Author Topic: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign  (Read 52479 times)


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Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« on: January 25, 2014, 08:56:38 PM »
IC: The Oracle's Answer

The footstep shattered the tired soliloquy of the wind.


The second fell as the first, sharp and staccato against the eolian susurrus.

Three. Four. Five.

The footsteps continued –unhurried, unconcerned by the now-wroth wind that whipped and wailed with childish impudence.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve.

A cadence emerged, a clockwork rhythm of footfalls that warred with the senseless, icy song of the stair.


Bruised and breathless, the sky sighed against the slopes of the Slouching-Devil Mountains, surrendering to the relentless storm of steps. Unmoved and unsurprised by its victory, the traveler continued.


Elsewhere, a lone Watchman stood. The manic city whirled about him, a frenetic kaleidoscope of skin, silk, and steel. For a brief moment, he stood apart from the incessant bedlam, sheltered by half-shattered wings of stone. He stood silently, a mute supplicant staring into the sculpted face of a forgotten justicar-saint. Its visage, veiled in shadow, was stained with rain-smeared graffiti, a glossolalic tattoo covering its time-worn frame. The man’s face was almost a mirror, a grim countenance crossed with scars and age-etched creases. The creases deepened as the man frowned, his brow cracking as his thoughts laid heavy on his mind.

“So often I have sought your guidance,” the man whispered to the broken seraph. “Will you deny me now, after all we have been through together, after all we have done?”  

The statue stared down with hollow eyes. Its splattered lips remained still.

“Why?” the man demanded. “What fetters your wisdom? Where is reason in that!?”

His breath, raw and ragged, was his only reply.

The man closed his eyes, berating himself for his foolishness. He sighed, willing his fury to pass. In its wake, silence once more settled upon the dispassionate shadows.

Off in the distance, the Palace of Chimes awakened from its hourly slumber, a brazen chanticleer proclaiming its chronographic symphony with unquestioned authority. Hearing its clockwork call, a million lesser chimes answered in mass mimicry. Among the disquiet sycophants was the guard’s pocketwatch. For a fleeting moment, he ignored the tiny termagant, but the shrewish ticks hounded him. Sighing once more in resignation, the man reached for the argent device. With a practiced turn of a key and series of tired clicks, he silenced the apparatus –at least for another hour.

His mind, however, remained disquieted. He turned back to the despoiled saint, pleading it would answer him, but knowing it would not. Reason had robbed him of such foolish hopes. Nevertheless, his feet were rooted, laden by troubled thoughts. Meanwhile, his fingers traced his watch’s filigree with the tenderness of an aged, absent-minded lover. Something in the wiry curves nonetheless caught his attention. He looked down, glancing at the watch’s cover and its cloisonné insignia: a gauntlet clasping a pair of scales. Not for the first time he wondered –was the hand raising the scales, or crushing them? It was a question the watch would not answer. Nor would the statue.

Bitterly, the Watchman broke from the saint’s shadow. He stowed his watch, gripped his glyph-scribed sword-stave, and stepped out into the Clockwork City. It consumed him without thought or satiation.


Five-score and four-fold.

The traveler continued.

It paid no heed to the other passers-by, ignoring the lonesome pilgrims that shared its winding stair. A pair of jatayi swapped fables, songs, and scraps of rotted flesh as they flitted, half-flying, half-traipsing the sculpted steps. A turbaned ghul hawked alabaster plumes, embalmed gris-gris, and other alleged apotropes. A sextext of liveried soldiers hefted an ornate palanquin, its threadbare curtains revealing the pain-wracked form of an elderly magistra in the throes of the Slow Plague. Her demonic familiar, a putrescent, hackle-barbed feline, clung to the palanquin’s canopy with its prehensile tail, hissing and wailing in harsh syncopation with its mistress’s moans. Behind them, a group of tramp-mercenaries uneasily smoked, bantered, and climbed. A mustachioed bravo swaggered, brandishing a wheellock pistol, and bragged of his erotic conquests. A bespectacled hagman anointed herself with a glyph-scribed aspergillum, while a graftpunk scholar cradled a sutured skull, debating the merits of electrography and corpuscularianism with a black-furred, cigarillo-smoking zerda.

The traveler ignored them all. They had been weighed, of course, but they had been found wanting. They were inconsequential to its calculations.

Six-score and four-fold.

One by one, the traveler surpassed them. The clouds fell away. The air became brittle. Gelid veins clung miserly to the mountains. But the traveler’s pace neither quickened nor lagged. It was a metronome, measuring out time. Tick. Tick. Tick. The echo of past steps merged with the present, creating a phantasmal legion of footfalls, a sempiternal centipede of isochronous perfection.

Seven-score and four-fold.

Inside the chitinous cupola of the Collegia Tho-Lladrim, silk draperies hung in elaborate patterns, each stained with eldritch dyes in sweeping pentacles and prolix seals. Piquant tapers of virgin tallow and bizarre unguents burned, filling the room with perfumed smoke and pools of shadows. Waxen tears flowed down cunningly-cut channels in the marble floor, creating sevous sigils that squirmed and slithered with fell animacy. A monstrous bell-jar, etched with frosted glyphs and anchored with argent chains, dominated the immense chamber. Dangling from the same silver web, twelve gibbets swung, their ebon bars embracing a dozen opium-addled guttersnipes. Nigh-insensate, the children mewled and twitched their naked, henna-marked bodies in feeble protest.

Chancellor Phelipas Luan-Viardot basked in the malevolent opulence. He savored each rustle of chain, each whimper, each flicker of flame. His emerald gaze, rimmed by a mask of milk-white ivory, caressed the tallow, the silk, the seals. He scrutinized every minutia, purveying it like a sumptuous banquet. Years of preparation had brought him to this point, and now, at the precipice of triumph, he was torn by heady anticipation and reluctant indulgence.

Beside him, his familiar Caacrabolas whined. Sensing its master’s indecision, the canine-like demon flexed its corvid wings and began to lick its tumorous body with manifold tongues. A fleck of spittle landed on Phelipas’ robe, singing the baroque affair of ruffled silk, cloth-of-gold, and embroidered satin. Arching a masked brow, the Chancellor tightened Caacrabolas’ silver leash, instantly bringing the familiar to heel.

So satisfied, Pheliphas turned his attention to his other servants. Sixteen eyes, brimming with desire, returned his own all-too hungry gaze. Like him, they wore the dress robes of the Collegia –although their raiments marked them as subordinate professors and pupils. Each wore the powdered wig and half-mask of Skein’s nobility, just as each was accompanied by a fettered fiend. Seeing his cabal so arrayed, Pheliphas could not help but smile –a salacious grin that reflected the candlelight like cold adamant.

Triumphantly, the Chancellor broke the silence with a grandiose gesture. “It is time.” He relaxed his familiar’s chain, plunged an ichor-filled syringe into his veins, and stepped into the summoning diagram. His disciples followed him without thought or hesitation.

Seven-score and five-fold.

The traveler stopped.

Milk and incense infused the air. Bronze bells tolled softly, their tintinnabulation mingling with the tranquil movements of tongueless monks and whispering snow. Something else, however, defined the Shrine of the Sighing Wind. A majesty pervaded the ancient temple. Mysterious and massive, it was the sublime presence of immortality.

Shaaltelathiel. Last of the shedim.

The daeva was immense. Its panoply of wings cradled the firmament, veiling the sun behind a lattice of alabastrine plumes. Its leonine body enveloped the alpine sanctuary. A multitude of basins, chalices, and bowls surrounded the shedim, creating a mandorla of glimmering rosewood, jade, and pearl. Even in slumber, its human-faced head towered over the traveler, its countenance one of consummate serenity. Deep in reverie, the daeva breathed koans beyond mortal ken.

The traveler waited.

Dusk fell. Stars undressed against the dark canopy of twilight, baring their naked radiance. Under the shameless luminance, Shaaltelathiel stirred. Its eyelids slowly parted like curtains of pale velvet. Twins orbs of turquoise, awash with salt-tears and dream-sweat, gazed upon the nocturnal vista. As Shaaltelathiel awoke, its face transfigured, metamorphosing from that of a fathomlessly old sage to a newborn child’s, pristine and brimming with wonder. Curiosity shimmered across the shedim’s eyes at it regarded the lone traveler.

To the side, a tasseled monk motioned to a pair of basins –one slick with milk-frost, the other draped in prayer-stitched muslin.

But the traveler carried neither milk nor meat.

Instead, the traveler reached into its chest and drew forth a fist-sized apparatus. Its craftsmanship was intricate as it was inexplicable. Tubes, tiny gears, spindles and circuitry threaded through a chassis of brass, orpiment, and iron. For all its complexity, however, the object remained inert.

Unconcerned, the traveler produced a scrimshaw key, faded and cracked with age. Thirteen times, the traveler turned the key. Twelve times, the instrument remained lifeless. The thirteenth time, however, it awoke.

Lapidary cogs began to spin in delicate pirouettes. They locked teeth with their peers, turning them until the entire entire machine was engaged in a tortuous, exquisite minuet. Opaque runes glistened with oil, rotating and intersecting in a protean pattern. Valves contracted in precise syncopation, pumping quicksilver through arterial veins of glass and gold. It was a grand masque, performed by machinery on a minute scale. It was a spieldose heart.

Seeing the spectacle, Shaaltelathiel’s eyes grew wide with awe. There was meaning behind the microcosmic dance, symbolism in the clockwork symphony. The shedim instantly perceived it –but it was difficult, even for the daeva, to fully fathom. Slowly, comprehension began to dawn on the daeva’s face, causing its once-innocent visage to atrophy with age and understanding.

Shaaltelathiel opened its mouth, as if to speak, but just then, the spieldose heart began to violently spasm. Tubes cracked, spurting mercurial fountains. Crystalline cogs gnashed one another with gyrating cannibalism. The chassis groaned, crumpled, and finally, in one horrible last crescendo, shattered like spun glass.

The traveler just watched. Unconcerned, uncaring, yet still expectant. Shaaltelathiel looked on in confusion and creeping dread. Its massive face twisted and creased. Once more, it opened its mouth to speak –and once more its voice was stolen. The floodgates of revelation finally burst in the shedim’s mind –understanding rushed in. Horror followed in its wake.  

The immortal quailed, trembling with terror. It gasped, then choked on its words. Flecks of blood fell to the ground, staining the basins a bright crimson.

Monks rushed in mute panic, hoping to aid the convulsing, frothing oracle.

The traveler ignored them all.

It had asked its question.

The answer needed no translation.

Patiently, the traveler turned. It stowed its bone-scribed key, looked out upon the world beneath it, and took its first step –knowing that many would follow.

OOC: Skein
The City of Silk, the Clockwork City. A place where demons walk the streets with men, led on leashes by masked nobles, and none bat an eye; a place where beings of cunning gearwork patrol the promenades and tend to the needs of their masters; a place where the impoverished masses hopelessly toil in factories while their overseers look down from spires of unholy flesh, living monoliths plucked from the plains of Hell itself. Where other Twilight Cities are anarchic pits of bickering factions and ruthless souls, where might makes right and corrupt authorities barely maintain control, Skein is eminently civilized, enlightened, and arrayed with opulent splendor. Yet, behind its gilded mask, Skein conceals a heart of darkness, riddled with secrets both deadly and depraved. Listen closely, and you will hear it… The Clockwork Abattoir calls…

« Last Edit: September 01, 2014, 04:33:08 PM by Rose-of-Vellum »


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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #1 on: January 25, 2014, 08:58:25 PM »
I’m hosting a game for those interested. Here’s the rundown:

OOC: Campaign Summary
Setting: The Cadaverous Earth. Thanks once again to Steerpike for creating the setting in all its baroque viscerality, and for letting me run a game in it, particularly here on CBG.
Region: Skein. In contrast to Blood & Bewitchment’s focus on Macellaria, this game will be centered in Skein and its surrounding environs. During the following weeks, I will be providing additional information about the city (e.g., currency, calendar, slang, factions, etc.), but in the meantime, I can field specific questions (although I will ask people to first read Skein’s entry in the CE pdf). Characters do not need to be natives of the Clockwork City, but they should have reason(s) to be there at the game’s onset -and have reasons to remain there.  
Rules System: Penumbra. Questions or comments about the system in general should be posted on the linked thread. However, I will definitely be seeking player feedback about the rules, and should we feel certain changes might help gameplay, we will try them out. That said, my primary focus will be the campaign, not the rules system.
Format: Play-by-Post. Initially, the game will be play-by-post (pbp); come May, however, I will be able to run IRC sessions if players are interested (either instead of, or concurrent with, pbp).
Number of Players: 3-6. As soon as we have three players ready to play, we will begin. Other players can join in after that, but once we have six, I’ll have to make a waitlist.
Races: Any of those detailed in the Penumbra rules. When you create your character, do keep in mind that Skein is far from a racially egalitarian culture. Humans dominate, gravespawn are comparatively rare and ostracized, and nonhumans don’t fare much better, all things being equal (which they usually aren’t with PCs).  
Archetypes: Any. If we end up with 6 witches, that’s ok. All rogues or warriors, equally fine. A diverse mix, just as good.
Dispositions: Any. However, I’d prefer that people try picking a variety of dispositions.
Foci: Forthcoming. For now, create your character’s flavor, and I/we will build a focus that fits it. You are also free to choose any of the ones already detailed (e.g., mechanical augmentation would fit a gearborg member of the Brass Skulls syndicate, diabolism could work for a magister’s scion or Collegia student or faculty).

I’ll be happy to answer any other questions.

IC: Dramatis Personae
Alisandre Mei-Vourne: esthetic female human witch (necromancy) 1 (played by False Epiphany)
Decarabia Saturnine: frenetic shade warrior (gunslinging) 1 (played by Superbright)
Catena: stoic female human warrior (bloodletting) 1 (played by Steerpike)
Hadric Beyam Phel-Nirian: frenetic male shreeva warrior (phytology) 1 (played by theMeanestGuest)
Mr. Nix: furtive male ghul witch (diabolism) 1 (played by Seraflumph)
Xavier: shrewd male human rogue (assassination) 1 (played by Ghostman)
Phrixia Gronne: graceful female human rogue (way of the blade & pistol) 1 (played by Superbright)

IC: Visited Locales
Eastern Cemetery
•   Canopic Gardens: Hedge-maze bordering the Ebon Ward, notable for its organ-shaped topiaries, and clandestine site of Xedric Mei-Vourne’s illicit fighting ring.  
•   Grande Sepultura: Crypts of House Mei-Vourne
  • Belphia’s Crypt: Resting place of Belphia Mei-Vourne and residence of her daughter, Alisandre.
•   Mosswine Barrows: Ancient tumuli-filled region of the tomb-lands.

Ebon Ward
•   Black Souse (also known as the Tarnish, formerly the Burnish): Once part of the Copper Ward, now a ruin of rusty, abandoned factories and toxic discharges from Copper Ward factories.
  • The Flensery: Situated at heart of the Black-Souse Tarnish, a nigh-automated slaughterhouse funded by House Phan-Laru and developed and run by artificer Rel-Shan, later destroyed by mob of Ebon-Ward knackers.
•   Chigger Lane: Road from Sepia Ward that snakes through the Mooncalf Tangle, where it borders a Watchmen blockhouse with Red Mei’s office.
•   Harrow-House: A half-finished, now-ruined, disease-infested palace built in Harlequin-Gothic style, home to drug-addicts, revolutionaries, and pox-afflicted. Site of the Voracious Quill’s printing press and redoubt of the Soldiers of Skin.  
•   Ktenologists’ Quarter: Primary home of Skein’s executioners, gibbet-men, and poisoners.
•   Maggotorium: Makeshift bazaar at the confluence of the Ebon, Indigo, and Cemetery wards, where dirge-witches, vermeologists, coffin-makers, tombstone-librettists, and back-alley morticians do business.
  • St. Qaspiel’s Gate: Acid-pitted barbican and helminthoid palisade that controls passage into the Eastern Cemetery.
•   Mandible Clubs: Part gang-dens, part fighting-rings where Repoussé Boys and lesser guttersnipes scrap and swagger to earn the favor and attention of the Brass Skull higher-ups.
  • Sutured Cabaret (the Scabaret): A Mandible Club run by Yves, a Brass Skull underboss.
•   Meat-Moulde Slums: Crumbling residential area bordering the Eastern Cemetery.
  • Lissome Blowfly: A rundown pub and apocryphal brothel frequented by Cemetarians and Watchmen who patrol the tomb-lands.
•   Mongrelle Run: Ecletic ghetto of Skein's alien residents, spilling into the Indigo docklands -disreputable even by Ebon Ward standards.
  • Consulate of Kisses: One of the ward’s tallest tenements, ‘attended’ to by its leechkin super, Two-Smiles, and home to Red Mei.
•   Mooncalf Tangle: Nigh-forsaken region underneath the Northern Rail and its elyctromechanical platforms, affected by bizarre structural injuries.
•   Painted House: Unofficial title of the large prison in the Ebon Ward, having earned its sobriquet from its verdigris-streaked exterior.
•   Rot-Briquet Slums: Formerly a middle-class residential and commercial district, now a fire-burnt ruin haunted by ashgeists.
  • Baggerskin Street: Cobblestone street, home of rag-traders, trash-pickers, and second-hand clothiers.
•   Sad-Reaper’s Lane: Street bordering the Eastern Cemetery, notable for its black-spiked gates and gaudy scythe-lamps.
•   The ‘Salvers (more properly, the Quacksalvers’ Sink): Series of sewer-sunk alleys near Black Souse where dubiously skilled and morally bankrupt chirurgeons and chymists operate.  
•   Swinehowl Alley: Street near Black Souse known for its knackeries. Former base of the Oddsauger.

Copper Ward
•   Ravel Row: Middle-class tenements of variegated brick, barred windows, and patinated balusters. Xavier's home and private workshop.

Crimson Ward
•   Coistrels' March: Street that connects the Brimestone Market and Myrmidon Souk, known for establishments catering to mercenaries.
•   Great Souage: A wide boulevard that cuts across the western city, flanked by shackled and bladed statues of St. Camnus, justicar-saint of bondage and bloodshed.  
•   Myrmidon Souk: Market that specializes in the sale of servants, both martial and mundane, located at the intersection of the Souage and Coistrels’ March.
  • Choler Exchange: Section that contains offices of the Gold-Vambrace and Widow-Wright merchant companies,  training yards, Centaur stable, and a Pale Legion's contract-shop.
  • Fetterglove’s: Elite store that sells custom-tailored livery and skin-brands that compel obedience akin to Marainein's Sigils of Servitude.
  • Gilded Poleyn: Tavern that features elaborate fencers, sword-swallowers, & knife-jugglers as entertainment.
  • Petite Joug: Sells neck-shackled Ebon Ward waifs as servants, run by Qiao-Fae.
  • Ratibor's Emporium of Manciples & Vadelects: Finds, trains, and connects skilled house-servants to wealthy patrons.
  • Sanguinary Fillet: Red-ribboned serving-staff known for its cheap meat-cuts, glazed ribs, and pepperwine.
  • Sexasgesimal Arms: Shop offering mercenary demon-binders, conjured otherworldly servants, goetic tomes, and argent collars.
•   Ossein Court: Prominent courtyard near the Brimestone Market where merchant companies involved in ur-bone extraction and trade -such as the Night Marrow merchant company- have their headquarters.

Indigo Ward
•   Glass Carousel: A local 'jail' where prisoners work off petty crimes and debts by walking a massive rattle-wheel that powers various machinery like canals, dry docks, and dredging.
•   Gravid Boudoir: Dockside drug- and pleasure-den run by Madame Zamorra (aka Beldam Mouldegill)
•   Hullsgrave: Southerly region full of broken ship-slums.
  • Varegous Idol: Derelict slave-galley from Marainein, reputed home of the Communion of Cagastric Rapture
•   Impregnated Stallion: Brothel-bar below flophouse run by Sacheverell

Saffron Ward
•   Paedarchs' Boulevarde: Connected to a larger avenue lined with fragrant persimmon trees, Paedarchs' Boulevarde is the product of technolatry, a playground of boutiques specifically catering to child clientele –or more precisely the permissive, affluent parents who spoil them.
  • Amorce: Whose wheellock cap-pistols and elaborate toy flare-guns fill the air with perfumed smoke and percussive symphonies, each lovingly crafted by Qishen, the alleged bastard and apprentice of the famed Val Corvan.
  • The Auturgic Circus: A clockwork toyshop selling trinkets, baubles, and gewgaws made by an unseen sweatshop of mantid tinkerers who answer to Ringmaster Serell, known for his toy train that winds around his top-hat’s brim, his handlebar mustache greased with ever-buzzing aerugo-flies, and his organ-grinding monkey of argent manufacture.
  • The Moth-Prince Menagerie: Run by Sogni, a pygmy thremmatologist from the Collegia Vlerinn-Phoi, who sells miniature animals, bred like bonsai trees for the fancy of petulant, if prosperous, jackanapes.
  • Phalerate Dollhouse: Run by Tsin-Leirre, who sells celadon-faced dolls adorned in delicate dresses of ruffled lace, dyed silk, and embroidered velour.
  • Phengge’s Emporium of Confectionaries, Candies, & Childish Delights: Known for its prolix candy presses and the eponymous Phengge, with her sweetmeat-speckled hoopskirt and sugar-powdered periwig.
  • The Prescite Palm: A palmistry shop run by the eyeblight-infected Madame Volar, whose chirosophic arts and veiled legerdemain captivate young and old alike.
  • The Scutestage Drollic: A massive chelonian shell imported from Marainein whose hollowed interior houses a troupe of black-furred zerda who perform elaborate shadow-puppetry under the direction of Yağmur Sahif, better known as Messeuir Marionette, a dark-skinned Erebh expatriate who pretends he’s a shade, complete with pitch-black fez, cassock, parasol, and shadeglass spectacles.
  • Tragematopolis: A confectionary run by the witch-spinster Hortense whose hexed candies, ensorcelled alphenics, and bitter rivalry with Phengge are a legend of the Boulevarde.

Tangerine Ward
•   Brinesaddle: Otto Shamgarr’s mid-sized trawler filled with caged beasts and crew of blooded hunters.

Violet Ward
•   Gadfly’s Trammel: A street bordering the Viridian Ward, filled with clubs and cafes patroned by aristocratic scions and wealthy Collegia students.
  • Blannery Wallows: A sculpture-terraced bathhouse purportedly with ties to the Nine-Eyes syndicate.
•   Hadric’s Home: A former bordello and warehouse for now-milden play props.
•   Sateen Comte: A semi-exclusive pleasure-club frequented by parliamentarian bureaucrats and would-be-mistresses of magisters.

IC: Featured Aristocracy
•   Pheliphas: Current patriarch, Chancellor of Tho-Lladrim

•   Caacrabolas: Pheliphas’ familiar

•   Cyrille: Alisandre's former betrothed, twin brother of Proserpine


Mei-Vourne (black & midnight blue)
•   Belphia: Alisandre’s deceased mother, daughter of Cadmus Phel-Nirian
•   Caraumonde: Current patriarch
•   Delepitore: Caraumonde's fifth wife, deceased
•   Faustine: Xedric's wife, formerly of House Lurot of Mulcatra
•   Lenora: Symus' wife, formerly of House Gervas of New Gromlech
•   Patrois: Alisandre’s youngest half-brother, famed trapmaker
•   Proserpine: Minor daughter of Lucor-Rrem, Caraumonde’s newest bride
•   Symos: Alisandre’s half-brother, former worshipper of Weeping Lady
•   Xedric: Current scion, Alisandre’s eldest half-brother, Pallid Mummer

•   Fayre-Delun: Former bodyguard-valet of Symos, infected with blanchphage
•   Lucretius: Xedric’s lupine-equinine hybrid mount-pet
•   Madame Fontanelle: bricoleur governess
•   Zorjub: Alisandre’s decapitated, mummified familiar

•   Orlando: Deceased patriarch, the Mad Magister, creator of Macellaria’s Watchdogs

Phan-Laru (red & black)
•   Jeanne: Current matriarch

Phel-Nirian (white & maroon)
•   Alphosine: Alisandre’s half-sister, married to Seivert
•   Cadmus: First-son of Claudius
•   Claudius: Current patriarch, Hadric’s maternal uncle
•   Cybille: Hadric’s deceased mother
•   Seivert: Second-son of Claudius
•   Umptor: Third-son of Claudius

•   Nibs: Hadric’s unbound familiar
•   Prince Fugard: Alphosine’s ailing cinder-ape butler
•   Tatiana Chemoley: Hadric's servant-girl, orphaned daughter of Virdal and Kravec Chemoley
•   Ulle-Shi: Hadric’s barrister
•   Zeernebub: Alphosine’s familiar

Quin (burgundy & lime)
•   Pyrach-Quin: Current patriarch
•   Aubrey-Quin: Pyrach’s heir, parliamentarian, associate of Xedric

Rasch-Lurot (black & orange)
•   Elphias: Nascent patriarch
•   Ylphine: Elphias’ deceased mother
•   Xalmas: Elphias’ maternal uncle, missing

•   Guin: Elphias’ bodyguard and Night-Marrow agent

Sedaracs (bruise purple-red)
•   Luqin
•   Lucilius
•   Lemerre

Taim (purple & grey)
•   Sarah: Current matriarch


IC: Collegia

•   Phelipas Luan-Viardot: Chancellor

IC:  Criminal Syndicates
Brass Skulls
•   Annealed Brethren
•   Guyall-Sinn, the Sutured Kingpin
•   Bosses
  • Lanjou
  • Preyll-Shui
  • Sidot
  • Xann-Carlu
•   Underbosses
  • Yves (aka Aerugo Attercop)
•   Repoussé Boys
  • Shiqq
  • Tohno
  • Yomi
Nine Eyes
•   Harpy-Hand
•   Mustachioed Queen
•   Sog-Boys
  • Blacksocks
  • Bolefinger
  • Bruisegut
•   Ngo-Shenn
•   Sacheverell (aka Dr. Sach): Drugdealer-pimp, runs Impregnated Stallion
Yellow Dragons
•   Byleth
•   Diet of the Jaundiced Assembly (aka Byleth’s Diet)

Criminals, Affiliations Unknown
•   Jun-Moise: Tattooed-faced courier, assistant to Nicodemius
•   Nicodemius (aka Midnight Papillion): Black-market art dealer
•   Pieng-Luc: Fence, last seen with Xalmas
•   Tandy Suckle: Ghul streetwalker, works for Dr. Sach, last seen with Xalmas

IC: Government Officials
•   Antoine-Ru: Former secretary to Chief-Magistrate Lian and erstwhile employer of Mr. Chen
•   Tumais-Shinn: Associate of Aubrey-Quin
•   The Undertaker: High-pitched grave-digger that frequents Belphia's crypt
•   Chief-Magistrate Lian: Previous chief-magistrate
•   Chief-Magistrate Shenn: Current chief-magistrate, head of 12 Stewards
•   Delune: Sergeant under Red Mei
•   Jeun: Patrols Saffron Ward
•   Red Mei: Expatriated freewoman, crooked lieutenant
•   Yushen: Bigoted captain, favored by Verra-Qior and the Ambergris Debutante, accidentally killed by Catena

IC: Mercentile Personae & Enterprises
•   Jarrow Slake: Subdued by Catena
•   Kravec Chemoley: Tatiana's father, died fighting with the Sons of the Wolf during the Adumbal War
•   Sharp Jasper:
•   Tarpaulin Tlex
•   The Ossifragant: Ghul killed by Jarrow Slake
•   Usha:
•   Xar-Qay:

Merchant Companies
•   Gold Vambrace: Trains & loans armigers, shield-bearers, and other custrels
•   Hell’s Teeth: Arms manufacture and trade, including ur-bones
•   Night-Marrow: Ur-bone extraction, refinement, and trade as well as mundane arms dealing
•   Widow-Wright: Hiring of mercenaries and alleged assassins

Merchants & Proprietors
•   Farelige: Technically two hairdressers with the same name, differentiated by their monikers of Carmine and Perse. Victims of Otto’s capricorn diabolus
•   Madame Zamorra (aka Beldame Mouldegill): Runs pleasure-pier in Indigo Ward, Gravid Boudoir, controls monopoly of Cerulean Bliss
•   Monsieur Lerrard: Hairdresser of high-class courtesans
•   Otto Shamgarr: Crepuscle hunter and trader of bizarre beasts
•   Qiao-Fae (aka Mother Manacle): Owns Petite Joug, collects Ebon Ward urchins to sell as pliable house-servants
•   Ratibor: Runs Emporium of Manciples & Vadelects
•   Tsin-Leirre: Dollmaker, runs Phalerate Dollhouse
•   Two-Smiles: Leechkin landlord/super of the Consulate of Kisses in the Mongrelle Run

IC: Newsrags
Brazen Chaunticleer
Voracious Quill
•   Remmy: Head editor
•   Maryse-Liang: Female human gearborg, former Brass-Skull

IC: Political Factions & Revolutionaries
Black Ague Socialites
•   Soldiers of Skin

IC: Religious Societies & Theosophic Cults
Communion of Cagastric Rapture: Heretic cult of Yzch
Pallid Mummers: Run Chrysanth Ring
•   Florist of Gasps
•   Grey Lanterneer

IC: Other
Balfor Vitarrese: Art-critic and ally of Alphosine
Feodor Chemoley: Eldest born of Ludovic, died during Northern Uprising fighting against Revenants
Galkin Chemoley: Tatiana's surviving uncle, landless noble in Northern Baronies
Harne-Fei: Old paramour of Cybille Phel-Nirian
Ludovic Chemoley: Noble seditionist painter and former patriarch of Chemoley of Old Gromlech
Meng-Yao: Balfor’s hansom-driver
Rel-Shan: Artificer who designed and ran Black Souse’s Flensery, sponsored by House Phan-Laru, killed by local mob
Nian: Missing man from Brass Skull’s turf
Sampati: Jatayu fabler living near Gadfly’s Trammel
Virdal: Tatiana's mother, machinist, went missing in Brass Skull turf
« Last Edit: September 14, 2014, 07:02:42 PM by Rose-of-Vellum »


  • Gibbering Mouther
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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #2 on: January 25, 2014, 09:50:58 PM »
I'm all in, barring any sudden scheduling catastrophes.
« Last Edit: January 25, 2014, 09:52:51 PM by Superbright »


  • Yrthak
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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #3 on: January 25, 2014, 10:22:24 PM »
This sounds like a lot of fun.  Not absolutely committing, but I am definitely interested.
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  • Gelatinous Cube
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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #4 on: January 25, 2014, 10:50:55 PM »
I'm going to give a most likely in, as I join yet another game! :D
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  • Giant Space Hamster
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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #5 on: January 25, 2014, 11:00:02 PM »
Wunderbar! Let me know what concepts you're fancying.


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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #6 on: January 27, 2014, 06:48:09 PM »
Since this is a PbP I might be able to participate, so long as my involvement wouldn't be disconcerting.

The opening flavour text is quite intriguing!


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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #7 on: January 27, 2014, 07:52:41 PM »
Quote from: Steerpike
Since this is a PbP I might be able to participate, so long as my involvement wouldn't be disconcerting.
Disconcerting? Nay, I'd be honored!

The opening flavour text is quite intriguing!
Thank you; I definitely hoped it would capture the interest of prospective players (and also capture a good portion of the area's ambience). 

With 4 potential players, I look forward to beginning as soon as players are ready. In fact, I have a couple of potential 'preludes' to the first 'group' adventure, so even if 1 player gets his/her PC ready, we can start, if said player desires.

To that end, Superbright, Seraphine_Harmonium, Steerpike, & Xathan, I would love to hear what character concepts interest you.

Also, for anyone else interested, we have 2 more slots.


  • Yrthak
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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #8 on: January 27, 2014, 08:05:29 PM »
I am interested in participating, and since it is a PbP, I think I could manage it time-wise.  I am interested in playing a Ghul, with a mechanical bent.  I am thinking the "Technothaumaturgy" route as a Theurge.  I'd want to be a bit "mad-scientist" with some manic eccentricities and wild-eyed tendencies.  I liked the sound of
Or perhaps you belong to a Robber Guild, scavenging the Shatters to decipher the mysteries of its slumbering Behemoths and the broken machine-gods of Cullys and Suchol.

I am thinking that I may have belonged to a machine-cult, and uncovered a major artifact I didn't understand--something huge and obviously very important.  But I could never figure out how to make it work.  Scavenging and living in essential poverty, I contracted a deady disease.  Desperate, I infected myself with the ghul-worm intentionally, hoping to extend my time.  However, I lost my memories of everything I learned about the machine, but the sense of its importance remained, and the obsession crossed the boundary of undeath.  I may have acquired some of the information from notebooks and journals and so forth. 
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  • Giant Space Hamster
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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #9 on: January 27, 2014, 08:19:55 PM »
That sounds deliciously perfect, SH. I'm mid-way through finishing the Diabolism focus; after that, I'll post the Artifice focus, since that seems to be what you're describing.


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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #10 on: January 27, 2014, 08:56:41 PM »
Oh yeah, Artifice sounds perfect!
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  • Flumph
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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #11 on: January 27, 2014, 09:40:40 PM »
I might play as a psychopathic warrior-girl, a former slave of the lilix who butchered her captors and escaped servitude, fleeing to Skein and working as a bodyguard and/or tough-for-hire.  Scarred by the whip and by the fangs of her esrtwhile masters, she'd likely specialize in unarmed (and unarmoured) combat and improvised weapons (strangling with chains or rope, clubs, concealed blades).  She might have some aptitude for stealth.  I'd imagine her as semi-feral and pitiless but also quite capable of following instructions when it suits her.  Definitely will take the Stoic Disposition.


  • Giant Space Hamster
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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #12 on: January 27, 2014, 10:36:49 PM »
Evocative concept. Would she be one of the lilix's albino slaves?  Are you leaning towards warrior or rogue as your archetype? Bloodletting might be an appropriate focus, so I'll move that up the list. Alternatively, Assassination might apply. Or if neither of those seem to fit, I could create a focus that revolves around using improvised weapons/unarmed combat.


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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #13 on: January 28, 2014, 01:19:49 AM »
Yes, former slave of the lilix; probably a Warrior Archetype, Inherent Traits, with No Need for Weapons and Trained Without Armour.  Bloodletting sounds potentially promising.


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Re: Clockwork Abattoir: A Cadaverous Earth campaign
« Reply #14 on: January 28, 2014, 09:57:47 AM »
Actually, I read the Diabolism and am now totally inspired to go a different route with my Ghul Theurge.  Think of it as "Faust: the Sequel."  I'd say I was once a healer, a doctor of divine medicine, (an exorcist, basically) who studied demonology with every intent to do good, yet as I delved into the mysteries, and learned to command demons, the power became addicting.  I made a bargain with a fiend, thinking that my skill and my faith would protect me, and that I could see it through.  The pact was, as it always is, for my soul.  As I approached the end of my illustrious and decadent life, I became desperate to find a way out of the bargain.  Some loophole: anything.  I infected myself with the Ghul worm.  The death that entailed was surely a mere technicality, and I would never have to face the consequences of that bargain.  I had cheated hell, as it were.  But the thing they do not mention in the scriptures is that it is not at the last moment when the demons take what is theirs; oh no, they are much too subtle and cunning for that.  No, they take your soul piecemeal, bit by bit as you call upon their aid.  I did not know that my soul was already theirs to torment, even in undeath.  Somewhere in hell, Demonic dukes toy with me for my amusement while the amnesiac ghul wanders the Cadaverous earth, wracked by their mental tortures.  I know not who I am.  I only know, from the fevered scratchings I made decades ago on my very skin, the source of my power.  They are incomprehensible sigils written in a glyphic code that only I know--or knew, most of it has left my memory--how to read.  Yet, every so often an event in my un-life stirs a lost memory of my forgotten power and damnation.
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