Amongst the Ruins - 1d8 Denizens of Dark Alleys

The city of Gaúl stands alone in the dark green, seemingly endless sprawl of the Wild. A metallic spire ravaged by time and other countless agressions rises from its very center, challenging the unparalleled height of millennia old trees thick like a titan's leg. Its broken tip plunges into the arterial canopy like a knife on skin, drawing squirts of light from the hidden sky. Far below, suffocated by circular walls of an alloy lost to time, what remains of humanity scurries around like orphaned ants in a queenless nest.

At the rugged edge of this half city, facing the cliff that marks the beginning of the Lower Wild, the Pioneer's Cradle stands. Forgotten mansions of lusterless marble house the poor and the wretched in cavernous halls plagued by the memory of luxury and solemn busts with broken noses. Those who can't afford a room in one of the decrepit palazzos join the ranks of the faceless dispossessed on the streets, where they live and fuck and kill and die, eternally unacknowledged by a city they can never leave.

It is in the labyrinthine alleys of the Cradle, where the taller buildings bend to each other and the light of day comes to die, that some of them have made their home.

1d8 Denizens of Dark Alleys

Welcome to the Cradle

1. Chrysantemum, whose real name is Abulia and wears a crown of wilting chrysanths. Excessive make up and accommodating manners, signs of a life dedicated to the pleasure of others. Black matte smile, like a string of lusterless onyx pearls, floats on a delicate countenance pale like a waxing moon. Oddly chaste garments hint at alluring proportions. 

Wants: 

• Ink, pure, unrefined, unadultered, Ink
• An honest compliment. A poem, a song, a rhyme... (whatever you do, don't lie)
• A gift. A wild flower, a drawing, a rare book or a curiosity from beyond the walls.
• To teach someone a lesson. A customer left without giving proper pay, find them and collect the appropriate fee.
• Money. Money solves everything.

Offers:

• Information. Chrysantemum knows about the street gangs and conflicts going on in the Cradle.
• Customers' secrets. Gang leaders, high-ranking members of la Castra and even some noble scions of the hierarch families come to Chrysantemum for relief.
• Life-changing sex. Remove all your stress and cure any mental afflictions... but be warned, nothing will ever be the same.

2. Tiziano, who used to fight in the Blood Dens and had to retire when he lost an eye against a vicious opponent. All his sponsors left him to rot when he lost his edge. He now lives in a filthy corner of the Cradle with a diminutive, bleary eyed dog whom he calls "Mr. Bones". Amiable at first, Tiziano will tell stories of glories past to those who want to listen, and might even teach you a trick or two if you show warlike inclinations. His ego is quite frail, though,  and he will brutally lash-out if he thinks he is being mocked in any way. Are you ready to have your ass handed to you?

Wants:

• Good booze. Only the good stuff, none of that shit you young ones drink nowadays (he lives surrounded by a collection of empty flasks and containers, if you can get him a bottle of Hierarch, he'll be immensely grateful).
• A morsel. The wizened warrior is always hungry, as is diminutive Mr. Bones.
• To tell his stories. Listen to me, I tell you! (his stories are long-winded and unexpectedly absorbing, roll 2 random encounters and choose the worst result)

Offers:

• Safe passage. Whether out of fear or respect, the Cradle's gangs tend to ignore him.
• Some tricks: 
1. Dirty Fighting. Improvised weapons deal 1d6 damage instead of 1d3, they still break on max. damage though.
2. Not Today. The next time you would die, you can choose to lose a limb or an eye or something like that instead. Only works once.
3. Search all you want. You can conceal a small weapon such as a dirk, a knife or a shank. That weapon can't be found unless you're stripped naked and your holes are searched, and even then there's a 1 in 6 chance that it won't be discovered.
4. Like eels in a pipe. When you fight in a cramped space, such as an alley or a narrow corridor, you can move through an occupied space without causing attacks of opportunity if you spend your entire turn doing so. Also, +2 to avoid being grappled.
5. Acquired taste. You can eat spoiled food and other stuff that most would consider degrading if not harmful. Also, +2 vs food poisoning.
6. I was hiding! Whenever combat starts and you are not first, you can declare that you have gone into hiding. Describe this for everyone to know how much of a coward you are. At any point, you can decide to enter the scene by coming out from your hiding place screaming "I WAS HIDING!" and laughing maniacally. Your next attack has advantage and deals +1d6 damage.
• Mr. Bones' (mostly) infallible tracking skills. If presented with an item, the miserable creature will start a painfully slow quest to find its last owner or, in case of presenting a substance, the closest, most abundant accumulation of such element within the Pioneer's Cradle. The process takes 1 watch (six hours) and a great deal of stumbling, howling at clearly empty dark corners and ball-licking on Mr. Bone's part. There is a 1-in-6 chance that you end up somewhere you shouldn't really be at all.

3. Hestia, who sits by a dwindling fire and is surrounded by cats. An amalgamation of skin folds and wrinkles wrapped in filthy rags, this old lady beckons passers by with a knobby hand and a hollow smile, inviting them to inspect the many goods she has on display. Cats of all colours and sizes wander between odd pieces  of seemingly useless junk arranged on a muddy blanket.

Wants:

• To sell her wares. While most of the stuff is as useless as it looks, there is a 1-in-20 chance that what you just bought is actually useful. Prices vary wildly from inquiry to inquiry (1d100 silver standards).
• Food for her precious cats. One of the felines starts rubbing itself against your leg and, after sniffing the air for a few moments, returns to the decrepit woman to licks her hand insistently. Hestia then declares that they want a precise item you are carrying, which can be anything really, as long as it is remotely edible (travel rations, dried meat, a dusty tome, that potion of invulnerability you've been holding on to so dearly...).
• Fuel for the fire, which has been dwindling this whole time but has managed to hold on somehow. Anything remotely flammable will do, but the more expensive the item is, the brighter the revivified fire will burn.

Offers:

• Oddly specific impressions about an object (the owner of this dagger loves the taste of winterberries, the maker of this boot once had a nightmare about carnivorous wereship, the writer of this song has really tiny feet, etc...)
• The approximate location of a person or creature. Hestia will need something linked to said creature, such as a memento or a part of its body (hair or blood will do), which she will then throw into the flames. Her predictions often take the form of a riddle or an insidiously cryptic poem, but all of them invariably end in cackling laughter followed by a bout of terrible-sounding cough.
• One of her cats. they're very good at following tracks and uncovering secrets... when they feel like it, obviously. Once per day, you can try and cajole the cat into finding out whether there's something odd about this particular room, like for example a secret door, a concealed trap, an invisible creature or an impostor posing as someone else. There is a 1-in-6 chance that this works, modified by the following:
• +1 if you fed the cat some of your food today (it must be YOUR food, the one you are about to eat, which means that you can only get half of the benefits from this rest).
• +1 if you petted it today (it's all fun and games until you pet it where you shouldn't, so lose 1d3 HP and gain a noticeable scratch on your arm or something)
• +1 if you played with it today (use a small item to play fetch, or attach it to a string and secretly laugh at the stupidity of it all, whatever you do, there's a 2-in-6 chance that the item will be scratched and bitten into uselessness when the cat is done with it)
• +1 if you have bowed down to its fancies recently (from time to time the GM can come up with some stupid shit like the cat prompting you to fall into what is clearly trap or have the cat fancy a particular shiny magical item that you must surrender... for some time at least)
• A 6 is always a failure... or a success. Flip a coin. Cats are capricious creatures, after all.

4. Subash, whose unintelligible whispers hold twisted mysteries. Unusually tanned skin like weathered leather, scar-punished scalp, milky eyes stare at something right above your shoulder. An incessant murmur inhabits Subash's lips like a constant prayer, talking to something that might or might not be listening. From time to time, he takes his empty palm to his scalp, looking for something that is not quite there anymore. His tattered robes bear the mark of the Arcanum.

Wants:

• Logic puzzles. Mathematical problems, riddles... they focus his mind on the now, allowing for a semblance of conversation.
• Human contact. Subash extends his arm when someone draws near, unconsciously offering his bony hand. 
• Stories. Their narrative internal logic ease his mind (spend a watch retelling some popular fable or events of your own past, roll for encounters).

Offers:

• Paleotech intel. Present him with a paleotech artifact and his indecipherable whispers will turn into clear instructions about its use, purpose and activation methods.
• Cryptic insight. Takes up 1 Memory. At any moment, you can declare that "It all makes sense now!" and explain how Subash's words relate to the current situation. If you do, you can ask a yes/no question about the situation that the DM must answer truthfully. Possible messages may include:
1. The sky has been overturned. But then, it was always so.
2. Nothing in the Universe has a name, yet nothing exists without a name.
3. They will come, as they always do, when they're already gone.
4. A third one is on the loose. The first and the second remain hidden in plain sight.
5. You'll see more with your eyes closed.
6. Never one, without the other.
• A whispered message. You need to present an item or a body part belonging to the recipient. The message will find them no matter where they are, but they are likely to dismiss the experience as an artifact of their senses unless they know what's really going on.

5. Singh the Unseen, who stands very still and and is therefore invisible. Average height, common features, nondescript attire, Singh is a remarkably unremarkable man in all aspects but one: he claims to be the "most sneakiest" creature in all the Cradle, which he very aptly demonstrates by remarking how "you can't see me" if you so much as glance in his direction. He will only talk to you as long as you aren't looking at him directly. For the most part, he is quite a dull, boring man were it not for his unusual demands and many curious gifts.

Wants:

• Sweets. LOTS of them, processed or unrefined, natural or manufactured, they keep his metabolism active, which helps him attain his unsurpassed sneakiness (if you press him about this, he won't have the slightest clue what you're talking about).
• Sincere praise. This can usually be accomplished by failing a stealth test in his vicinity and loudly proclaiming to no one in particular "Alas, how I wish I was like Singh the Unseen to sneak by like a shadow in the dark!" to which he will usually respond with a sneaky laughter (you must fail the test or he will see right through your deception).
• Scents. Untainted by the reek of the Cradle, simple and pleasant, nothing too fancy, like freshly baked bread, the homely aroma of crushed kashma beans or the comforting scent of washed clothes left to dry in the sun (good luck getting any of that into the Cradle).

Offers:

• Silence. True and absolute, an extremely rare commodity in the Cradle or even Gaúl. While you remain here, you are unnoticeable and untraceable.
• Clarity. Ruminating in Singh's presence seems to bring things into perspective. Remove 1d6 stress or gain 1 clarity (takes up 1 Memory, the next time you would fail a Presence save or something like that, you don't and the clarity vanishes).
• The secret to true sneakiness. Singh's most precious treasure. Gain + 2 Stealth permanently. If you remain completely still in any amount of shadow, you become undetectable unless someone bumps into you by accident. Be warned, though, once Singh has imparted his secret upon you, he will never be seen again.

6. Lubina, who broods in a dark corner and curses her own luck. A spindly young woman with a long pale face, greasy blond hair hanging low. A collection of metallic utensils of dubious appearance dangling from a blood-soaked apron and the faint smell of rotten fish mark this sinister creature as one of the Fishwives. She has recently fallen out of favour with Chief Esturion and is currently devising a plan to clear her name.

Wants:

• Revenge! "That revolting creature, Panga, has been feeding the Jackals crucial information about our secret markets and has framed me for it! Bring me something I can use to regain Esturion's favor and you'll be rewarded."
• Fresh fish. "Haven't been able to get to the Nessar's bank or sneak into the High Houses since Esturion kicked my ass out of the Fishwives. I miss the taste..."
• Safe passage. "I'm an easy prey for the Jackals now that my sisters have turned their backs on me. Watch my back!" (Roll 1d6, if the result is less than the number of people in your group, the Jackals will leave you alone, otherwise a pack of pups will try to ambush the party. They are only after Lubina, though, so maybe the PCs might want to hear them out on their generous offer...)

Offers:

• A tool of the trade. Who knows what wonders may hang from her belt?
1. Oversized Fish Scaler, 1d6 damage, reduces Defense (armor) by 1 on a 6, doubles as a fish scaler or an unwieldy strainer. 
2. Absurdly Thin Stiletto, 1d6 damage, x3 critical damage,  shatters on a fumble, doubles as an unbreakable lockpick. 
3. Blood-soaked apron, +2 Defense, smells of rotten fish, predators will avoid you, scavengers will seek you out.
4. Brittle Clam, bleach white, paper thin, shatters into razor sharp fragments with an audible crack when walked on.
5. Polished Luxen Scale, mirror surface, distorted reflections, shines dim milky light in the dark.
6. Gleaming Celestial Eyes, a pair of golden eye globes wrapped in thick parchment, what one sees, the other betrays, lose luster when exposed to light (10 uses).

• A secret word. Often nonsensical in nature and completely unrelated to anything you can think of. Utter this to a Fishwife to reroll your reaction and take the most favorable result, get a modest discount in one of their secret markets or stun one of them briefly if uttered with enough abruptness. May have other uses. Takes up 1 Memory.
• Fish knowledge. Taxonomy, categorization, cleaning methods, ancient recipes, special properties. Anything remotely fish related you can think of, Lubina can answer.

7. Tatters, who is covered in filthy rags and crusty bandages. A penetrating chemical stench permeates this corner of the alley, emanating from Tatters' own frame concealed by loose robes. A strikingly analytical eye, clear as morning, stands curious on an indecipherable visage imprisoned by pus encrusted gauzes. Crumbling pieces of discarded parchment lay on the floor of an improvised wooden shack. A trained eye might recognize the complex formulation script employed by Distillers and Brewers around.

Wants:

• A good handshake. Ravaged by chemical burns and an incurable infection, his rubbery hands ooze a thin patina of unwelcoming bodily fluids (roll Presence to not back away in disgust). He won't be very much offended if you decline his offer, as he is very much aware of the effect he has on people and often pulls this trick for his own amusement. If you do hold his hand long enough, there's a 2-in-6 chance that anything you hold slips from your hands when you want to use it (this includes attacking).
• To deliver a parcel. "I'd do it myself, but there's plenty of work to do, plenty! Now be a good wretch and deliver this for Tatters, yes?"
1. The Smirnoff Sisters at the White Widow. The letter is actually a long strip of his own rags covered in obscure formulation script. It reeks of aggressive chemicals and human waste.
2. The Fishwives. A leather bag of oddly shapes scales, each of which has a different formulation symbol engraved.
3. Madame Aviana at The Cuco's Nest. A scented envelope containing a single page of terrible poetry in childish, oversized handwriting.
4. Volcom at The Twin Jaws. A list of ingredients and animal body parts, as well as the precise instructions for their harvest, etched on the raw hide of slain prey.
5. Felicia at the Emerald Emporium in the Weaver's Burg. Numbers and measurements precisely set along a human figure of rough proportions, hastily written on flimsy pattern paper.
6. Lictor Reynald at La Castra's barracks. "Lancer encroaches Prey, your call", written on a ripped piece of smooth, official-looking paper.
• To quench your thirst. Tatters holds a piece of weathered parchment in one hand and a ruffled quill in the other as you drink up the funny smelling mixture. Roll for side effects (last 24h):
1. This is actually good! Gain +1d6 Max. HP.
2. HYPERACTIVE!!! YOU CAN'T BENEFIT FROM REST TODAY BUT YOU MOVE TWICE AS FAST!!!
3. Face-blindness. Roll Presence  to recognize those around you. A failure to recognize someone might actually mean that you believe them to be someone they aren't.
4. It... burns? Cold is hot, hot is cold.
5. See the unseen. You can see invisible creatures and shadows reveal their contents as sunlight would. Actual light stands as darkness to you.
6. Torch Syndrome. Your veins shine a ghostly, phosphorescent light in the dark. Critters are mesmerized by it and follow you around.

Offers:

• An unlabeled bottle. Tarnished and non-descript, contains 3 gulps of a random liquor.
• Brewer's knowledge. Distillation processes, the contents of a given liquor, manufacturer's signature chemicals, production formulas... anything brew related, Tatters can answer.
• Tutelage. Tatters can initiate anyone into the art of brewing (gain the Distillation skill), pass on his brewing secrets (learn a new formula) or participate in a "creative collaboration" (choose a formula you already know and discuss an appropriate alteration with the GM). Your character leaves the party for the next week (6 days) to work under Tatter's supervision. You can't benefit from rest while under his intensive training (basically skip forward 6 days or hand your character sheet to the GM and go play something else in the meantime).

8. The Matriarch. A crude mural depicting the rough semblance of an overgrown moth.  Some dark, thick substance oozes from the coarse strokes like tears of tar on a tremulous mask. A far-off lamentation hides in the quivering air (the precipitating substance can be scraped off to obtain 1d3 doses of unrefined ink). Every time you stumble upon it, the mural becomes more sophisticated and complete as the lamentations grow louder and louder. Once you get this result for the sixth time, the Matriarch reveals itself and embraces you with gossamer wings, washing away your pain and misery along with everything else (heal ALL wounds, empty ALL your Memory slots and reduce your Memory by 1 permanently). When you open your eyes again, a dead grey moth lies among the filth like a discarded afterthought. In the hollow sadness of its multifaceted eyes, the timid glow of a single black tear shines for the last time.

• Black Tear. A drop of the purest ink. It is worth more than money can pay. If consumed raw, make a Presence test. If you pass, relive your entire life in an instant. You have control over your past decisions and can choose to have led a completely different life. No choices you make can alter the present (for example, the dead will stay dead), but you can change your Nature and Tendency if you so wish and/or swap your existing powers and abilities for others. If you fail the Presence test, you get stuck in an endless loop of mental death and rebirth, unable to care for yourself until you die of starvation with a placid smile on your lips.

Zhelong Xu