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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