out of sight. A thin fog snakes along the ground, thick with malice, but intangible.
At the center of it all lies the homestead: a small cabin and accompanying garden. The garden is a small one, enough for only one person, though it contains several scarecrows wearing red fur coats. The cabin is a simple thing of wood and stone, adorned with wind chimes made from tinnies and antlers. There's most likely a small fire in the fire pit out front. A single, old, wooden chair sits there, partnered with a table for holding drinks and cigarettes. Honestly, the table is probably a telephone cable spool. Inside is mostly bare: A cot, a chair by the fireplace, a cooler for beer. More tinnies dot the floor. The room is awash in the soft glow coming from the noses of the reindeer whose heads are mounted along the walls.
This is the home of the Grumpus.
Standing seven foot tall, with eyebrows reaching to the brim of his hat paired with a wispy bearded to his knees, and clad in a shabby blue robe patched with red fur, a rough worn wizard hat, and the lingering smell of nicotine, the Grumpus* is a crushingly dour individual. He lives here, in the cabin, neither happy, nor fully alone; but in an empty acceptance of the bigfeet who call this hex home. If he knew how to make it a sanctuary for them, he would. But he don't. So he don't. Despite his demeanor, he fully respects guest rights, as long as those who intrude respect host rights.
Now, what he does not respect - not in the slightest; not in a single modicum or even an atom of respect - perhaps better to say he outright reviles, is that villainous, revolting holiday known as Christmas. His malice towards this ever decadent holiday is to the point that he will offer to pay 500 gold for any Santa pelts brought to him.
What's that? Oh, yes, there's plural Santa Clauses. That's why he (probably) keeps turning up in almost every hex. Plural nasal bioluminescent deer as well.
| Thought I had time for art. I was wrong. Hopefully I'll fix this later. |
The Grumpus
Man Strategist
A former wizard adventurer turned hermit, the Grumpus carries no patience or joy for things deemed "cheery" or "jolly." He resides alone, save for the occasional visit from the near by bigfoot tribe, and prefers it this way. While retired, he still carries his archwood staff, mostly out of habit, slightly out of necessity for walking in his old age. Not that he'll admit it.
Health/Defense: 3 / 4
Attributes: Swords 1 | Pentacles 3 | Cups 4 | Wands 7
Likes: Bigfoots, Being alone, the Mari Lwyd (strangely)
Hates: Christmas, Santa Clauses
Notes:
* Heavy Metal Christmas - His beard counts as a Shield, for the purpose of Defense.
* The Night Santa Went Crazy - IF violence does break out, he's attacking the jolliest looking motherfucker first.
Lesser Dooms
* Drinking Up Christmas - Heals a Wound by chugging a beer as a Miscellaneous action. Dude can carry a full sixer in his robe.
* It's Not Christmas Until Someone Cries - Using the Staff as a focus, the Grumpus can make attack Attack actions of arcane energy up to one zone away. He adds is Wands attribute, rather than Swords, to these Attacks on his turn. He is never engaged by using this ability.
* Merry Christmas (I Don't Wanna Fight Tonight) - Seemingly having a mind of its own, the Grumpus can wiggle his beard, lashing out in surprising ways. He may perform Roughhouse actions using his beard.
Greater Dooms
* There Ain't No Sanity Clause - While holding the staff, the Grumpus can cast any Weald spell from Appendix A without components. Also the Welkin spells Binding and Life, for some reason. Cast spells by playing a lesser doom Speak Invocations actions and discarding a greater doom card to cover Resolve cost. Each additional greater doom card discarded adds +1 Resolve.
 |
| If you're cold, they're cold. Let them in. |
Mari Lwyd
Unique Spirit
The Grey Mare, a grim yet festive personification of winter. Appearing as a skeletal horse with glowing, wrapped in a cloak of spectral mist and wearing festive ribbon and bows, the Mari Lwyd wanders from home to home, spreading cheer in the form of screaming rhymes at each other and consuming all the booze in the house and chasing people.
Health/Defense: -
Attributes: Swords - | Pentacles - | Cups - | Wands -
Likes: Singing Rhymes, Booze, Chasing people
Dislikes: Teatotalers, Sobriety
Notes:
* Put the Cards Away - You won't need them, we're trying something a little different here.
* Pwnco - When the Mari Lwyd appears, it demands booze from the party in the form of a rhyming couplet or insult. Should the party fail to respond in kind with a witty excuse as to why they cannot provide wanted booze, the Mari Lwyd inflicts damage against the part in the form of consuming all the booze within their inventory. Should the party have no booze in their collective inventory, then it consumes half of all rations. Should there be no rations within the party, it inflicts one Wound to everyone and leaves. IF the party manages to outwit the Mari Lwyd, it cackles wildly and runs off, leaving behind twenty inventory slots of alcohol.
The Meatgrinder
01. Torches/Spells Gutter
02. Torches/Spells Gutter
03. Torches/Spells Gutter
04. Torches/Spells Gutter
05. Torches/Spells Gutter
06. [Curiosity] A mournful cry of something intelligent, but not human, echoes through the forest.
07. [Curiosity] What looks to be a poorly made lean-to sits forgotten beside a fallen tree.
08. [Curiosity] The mixed smell of spiced cider and wet moss drifts on the wind.
09. [Curiosity] A skeleton in a faded red coat lays impaled upon a twisted wooden spike, several feet taller than expected. Smaller spikes dot the area, hidden in the underbrush.
10. [Curiosity] Muddy ground still holds massive, human-like footprints, well over 15 inches long.
11. [Travel Event] Lashing out from the debris littered ground, a snaggle vine wraps around the leg of the final adventure of the marching order, Rooting them. The more they struggle, the tighter it squeezes.
12. [Travel Event] The mist moves in tight around the characters, obfuscating the path. A Disadvantaged Cups test is needed to keep from getting lost.
13. [Travel Event] In the distance, a ways through the dark, a red glowing light blinks slowly. Anyone approaching the glowing reindeer nose must make a Pentacles test or get caught in snare traps, dragging them up into the tree branches.
14. [Travel Event] Laying on a rock, pretty as you please, is a golden triangular coin. Free gold! Score! (Well, actually, the coin is cursed and if it's picked up, the carrier is Stressed by strange voices as long as they carry it.)
15. [Travel Event] During a brief rest, a tear in an adventurer's pack is discovered. The item in the last inventory slot(s) has fallen out and is now missing. Taking the time to backtrack and scout for it causes another Meatgrinder check.
16. [Random Encounter] Three imps make silly faces at one another, using the shiny breastplate of a long dead knight as a mirror.
17. [Random Encounter] Nestled among the withering trees, a premeditation of Gorcrows watch the adventures, following along and looking for their time to strike.
18. [Random Encounter] Wandering leisurely through the forest, a troop of bigfeet will begin throwing stones and other debris, should they notice the adventures.
19. [Random Encounter] Escorted by an entourage of corpse lights, the Mari Lwyd cuts through the thick fog, eyes aglow and set on the party's food and drink.
20. [Random Encounter] Weaving through the misty forest, the Grumpus keeps watch for that villain Santa Claus.
21. [Quest Rumor]
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* His real name is Percival Cromwell of House Humburg
