The series continues. Minimally edited and even less playable. Enjoy?
You douse the fire. Steam and smoke flood the shore and mingle with the mist hanging on the surface of the water.
Plunged into a vault of mist - silence; you can hardly see the rest of the party - a soft light , the low honk of a horn - the light resolves; forms a skull in the fog; then you see the lamp - wrought iron lantern of a edvard munch scream, white electric light pouring from eyes and mouth - THE BOAT, the chugging of a motor; hull looks like strips of metal wasp-paper curling around a precious cargo, a cabinfull of ghoulish passengers - a gothic combustion engine and propeller assembly at the stern churns the river into froth - the cabin is stained glass and metal, can see silhouettes within, murmuring conversation, some passengers lean off the side but all give the ferryman a wide berth - at the prow stands THE FERRYMAN; raises a hand and the boat pulls to a stop by the shore - two wire thralls slap a sheet metal ramp onto the beach - he is a tall hulk wrapped in fur coats and brass wire -fishbowl helmet, inside swirling black smoke, two tiny points glowing like stars - skeletal hands bedecked with rings and bracelets - wields dire magics, can call the water forth to strangle and restrain, can rise on cold winds, then floats over and blasts you with a sawn off shotgun - controls the boat with one of his rings, opals in a propeller pattern - silent, polite, stoic. You paid him after all. Doesn’t ask questions visavis being dead, but will boot you if you’re obviously not - has 800 silver worth of rings and shit, also his eyes fall when killed and roll around inside the fishbowl, eclipsed suns, swallowing one grants CURSED ABMORTALITY
SEVEN “SOULS” RIDE THE FERRY
Outside the cabin: Bok-tet, a kaballist, human leather coat, a shard of obsidian ritual knife hung about the neck. A lucky member of the blue god conspiracy, was granted undeath by his deity before it was annihilated, you’ll find lots of ghouls from around then. The tell-tale rings of the Dead God’s touch. Rebellious, callous, harsh, still dedicated to the tenets that lead him to his forbidden worship – that death is a malfunction, the end of all mourning, etc. Aware this would lead to his starvation, now.
Mollusca Iona, skin like yellow parchment, fat and luxurious, biomechane visor, blinky light bulb jewelry; she is a frequent visitor of the market, murmurs deeply, “hope the band is more lively this year… those princes should be an interesting display… have to remember to finally sample that stew…”
HISTORY: First bite was at a dark aristocratic dinner in the now-fallen Decapolitan city of Ulkan in the Orangelands, 900 years ago. Red candles, weeping servants. Weeping guests too, once they tasted the meat. Exquisite. Used vast wealth to replace failing organs, eyes, etc, but soon was mostly unnecessary since, like all ghouls if they last long enough, her expanding labyrinthine digestive system does all the work.
Hunder and Yuna, orphan children, skeleton siblings, look out for each other. Hunder has a floppy cap, Yuna has dressed up for the occasion, spell engines grip their spines, escaped from a mad sorcerer’s basement laboratory. Untrusting, dark jokes, Hund is glum, Yuna is a realistic optimist. Not ghouls, but welcome at their Market.
Inside the cabin: Ruins-Your-Life, Steppelander ghoul from the lost Tangelo tribe, a wendigo who has acquired a taste for the luxuries of settled civilization that only the Market can provide (century eggs and human pate, specifically, but also fungal cheeses and liquid memories) and is journeying there for the first time. Standoffish and unaccustomed to company. Wears a wide, shadowy sombrero, has three sets of stacked eyes like the pips on a die, very skinny and crooked.
IN THEIR PACK: Some GOLP, skipping stones, locks of kid hair, pouch of gravedirt, teeth, ghoul pants, eyedrops.
Pen name Gunja Teabag, ghoul novellista, producer of penny dreadfuls distributed through underground channels and read mainly by perverts. Maintains a writerly attitude, but in reality she’s never written a word of fiction. Every terrible thing in her books she has done or seen done. First seen by the party wiping away the last of the cocoa face paint she applies to appear human. Has unfinished manuscripts in her luggage, worth a great deal of dangerous money if completed and published.
And finally Vynn Pozzani, once a die-sel miner, trapped by a cave-in and ate her crewmates to survive, grew twisted and dark and found her way to the Market from above many years ago, keeps their ears on a necklace even now, “Extraction Crew 077”, slipped into solipsism to deal with the event - she moves through the world like an RPG protagonist, no one else is really real.
Of these, only Bok-Tet and Gunja have weapons other than claws - the first casts rituals that summon choking clouds and decay, the second has a hidden pouch of scalpels, hooks, tweezers, and pins that she can use and throw as daggers.
The cabin and engine are both guarded by a pair of wire thralls, patchy plaz skin sheets, LED eyes, human skeleton wound with thin copper tendons, CPU boxes in chest cavity protected by aluminum spheres bolted to ribs; reprogram or add new instruction by feeding punched cards into slot in the front (scraps of paper around their feet), external speaker visible in neck, just fucking awful to look at. Armed with truncheons, stoles depicting a field of yellow stars on a violet background.
STR: 12 DEX: 6 CON: 12 INT,WIS,CHA: 1 HP: 10 ATK: 12 DEF: 14 DMG: 1d6 MOVE: 25
Robo Scream: As long as speakerbox in throat is not damaged, starts combat by screaming.
Hugs and detonates onboard plastic explosive charge if very low HP (test to resist, else 1d12 damage)
The cabin guards are there just to make sure nothing untoward happens during the trip. The engine guards actively prevent fuckery by drawing their clubs if anyone approaches.
The engine is covered by a tarp-tent stretched over rusted poles (macabre charms hang from the tarp, bundles of chicken bones, little crude dolls, ribbons, strings of teeth, etc). Chugs along, coughs black smoke, chops at the River with a big propeller. Extra jerry cans of guzzolene strapped to the back wall of the cabin.
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