Quellian

Creature

Description:

Enormous, Playful Amoebas

At rest, the average quellian resembles a lump of semi-transparent dough floating in a membranous sac of clear jelly, or an amoeba measuring up to a half-meter across. When active, however, quellians look more like a terrestrial jellyfish or bizarre squid, a wriggling mass of innumerable tendrils that can be as thin as a whisker or as thick as a fist. Extruding these tendrils from their membranes, quellians use their tendrils to communicate, manipulate objects, and locomote (through most often by rolling like a tumbleweed, but quellians have been known to climb, walk, brachiate, swim, and even glide on occasion).

Insatiably Curious (and Practically Indestructible)

Behaviorally, quellians are known for their inexhaustible curiosity, commonly squeezing themselves into any machine or Wonder that can hold them, even active devices or those with interiors that would be inimical to most forms of life (because of radiation, toxicity, extreme temperatures, or simply sharp moving parts). Luckily, quellians are practically indestructible—not only are their membranes essentially impervious to physical stresses, but so long as the doughy material that makes up their “brain” survives, they can gradually regenerate the rest of their physiology without issue.

Quirks:

Communicating With Quellians is...Difficult

For a period of time, the question of quellian sapience divided researchers. Although it was clear that the creatures communicate amongst themselves by the gel-like medium that makes up most of their bodies (either directly, by merging merging their tendrils, or asynchronously/at a distance, by extruding thought-spiders—bubbles of jelly capable of autonomously seeking out and merging with other quellians), and are capable of responding to spoken speech with written responses, said responses always consist of bursts of dozens and dozens of simultaneous declarations, interrogations, and exclamations.

As these messages were composed of an eclectic variety of lexemes, syntaxes, and idioms from numerous languages, this behavior was thought merely to be mimicry—quellians had never written researchers more than one burst-message in a given session—but eventually, a specialist named Hedracaum Harton cracked the code, proving not only that quellians are sapient, but that the reason they don’t communicate with most sophonts is because we bored them. It was a well-known fact before that point that quellians seem to express their internal emotional states by the arrangement of their tendrils (much the same way that a human’s face or Jadder’s odor does so), but quellians are blind, rendering their emotions hidden so long as no other quellian is currently touching them.

What allowed Hedracaum Harton to break through the communication barrier was a question about tendril-expressions, one which caused an epiphany in the quellian that answered the question. While Slow People (their name for non-quellian sophonts) are very boring to talk to, they can perceive emotions in a completely unthought-of way! As more and more quellians learned this fact, their willingness to communicate with Slow People increased tremendously. Despite this fact, there are some concepts quellians have trouble grasping besides sight.

More “Curious Borrowers” Than “Greedy Thieves”

For example, quellians have no concept of personal property, and seem to divide the world into “things I’m touching” and “things I’m no touching.” This fact—combined with their inability to understand “danger,” as well as their near-infinite curiosity—means they often cause mischief by getting inside objects they shouldn’t (engines, machines, reactors, Wonders, and so forth), or by taking things they shouldn’t (clocks, tools, datacubes, weapons).

Although they don’t mean any harm by these actions—and in fact, seem incapable of understanding that anyone would be upset about them at all—it’s almost impossible to keep quellians to keep their tendrils to themselves (especially since they can fit through any crevice their doughy “brain” can squeeze into). As such, when there are machines, Wonders, and objects that should not be interfered with willy-nilly, (such as the air filtration systems of an undersea colony or the gravitic engines that keep an aerial city aloft), non-quellian communities are advised to either A) Prevent quellian entry entirely through the use of forcefields or other Wondrous means, or B) Keep the quellians occupied by allowing them to play with/explore/investigate items, objects, and places where their presence does not pose a danger.

All in all, however, it’s a good bet that if you’ve “lost” something, you can’t find it anywhere, and there are quellians nearby, you should check with them to see if they have it.

Adventure Hooks:

Q: Where Does a Stubborn Quellian Sit? [A: Anywhere It Wants]

To better feed their people, the Voivode of the Amber Pool has recently purchased an 8th-Age brilliant cornucopia. On trying to activate it, however, the Voivode’s engineers discovered a nest of quellians inside. The quellians (like all of their kind) aren’t violent, but they have steadfastly refused to vacate the device, and have prevented all methods of extracting them reasons they will not explain. As the cornucopia won’t work with them inside it, the Voivode is offering patents of nobility and a small tract of land to whoever can solve the issue without harming the creatures or the Wonder.

Playful Critters, or Playing Dumb?

A newcomer to town bears an odd, unbridled hatred towards quellians, spreading rumors that their playfulness is but a facade that hides murderous intent. According to the story he’s told at the local pub, quellians slaughtered his people, and he’s supposedly learned of a device that can utterly wipe out their species, he just needs funds and somebody to help him acquire the object in question. While many of the locals find the nearby quellian nest to be a bit of a bother, few are willing to support genocide, so the stranger hasn’t had much luck so far, but if the PCs hang around for a while, they will notice something odd is going on.

While quellians are pacifistic by nature, something odd whenever to any who get within a few meters of the newcomer. Their brain dough begins to pulse with dark red and charcoal stripes, and the liquid grace of their tendrils change to sharp, aggressive jerks. What’s more, anyone capable of interpreting quellian tendril-expressions will see that affected creatures are expressing an emotion over and over at this man: hate.

Is the newcomer right? Are quellians really as dangerous as he says? Or is it the quellians that have something to fear from him?

The Kaqal Job

Down on their luck, the PCs take a job that seems like easy money. All they have to do is bring a Wonder to the village of Kaqal, activate it, guard it for the next ten days, deactivate it, and come back for their reward. But the day after activating the device, something very odd begins to happen to the quellians that live nearby—their jelly seems to be crystallizing. With each day that passes, more and more quellians are affected, and it isn’t long before one shatters to pieces completely. The people of Kaqal have long lived in peace with the quellians, and many of the villagers try to figure out a way to help the poor creatures.

The PCs don’t know for sure that the Wonder they’re guarding is responsible (after all, correlation =/= causation), but the evidence is pretty strong. On the other hand, their contract was pretty specific—if they don’t run the device for ten days straight, they won’t get their reward. (And their patron is not someone it’d be wise to cross.) Do they wait things out, save the quellians, or try to find another option?

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Tellep

Creature

Description:

Like the Offspring of a Moth and a Wallaby

Though none would be familiar with the words “moth” or “wallaby” outside of those who regularly study incredibly ancient records, telleps look a bit like a combination of the two. Standing a little over a meter tall on average, telleps are primarily herbivores, using the grinding pads on the bottoms of their stout tails to strip lichen and moss from the mountainous cliff sides they call home. (These tails are also home to hollow calcareous stylets, essentially organic needles, which are used to extract hemolymph from dead predators. See “Nourish the Body, Poison the Mind” below for more information.)

Telleps are timid, trunked creatures covered in a fuzzy grey material similar to fur or downy feathers, have a pair of heavily muscled legs that end in small cloven hooves, and sport two pairs of lateral frills that almost disappear when folded up. Telleps use these frills as proto-winglike structures to navigate the mountainous territory they call home, for communication and threat displays towards potential predators and rivals, and (in conjunction with the numerous miniature radar emitters at the tip of the tellep’s trunk) as sensory organs to help triangulate the projection of their globules, which essentially act as soft organic bullets.

Quirks:

Edible “Bullets”

If the flaring of their frills or their high-pitched chirping isn’t enough to deter a would-be threat, telleps are able to fire a sport of natural “bullet” at their target with significant velocity. These globules or pellets are densely compacted wads of what is essentially cud, although chemical analysis of a number of specimens has confirmed the globules actually contain far more nutrients (and of greater varieties) than one would expect to be produced by an animal that primarily eats moss and lichen.

While dense, these natural bullets are rather soft and deform on impact, which reduces their effectiveness as a deterrent somewhat when striking armored targets. However, the nutritional value of even a few tellep globules is quite high, and many species thought to have once preyed on the small creatures instead frighten them into providing a free lunch instead, a behavior thought to have evolved over time.

Nourish the Body, Poison the Mind

While the relationship between telleps and their would-be predators is essentially an example of animal extortion, the relationship between hunter and hunted isn’t always quite so straightforward. If sufficiently stressed, telleps are capable of firing globules covered in a coating of sticky mucus. This mucus has psychoactive properties which, while mild if absorbed through the skin, are incredibly potent if consumed. Often, predators that consume these “drug bullets” become so disoriented that they fall to their deaths, and telleps use the calcareous stylets found in their “tails” to feed upon their bodily fluids.

It’s unclear as to whether this strategy is purposeful and telleps are deliberately killing their aggressor in order to consume their hemolymph, or whether their behavior is accidental, as telleps will scavenge other carrion they come upon, not merely animals which they themselves have killed. That being said, the longer a tellep goes without consuming hemolymph, the more likely it is to produce psychoactive mucus, so it’s likely that there is some connection.

Adventure Hooks:

Periodically, Pet Pacification Proceeds Poorly

In the city of Opalmoss, pet telleps have been the rage for over twenty years, ever since Car’Kon the Metallurgist began producing what xe called “pacification studs.” The small coppery spikes, when pierced through a tellep’s upper and lower frills, render it completely docile, no matter its temperament before. Not only will its owner no longer have to worry about the calcareous stylet in its tail or its psychoactive mucus, but once pacified, tellep become extremely affectionate pets. True, the studs need to be replaced every so often as they corrode, but that’s no worry—Car’Kon offers replacements for half-price.

Unfortunately, when the Metallurgist goes missing after their foundry is found melted to slag, there are quite a number of pacified telleps throughout Opalmoss in dire need of new studs, soon...an issue that becomes especially pressing after a few of the creatures lose more than one stud and go feral, attacking all and sundry with psychoactive mucus more potent (and toxic) than normal.

A Heart That Beats on Borrowed Time

The lives of the Amoroni-Saput (the people whose name is shared by the mountains they call home) have depended on the telleps for generations, and the animals are treated as sacred beings, revered for all that they give unto the people. The Amoroni-Saput use tellep hide for their clothing, fur for their fabric, hooves for their glue, radar emitters for communication, and psychoactive mucus for their holy rites, viewing it as a gift from their ancestors for its ability to expand the horizons of the mind and elevate the spirit from this tellurian plane. However, when Saumhoornil (an old Amoroni-Saput friend of theirs) finds them, the PCs learn something has gone terribly wrong with the telleps of the mountains.

For the last season, tellep mucus has somehow changed, becoming more varied in color, intensity, and effect. This has drastically affected Amoroni-Saput shamans’ abilities to perform birth welcomings, marriages, and funerary rites, and worst of all, their most ancient and revered shaman has seemingly been poisoned by the latest batch of altered mucus. Saumhoornil asks for their help in uncovering the cause behind this change and explains that time is running out—for the PCs’ friend and the shaman. It seems that the poisoned shaman is Saumhoornil’s only living family member, and to keep them alive, Saumhoornil has performed imqi’ohqi, a ritual where a healthy member of the tribe gives up some of their blood to one who is in need, replacing it with godtears, to be changed back into regular blood with a tellep mucus-derived compound.

Normally, one only gives up a fifth or a quarter of one’s blood in imqi’ohqi, but Saumhoornil gave up nine-tenths of theirs, and without untainted mucus to change the godtears in their veins back into blood, the PCs’ friend will surely die. Until that point, however, Saumhoornil’s status as imqi (more powerful than any in Amoroni-Saput history) gives them an insight into the realm beyond this one, an insight that tells them the PCs are the key to healing the telleps and saving their life.

Would-Be Shepherds Would Do Well to Remember “Caveat Emptor”

The PCs stay the night at a small farmhouse with a gregarious family of tokasheru (five-legged sophonts with an affection for simple living, hard work, and total pacifism). It seems the tokasheru have decided to take up tellep farming in an effort to add some flavor to their diet that meets with their high philosophical standards. Up until recently, they’d depended on a Wonder capable of creating a nutritious, if exceedingly bland, gruel, but when a traveling merchant passed by a few tendays past, the tokasheru used the last of their savings to purchase a small herd of telleps. The globules harvested from the telleps would not only be a welcome addition to their meals, but they could sell them for extra money as well.

Unfortunately, the PCs’ hosts explain, if the telleps do not regularly feed on hemolymph, their globules become coated with a disgusting mucus. (The tokasheru are immune to its psychoactive properties, but it utterly ruins the organic projectiles as a source of food for them.) Although they hesitate to ask, the tokasheru would greatly appreciate if the PCs could bring back any dead arthropods they find on their travels in the nearby area.

If the PCs accept the quest and slay an arthropod, they’ll soon find themselves traveling alongside the robotic merchant described by their tokasheru friends—a member of the Eukeynes Consolidation, in fact. The telepresence drone remarks on the PCs’ bounty, and inquires as to whether they’d be interested in its latest offering: an exceedingly realistic (albeit, synthetic) arthropod “corpse” that comes complete with a hemolymph dispenser, as well as a month’s supply of hemolymph pellets to fill it—just add water!

Will the PCs react kindly to a merchant who dealt their pacifist friends a bad hand? Are they willing to upset the powerful economic force that is the Eukeynes Consolidation? Can they figure out a way to beg, borrow, or steal the hemolymph? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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If you enjoy my work and would like to see more stat-less bizarrities, places of interest, odd creatures, and strange settlements, please support me on Patreon or Ko-fi! (Non-monetary support is always welcome, too. Spread the word of the #WeirdGazetteer far and wide!)

Also, please note—The Gazetteer of the Weird and all entries within it are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, so be cool.

Scenepainter Wasps

Creature

Description:

That’s No Wasp...

Despite the name, the word “wasp” is an artifact—the creatures only resemble the long-extinct suborder of insects in size (about the size of a thumbnail), color (tawny gold and glossy black), and the fact that their swarms make nests of a papery material. The similarities end there, however.

In appearance, for example, scenepainter wasps resemble nothing more than a collection of jointed insectile limbs sandwiched between a pair of flattened discs of chitin (one gold with concentric black circles inside, and the same color scheme in reverse on the other side). Though wingless, it’s thought that the sparks they emit from their carapace rings are what allow them to fly, (and quite nimbly, too). Scholars speculate that the sparks manipulate gravity in a limited radius around the wasp, but research is ongoing.

Quirks:

Scenes of Deadly Beauty

Scenepainter wasps owe the first part of their name due to the way they use their nests to catch prey. When a swarm of scenepainter wasps finds a suitable location (usually an aperture no more than a few feet wide, although larger specimens have been reported), the creatures excrete a substance called xerix—almost a cross between beeswax and papier-mâché—and create a thin layer of xerix within this frame. What’s astounding, however, is the fact that when the xerix dries, a still image of the scene “behind” the fragile shell appears.

Whatever breaks the crust of the scenepainter nest will be set upon by the swarm, stung into submission, and then dragged into the nest to be consumed. Scenepainters are able to repair a broken nest with incredible speed, but the fidelity of the illusion degrades with each repair. If a long enough period arises without prey, the swarm will consume their nest and fly away to find another location to begin the process over.

Like the Goose That Laid the Golden Egg

While the near-photographic properties of raw xerix cannot be replicated, processing and treating the material makes it capable of absorbing sound and smell. In fact, there are many small villages and hamlet where trade depends almost entirely on the scenepainter wasp. Some families raise prey animals for the wasps to eat, some build the frames where the wasps build their nests, others grow chokeweed (which, when burned, produces a smoke used to pacify the wasps so xerix can be harvested safely from thee nests), and still others process and treat the material. The process of harvesting xerix may be dangerous, but the value of the refined product cannot be denied.

Adventure Hook:

The Skillful Artist

Recently, the art scene has been abuzz with the meteoric rise of Bellen Onata Bjornessen (now known only as BOB). BOB was viewed by many as a third-rate creator of desultory sculptures and uninspired paintings, but the release of their latest line of pieces has emphatically changed this position. Photorealism is in vogue, and BOB’s series of still lifes has astounded even the harshest of their former critics. Investigations into BOB’s sudden growth in artistic faculty have been fruitless, (apparently, the technique is newly discovered and quite secret), and plagiarism, though suspected, cannot be proven.

Of course, when BOB's claim that these new still lifes are the creation of no other artist is technically true, they are being a bit deceptive as to the real reason behind their "newly discovered technique.” The pieces are the result of recent inheritance—what BOB thought was a strange old painting purchased by a well-traveled (and recently deceased) elderly relative actually turned out to be a poorly labeled scenepainter nest. When the wasps inside the frame of the “painting” awoke, utterly random chance saved the artist from a gruesome fate. It seems that the precise mixture of volatile organic compounds off-gassed by the paints in BOB’s studio (not to mention BOB’s penchant for eating particularly odiferous fried onion sandwiches) was a match for the wasps’ pheromone for “favored ally.” Ever since then, the scenepainters have been gentle as kittens...to BOB, anyway.

As it turns out, much of the richness of scenepainter wasp pigment is derived from their prey, and after depopulating the local area of colorful songbirds, BOB was hard-pressed for a solution. At least, until an overly-nosy rival broke into BOB’s studio one evening and solved the issue for them. The intruder fell prey to the wasps, and initially, BOB was concerned. But then inspiration struck when they saw that people who’ve inhaled paint fumes for most of their lives make for an excellent source of color. Even more conveniently, every rival BOB feeds to the wasps is one fewer they have to share the limelight with...

A Heist in the Harmonious Sonarchy

For most citizens of the Harmonious Sonarchy, possession of refined xerix is punishable by up to five minutes’ immersion in the Wailwall. The official reasoning behind the severity of this sentence is that possession of xerix by Sonarchy citizens “threatens to disrupt the glorious and unified soul of the Sonarchy,” a serious crime. The actual reason is that the sound-deadening properties of xerix would serve as a kind of ablative sonic shield for the more...disharmonious elements of society. A population that no longer feared the Sonarchy’s tools of suppression would have no reason to fear their wielders, and revolution would be quick in coming.

Outsiders, on the other hand, are permitted to bring in small amounts of the forbidden substance for personal use—although total quantities must be carefully tabulated on entering and exiting the Sonarchy to help prevent smuggling. The only exception to this rule: Jadder’Gasks. This is due partially because it’s not possible to inspect the interior of a stink merchant’s living conveyance without getting coated in an odor only a Gask could love, and also because the diminutive creatures have no concept of sound—they use xerix merely for its odor-absorbing properties.

Add to this fact the existence of a black market where even the smallest amounts of xerix command astronomic prices, and smuggling xerix into the Harmonious Sonarchy is quite the lucrative proposition. Therefore, the next time the PCs are desperate and in need of a considerable amount of money, they learn all of the above from an acquaintance of theirs: Softly-Falls-the-Rain, a forger of biological materials whose reputation for honesty is...better than most in the profession.

Softly-Falls-the-Rain offers to cut the PCs in on a profitable smuggling deal if they’ll act as the forger’s mules. So long as they’re willing to have their brains implanted in some simulacrums designed to look (and more importantly, smell) like Gasks (not to mention ride inside a Jadder for the few weeks it’ll take to get to the Harmonious Sonarchy), Softly-Falls-the-Rain can make them all rich. All the PCs will need to do is transport three dozen unmarked cakes of high-quality xerix to the forger’s contact in the black market, make the deal, and come back with the money. Once they hand over the money, Softly-Falls-the-Rain puts their brains back in their bodies, the PCs earn a nice chunk of the profits, and everybody walks away happy. What could go wrong?

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If you enjoy my work and would like to see more stat-less bizarrities, places of interest, odd creatures, and strange settlements, please support me on Patreon or Ko-fi! (Non-monetary support is always welcome, too. Spread the word of the #WeirdGazetteer far and wide!)

Also, please note—The Gazetteer of the Weird and all entries within it are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, so be cool.

Neeth

Creature

Description

Neethed (the plural form of the singular “neeth,” also called “threadsnakes” or “threadworms”) are synthetic, tubular creatures entirely composed of incredibly strong threads. While juvenile specimens may only measure a yard long and a thickness of two fingers, they begin to grow after a few months, with most mature specimens measuring three to four times their juvenile size. 

In fact, although never verified, there are sources to claim that the low berm that encircles the Guldavi Waste is actually a long-dormant neeth, one that’s lain quiescent for so long that the sandy soil has piled atop it to make it resemble a natural feature of the land. If true, the Great Guldavi Neeth would dwarf all known examples of its breed (and should it ever rise from its slumber, woe betide the nomads of the waste...)

Quirks

Alive, or Not?

While classified as “creatures” by this Gazetteer, there is a healthy debate amongst scholars as to the veracity of the claim that a neeth is “alive.” Thorough investigation and dissections have made it clear that while neethed do seem to behave similarly to an organic creature, in that they “drink” from dry streams, engulf dry sticks and stones (which pass through them unchanged), and so forth, they have no organs—sensory or otherwise. Despite this lack, neethed are still capable of navigating their environments and reacting to stimuli without issue.

Swarming Time

Neethed seem to prefer warm and dry environments, growing sluggish and irritable when in the cold and damp. While normally solitary, they do swarm periodically, an event that occurs more frequently during long periods of drought.

During swarming time, the neethed form enormous braided gestalts for long stretches of time, sometimes up to a tenday or more. Eventually, the swarm breaks up into a larger number of smaller neethed, which will then go their separate ways. Study suggestions that this is neethed reproduction, although more precise observation is made difficult by heightened aggression during the period immediately following the breakup of the gestalt, and caution is advised when attempting to interact during this time.

However, it’s important to note that not all neethed created (if "created” is the correct word to use in this context) quicken after a spawning event. Those who live near neethed spawning grounds will then gather and split apart the “dead” neethed into their component threads. These can then be woven to make a fabric called “neethcloth,” which is not only incredibly strong and lightweight but also stain-resistant as well.

Colorful Blankets, Rugs, and More

While normally a dull, mottled gray and brown in hue, another oddity of neethed is the fact that their coloration can change dramatically when exposed to certain pitches, tones, and frequencies. Those who harvest neethcloth often take this into account, using instruments or Wonders to change the color of the neethed as they spawn. 

The process is not an exact one—there’s no guarantee that the neethed that do not quicken will possess the precise colors the harvesters wish—but as neethcloth repels dye as well as it does all other forms of contaminant, music is the only way to create this type of fabric in colors other than their natural ones.

Adventure Hooks

• An entrepreneurial neethcloth dealer in town has built a climate-controlled enclosure for the dozen recently purchased mature neethed. The floor of the small warehouse is piled in hummocks of sandy soil, and the environment mimics the creatures’ natural one through the use of a pair of Wonders, ones shaped like cat-headed statues that constantly emit a warm breeze from their mouths and draw in moisture through their many hands. However, every few nights for the past tenday, a neeth has vanished without a trace. Despite investing in new locks and posting guards, the neethed keep disappearing. As such, the merchant is offering a big reward to anyone who can help solve this problem. Is there a neeth thief in town? Are the Wonders somehow to blame? Or are the neethed simply figuring out how to escape the warehouse themselves?

• Due to the incredible durability of their component threads, neethed normally ignore most living things (people included), with the sole exception of inappropriate climate and spawning season. And yet, a  caravan traveling across the Guldavi Waste claims that no matter where they run, a swarm of neethed follows close behind. And what’s worse, the threadsnakes have already taken a few of their number. Is the caravan telling the truth? If so, why are the neethed so uncharacteristically aggressive? If not, what does the caravan stand to gain by spinning such an outrageous fable?

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If you enjoy my work and would like to see more stat-less bizarrities, places of interest, odd creatures, and strange settlements, please support me on Patreon or Ko-fi! (Non-monetary support is always welcome, too. Spread the word of the #WeirdGazetteer far and wide!) 

Also, please note—The Gazetteer of the Weird and all entries within it are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, so be cool.

Angular Hound

Creature

Description:

While the most common version of the angular hound or “glitchwolf” looks like a pixelated canine made of tiny cubes, due to the effect of their bite (not to mention what happens when they decohere completely), angular hounds can also sport ursine, feline, humanoid, and even stranger body types, all of which are threats to the very fabric of reality.

Quirks:

Angular hounds are always slowly becoming more and more pixelated. In the beginning stages of corruption, they act much like their pre-infestation self, though there is an increase in aggression and need to spread out. As the corruption worsens, they become more and more pixelated, and the likelihood that their bite will affect living things grows. 

The more pixelated they are, the more their movements become orthogonal and robotic. However, just before decoherence, angular hounds are at their most erratic and their most dangerous. Not only do their mechanical movements become frenzied, their straight lines can become curves, and they can even teleport short distances. Worse, any bite is almost guaranteed to corrupt the bitten.

Destruction before the angular hound decoheres completely is a must, for if the corruption is allowed to reach the terminal stage, the infected entity will collapse into a pile of fizzing dust, and the decohering effect will start to spread throughout the area. 

Adventure Hook:

• Somehow, an angular hound has decohered in the wine cellar of a wealthy noble. The noble is willing to pay quite a bit of money for someone to rescue their most precious casks of wine (and even more money not to tell anyone about the growing instability in the fabric of reality located beneath their villa).

• A champion of the Immovable Anchor comes to the adventurers, asking for their aide. In a moment of carelessness, they were bitten by an angular hound shaped like a great winged bear. They seek assistance in slaying it before the corruption takes the champion completely, a deed which will earn the adventurers the thanks of the Order.

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If you enjoy my work and would like to see more stat-less bizarrities, places of interest, odd creatures, and strange settlements, please support me on Patreon or Ko-fi! (Non-monetary support is always welcome, too. Spread the word of the #WeirdGazetteer far and wide!)

Also, please note—The Gazetteer of the Weird and all entries within it are licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International License, so be cool.