Monsters Under the Bedrock

As of January 31st, 2015, this game is now concluded. May this sloppy-ass wiki page serve as a lasting testament to our accomplishments.

GM: Zolock

Confirmed Players: Vessiel, Baeraad, Aurvandil, Lucas Blackwolf

This being the Wiki page in service to the Might and Magic: Monsters Under the Bedrock PbP, containing pertinent information to the game and its players.

All information recorded here in regards to character sheets and the like are considered the chief authority on their respective matters.

Rules Stuff

Task Resolution

All tests are on 2d6, plus any relevant Attribute or Career. The target number is always 9.

On a 2, you have failed with a focus and intensity normally seen only in successes. On a 12, you may spend a Hero Point to do something entirely bonkers.

Combat

To Hit: 2d6+Combat Skill, -target Defense

Damage: Weapon Die+Strength, -target Armor

Rolling a 12 to hit allows you to spend a Hero Point to momentarily become a terrifying killing machine.

You may opt to go on the defensive, doubling your Defense for one turn at the cost of all other actions.

Hero Points

You may spend a Hero Point for any of the following effects:

• Add +1 to a damage any roll
• Prevent death when below 0 HP (bringing you up to 0, alive but unconscious)
• ...probably more as I invent them

Expending a Hero Point calls for the description of exceptional effort on the part of the spender, from mere physical exertion to uttering an oath to/at The Gods.

Advancement Points

They're XP. It's not that fancy.

Attributes (Strength, Agility, Mind and Appeal) can be increased at a rate of [Current Rank +1]. One XP can raise a Combat Abilities or Careers by one.

Player Characters

Vessiel - Kerilia the Naga

[2 XP Unspent]

Beliefs: The best is still ahead

Goals: Adventure and Acclaim

HP 11/11, SP 11/11, Armor 2

Hero Points: 5/5

Strength 1, Agility 2, Mind 1, Appeal 0

Brawl 3, Melee 0, Ranged 0, Defense 1

Barbarian 0, Magician 1, Pirate 2, Thief 1

Inventory: Four-Seater Naga Canoe [which is also haunted], Knife (d4), Large and Heavy Jewelry, Bracers (Armor 1), Seaweed Battle Harness (Armor 1)

Baeraad - Shnish the Mooserat

Beliefs: Survival is all that matters. Pride is foolish and makes you weak. Wealth and power in modest amounts makes you safe and are to be coveted, but in large amounts make you a target and are to be avoided. Humans are dangerous and not to be trusted; other monsters, only slightly less so.

Goals: Survive. Acquire wealth.

HP 10/10, Armor 2

Hero Points: 5/5

Strength 0, Agility 1, Mind 2, Appeal 1

Brawl 1, Melee 2, Ranged 0, Defense 1

Assassin 2 [+1 XP], Beggar 2, Hunter 1, Thief 1 [+1 XP]

Inventory: Sling (d4), Snares, Knives (d4), Sword (d6) Filthy Leathers (Armor 2)

Lucas Blackwolf - Briny Wits the Sprite

[2 XP Unspent]

Beliefs: Knowledge is power. Words are living things and must thus be chosen carefully. Captain Briny Wits should have made it into this year's Nautical Herald's Top 5 Most Terrifying Pirate Captains (the lending of Rebuke notwithstanding).

Goals: Take revenge for the loss of Rebuke. Steal human gold and curse words.

HP 6/10, Armor 2

Hero Points: 4/5

Strength 0, Agility 2, Mind 1, Appeal 1

Brawl 0, Melee 2, Ranged 2 [+1 XP], Defense 1

Noble 1, Pirate 2, Scribe 1, Thief 0

Inventory: Flashy Piratey Attire, black powder pistol (d6), rapier (d4), The Big Book of Bad Words, writing and navigational apparatus, the Rebuke

Setting

There could be all kinds of stuff here.

The Past

In the beginning, there was Fragg, and only Fragg. Fragg, despising the formless Void, beat his steel fists together in a splash of sparks. Thus were formed the stars, and so Fragg could see.

Still despising the Void and its lifeless chaos, Fragg formed from his own steel flesh an Egg, crafted out of his substance and infused with his divine heat. Fragg cast this into the waters below, that it might be tempered and cooled. From this Egg was hatched the Ultimate Grandsires of the ancient race that would be first to dwell within the fundament and firmament that was to compress and congeal into the planet known now as Terra.

The Present

Years ago, the planet Terra was inhabited solely by the eclectic gathering of creatures collectively known to outsiders as Monsters. This once peaceful world has been thrown into upheaval by the arrival of the outside races-- Humans, Elves, Dwarves, Gnomes and Orcs.

Monstrous Races

Bubbleman

You are a creature of slime. Born from the Green Ooze that spreads like a plague through cursed water, your amorphous body is naught but a wriggling mass of viscous green bubbles, two blood-red spheres forming your eyes. Many of your people have refined the skill of assuming the shape imitative of those creatures around them, if only to ease their interactions therewith. Many have dismissed your kind as nothing but puddles who think too highly of themselves. Just as many have died from drinking your home and finding their throats clogged with your young. You know neither male nor female, and look on the amative posturing of other peoples with impatient confusion.

Cyclogre

You are enormous, squat of build but taller than a cottage and bristling from head to foot with hair as black as night and stern as dried reeds. Independence is a virtue that you hold near to your dog-sized heart and one that you strive each day to hammer into the minds of your children and grandchildren, lest they ever succumb to the indignity of helplessness. You are a craftsman and a tiller of the earth, forming from dirt and rock all that you need in this life with blood and sweat and your own two hirsute hands. It is said by some that your works lack finesse or style, but what do such critics know of the practical demands of life in the harsh wilderness of the hills and valleys? Besides, it's hard to judge depth with only one eye.

Dark Pegasus

The unforgiving lands of ice and snow are your home, your opalescent black coat shielding you like armor from the fierce elements, your resplendent feathered wings carrying you like an arrow on torrential winds. Your kind have lived amidst the frozen mountains since ancient times, nature's cruelty guarding you from the power-hungry sorcerers who hunt you as a prize. Too many of your people have died to such needless predations, their vital organs harvested as reagents for wicked brews. Such mysterious powers are best left up to you, and the austere wisdom you have gained in the face of generations of merciless adversity.

Minotaur

Though some have disputed it to the point of war, you know in your heart that your people are among the oldest of Fragg's children, your glorious civilization the largest and most accomplished in this simple, plebian world. Your fine crimson toga proclaims your station and the gold-bound book at your neck announces your refinement. Your mighty hooves are shod with steel and your proud black horns are polished with scented oils. Your strength is matched only by giants and your intellect by none. So what if your kingdom is centered in the ever-sinking Marshlands of Melancholy, inaccessible save by armored boat? What castle-city boasts a more impressive moat than yours?

Mooserat

You are no mere rodent, as some might call you. You stand Trollblin-high at the shoulder, for one thing. Your shaggy coat glows with luxurious earth tones; stately antlers sprout from your hardened skull and chisel-like teeth grow from your jaw. Your long, hairless tail is more dextrous than some creatures' hands, a talent you have used to your profit many times. You dwell in the dark, dank places out of sight of those who hold you in disdain, surviving on the refuse of other creatures and finding nourishment and use in what others call trash. Your brethren are to be found in every corner of the world, finding refuge and sustenance in all places where mortal beings gather together. No mortal authority commands you save the the Overlord of your kind, and he does not speak often... if he even exists anymore.

Screamer

You are a floating severed head, congealed gore clumped around your tattered neck. You weren't killed, of course, as some people believe. You've been this way since the day you hatched from one of the hundreds of translucent sacs growing in grape-like clusters in the back of an abandoned wagon in the woods. Many have asked where the wagon came from, but neither you nor anyone else has ever found an answer. Your bloodshot eyes bug from your skull, your rubbery jaw capable of frightful flexibility. Despite your lack of a body and its attendant organs, you can breathe, speak and-- most importantly-- scream. When danger accosts you, you loose your unholy ululuations with such nightmarish enthusiasm that your enemies are scoured in body and driven to gibbering madness. If your race had a proper name once, you cannot remember it now, but the one given to you by those who have to put up with you suffices at need.

Sprite

You are a small, spry humanoid with skin of the most euphoric cerulean in the known world. Beautiful dragonfly wings of iridescent scales spring from your back, your sparkling hair tied with twigs and your lithe body clad in a tunic of golden leaves. Your appearance is diminutive, but your voice is not. Some poor fools expect from you lilting song and playful titters. With delight do you instead deliver only fierce, bloodthirsty curses bellowed from the hating depths of the flaking, crusted knot of blasted rock that forms your Fraggdamned pixie heart. So caustic are your damnations that paint peels, cheese curdles, wood splits and children are born wrong. This power, combined with a short temper, has rendered settled life all but impossible, leaving your people wanderers and drifters across the lands.

Trollblin

Your head is nearly spherical and twice the size of your body, your eyes two gleaming, sunken specks of black and your limbs like bundles of kindling. You are the color and texture of dried vomit and smell of the same, and none will allow you to forget it, even your own people. Especially your own people. Small wonder the grasslands have been trampled into wastes from your incessant wars amongst your own kind. But these constant battles have had the pleasant side effect of making your people so excellent in slaughter that few dare enter your lands for fear of those short spears and heavy arrows of chiseled stone and painted teak.