Friday, December 3, 2021

Dicember Days 1-5: Ammo, Ice, Child, Rage, Blade

It's this.


Six-Shooter of Stolen Fates: A silver-plated revolver engraved with constellations and astrological signs, which always seems to have cobwebs forming on it. Mounted atop its cylinder is a little ivory sphinx.

The six-shooter is reloaded by playing Russian roulette. The game must be fair, but participation can be coerced. Each person who dies in the game adds a bullet to the gun with an effect based on how their life was fated to go had they not played (d6):

1. WEALTH: Flecked with gold. Whoever's shot with this bleeds coins worth 1d6 x the damage they took.

2. LOVE: Tinged pink. Other bullets aimed at the same target gain +4 to hit.

3. DRUDGERY: Leaden, heavier than it looks. Lodges in and weighs down those it hits, halving their speed and dragging them out of the air if they're flying.

4. DOOM: Black as coal and stinks of sulphur. The next time someone shot by it might slip off a ledge, catch fire, fail a save, etc., they do.

5. PENURY: Rusty and pitted. The target's most precious possession on their person crumbles to dust.

6. BETRAYAL: Glass, with a scorpion encased within. The next time the target's ally fails a morale check, they turn on them.

2. ICE

Five more twenty-one word dungeon rooms related to the theme of "ice":

Cold Storage

Yeti pack in suspended animation in pillars of ice. Torches melt them fast, body heat melts slower. One pillar blocks exit.

Slippery Slope

Steep descent, slick with ice. Backpack full of useful supplies caught halfway down. Ghoul feasting on broken body at bottom.

Frosty Phantom

Corpse impaled on giant icicle. Ghost haunts trespassers with hypothermia. Give proper funeral to end its torment, be pointed to secret.

Fishing Hole

Unevenly frozen-over pond. Hole cut in center, can be fished for rations. Feel ahead with pole to avoid thin ice.

Coolant System

Hall full of pipes, flash-freeze moisture on contact. Turning valves causes pipes to leak or burst. Goblins fucking with valves.


Writ of Succession: A slip of the finest silk paper, bordered with gold leaf and bearing the seal of the mother of the gods. When signed with your name and stained with another's blood, they become your parent, legally, biologically, metaphysically, and otherwise, with no possibility for disownment. Physical changes due to this are only cosmetic, e.g. if you used it on a dragon you wouldn't gain fire breath or wings, only scales and perhaps the ability to cough up a few sparks.


Aeshma's Brand: A brass rod, with one end bearing a jagged sigil. Someone branded with this sigil gains the rage ability as per the first level/template of a barbarian/berserker class of the DM's choice. Each round you use this ability gives you 1d6-3 (min. 0) points of Aeshma's Claim. The more points you have, the more the brand spreads across your body. Further effects as follows:
1 point: You become off-puttingly vascular and your eyes are permanently bloodshot
5 points: You stink of burned meat and take a -2 penalty to reaction rolls with those who've never killed before
10 points: Bonuses from raging are doubled, and in your peripheral vision you see little clawed fingers digging the brand further across your flesh
15 points: You're dragged through a fiery rift to Aeshma's hell

You can shed 1d6 points of Aeshma's Claim through acts of cruelty and anger. Each act must be significantly worse than the last to have an effect.

If you are able to keep to a vow of absolute pacifism for twice as many days as you bore the brand, the skin it covers will slough off and transform into a tapestry bearing scenes of saints battling demons, all bearing your face. Thereafter, attempting to apply the brand again simply burns you.


Was looking for an excuse to make more three word swords.

When the band of the Blessed Hundred (of whom many songs are sung) split into the Five-score Scoundrels (to whom many curses are spat) they also split apart their former master's sword into five:

SICKLY SWEET SERENITY: A talwar enameled in a rich honey-amber colour, with golden tassels dense as a lion's mane around her pommel and crossguard. Speaks in a sing-song tone, fond of wordplay, pretends to be much dumber than she is. While wielding the sword you can swap all the mind- or soul-affecting conditions on you with the sword herself, which last as long on her as they would on you. Swapping again gives you back any conditions she might still have. Held by the reprobate heir of a merchant dynasty whose grandfather bought her at a tremendous sum from the leader of the first score of the Scoundrels. He keeps her under his bed to dump his hangovers onto.

LOST ENCLAVE AUSTERITY: He is a Damascus steel pata, stained with brownish wood-ink to dull its shine, with a gauntlet shaped like a rhino's head, the blade forming its horn. Mumbles, often incoherently, as though perpetually half-awoken from sleep. While fighting with the sword you won't get any more tired, hungry, thirsty, or older. Held by an immortal bogeyman who killed the leader of the second score of the Scoundrels to take him, and has been waging a constant war on everything since.

SKIN DEEP SEVERITY: A knobbly, sable kampilan, looking as if he was hacked from an iron bloom. Speaks tersely but not to the point, saying only about 2/3rds of what he means to. Can absorb unclaimed bones into himself on contact. Absorbing an amount roughly equal to a human thighbone adds +1 damage, 1 inventory slot, and -1 to hit to him. Shedding the extra mass is as easy as unsheathing the sword from it all. Held by a jackal lich who broke into the tomb of the leader of the third score of the Scoundrels, and uses the sword as a tooth.

CRIMSON SUNRISE PARADISE: She is a coppery firangi with a warthog-hide grip. She is pierced through with iron nails, and she speaks as one whose mouth has been wired shut. Her wielder can alter the consistency of the blood they spill while wielding her, from glue-sticky to oily to a crystalline solid or dense mist. On killing a target, they can extract all the blood left in their body in a gory burst. The average human body contains about five liters of blood. Held by a brain-damaged and near-blind battlefield looter, who is not quite aware of what she holds.

PEALED IRIS HAZE: A spindly sword with a blade of rippling green glass, and a grip and back of polished pink coral. Contrarian, confrontational, but sympathetic to the wretched. When run along the surface of a wall or floor, rings with music that reflects that emotional history of the area. Held by the leader of the fifth score of the Scoundrels, who yet lives as the captive of a fairy-prince in his riverbed palace.

If brought together these five blades might yet be combined back into their predecessor, greater than the sum of its parts. The master of the Blessed Hundred is said to have used it to sever the peak of a mountain and cut the evil from men's hearts.


  1. The Writ of Succession has shenanigans written all over it, and Aeshma's Brand is evocative as heck