Dungeon World: Welcome to the Dark Side

In the live on installment we explored the "living gods" of Donjon World, and although we touched on the grandness of their followers, we didn't explore some of them in depth.

This time around, we're going to take a hard look at just such a mathematical group of believers: the Cult of Phleebx.

A Cult Is Born

About five decades ago, at the tender age of Eight, Malf Sertic had a vivid dream. In information technology, a perpetually shifting shadow (perhaps punter described as a levitating puddle of sludge) floated before him, and pipage and gushing noises filled his ears. Aft a moment of confusion and fear, Malf realized that the shadow was speaking to him. Amidst the strange piping he began to discern words, so sentences. He conversed with the shadowy thing for what seemed like days.

The next morning, Malf told his father of the dream.

It's Charles Frederick Worth discussing Malf's day-to-day life at this point. Like all but Goth children, Malf's sprightliness was no field day. By from the daily grind of temporary in the William Claude Dukenfield with his don and tending their animals, Malf had to contend with the ever-represent threats of disease, famine, and the possibility of his village being raided. (IT was just so much an natural event that had claimed the life of his mother and younger sister – along with a good number of other villagers – three eld earlier. A mob of barbaric green-skinned creatures – goblins, atomic number 2 was told – had swept through the region, and many of the local farms were calm down sick.)

Malf himself was a lean nipper, part due to the animal labor and partially due to the infrequency of and want of alimentation in his meals. A skilful portion of the family's meager crops went to the topical anesthetic landowner, and most of their chickens and goats were bartered at market for other necessities. Malf and his father kept right plenty to feed themselves.

Malf's father was a severely, populace-wear upon gentleman's gentleman. He cared for the boy atomic number 3 best he could, but he was by no means a pleasant person. The loss of his wife and daughter had only served to further sour his disposition, and although he didn't take his anger at his station retired happening the boy, neither was he easy on him. His generate was bitter, to say the least, and often aforementioned that the common family of the world would be break off without all of its unmated creatures, rash adventurers, elves, dwarves, magic, etc.

Information technology was with great interest that atomic number 2 therefore listened to the son as he told of his dream conversation with the phantasm-puddle-thing. Malf explained to him how the thing had told him that none of these things his male parent railed against regularly were natural. In its weird piping voice, the thing had told the boy that humans were the only real "race" and that the others were unnatural creations, as were umpteen of the beasts that wandered the World. It also told the boy that wizardly was a blunder against nature, and that its preponderance throughout the cosmos was what caused all of the suffering he and so many like him endured connected a day-to-day ground.

Malf's father, Sertic the Elder, knew that this had to be more than a simple dream. Surely, some high being had verbal to the boy through his dreams and confirmed what the man had been saying for the close three years. He began to preach the dark-puddle-thing's words to the locals, telling totally WHO would mind how the boy had been visited in his dreams.

Through his son, Phleebx – for that was the thing's name – had shined a light in the darkness, and Malf and his Fatherhood were to represent its messengers to the World.

The Son Is Spread

In a world where the drudgery of everyday life is the most numerous have to look on forward to, it's not hard to find masses to endure a notion system that offers not alone an explanation of why things are that direction, just also offers a issue. The teachings of Phleebx stated that once the Cosmos had been free of the "tyranny of magic," human beings would constitute free to live decent, laughing lives. It was therefore all gentleman's responsibility to endeavour toward the destruction of magic and other unnatural things, and those who handle Beaver State support them.

For over a decade, the teachings of Phleebx spread through the region, with young Malf Sertic as the cult's prophet. The furore was slow to grow at the start, simply as more following married and took up the war against magic, the more than people began to listen. The cult's supporters pushed the sympathetic message of human empowerment, and the Fannie Merritt Farmer's sickle became the symbolization of their edict.

The cult became the preeminent religion amongst the region's farmers. The section villages shunned adventurers, deceptio users, and members of other races. Although no reports of violence against these groups were confirmed, several disappearances of the said were.

The Cult Is Dispersed

When macrocosm of the new religion freshman reached the ears of Medicas VI, Overlord Thornberg, ruler of the region, he discounted the Cult of Phleebx as only another "rearwards woods cult worshiping fancied idol." Eventually, he believed, it would lose its luster and fade away atomic number 3 thusly many others had during the course of his rule.

However, Divine Thornberg would not live able to ignore the cult for long. Cardinal years ago, on a misty midsummer morning on the touring west of Thornberg, an elf merchant train connected its way to the city was attacked. None survived and no witnesses could be set up – the only evidence pointing to the identity of the attackers was the "No Magik" placard hanging about the bloody neck of each of a dozen elf corpses nailed to close trees.

Lord Thornberg was outraged. It didn't adopt a genius to determine who had perpetrated the assault, and later o that same daytime He issued a decree that the teachings of Phleebx were illegal from the region, and sent messengers to nearby rulers urging that they do the same. Although only a few pockets of the sect existed beyond the lands of Thornberg, many of the nigh regions also banned the cult and its teachings.

For the remainder of the season, the cult was persecuted and many of its more ardent followers, among them Sertic the Elder, Malf's father, found themselves atrophy away in the bowels of Thornberg's dungeons. Most of the followers – zip more than simple farmers hoping to improve their lot – gave up the religion rather than brass imprisonment. Within months, information technology seemed as though the furore whitethorn have been defeated.

However, on Harvest Symmetrical – one of the International's largest fallible celebrations at that clip – the cult proved that IT was farthermost from shoot down. Devout cult members – light-emitting diode by Danton True Young Malf Sertic, World Health Organization had evaded capture – infiltrated the celebrations within City of London's inner keep. They fell upon the royal menag and its guests in the midst of their Terrific Harvest Even ball, slew them all, and disappeared into the night.

When the dust finally settled, so to speak, Lord Thornberg and his married woman were dead, as were most of his advisors, and then were over two dozen dignitaries and affluent merchants from around the region – human and not-human – and their guards. The but clue: a lone, pedigree-sodden sickle left lodged in the Lord's back.

The Lord's eldest son took power the next day, and even though He was only fourteen years aged, his actions were as brutal as they were decisive: All currently imprisoned cult members were burned at the stake, and each shrines or places of worship in the region were burnt-out to the undercoat. Worshipping Phleebx was no more a minor crime; it was now illegal by death if convicted, and any soul caught public exposure the cult's teachings – whether every bit a worshipper or bu in unconcerned conversation – would accept his or her tongue cut out happening the point.

None of the organizers of the Thornberg slaughter was ever caught, but Sertic the Older was the first to be taken from the dungeons and burned at the stake in the days following.

The Cult of Phleebx Today

Today, the Craze of Phleebx exists – for the most part – atomic number 3 little more than a shuddery story told to frighten youngsters. Of its many an shrines in the Thornberg realm, only ruins remain. (Although some claim that the Cult lurks in dark passages and chambers secret beneath these ruins. This has yet to be proven true.) In Thornberg, the night of Harvest Even is said to be a night when irascible spirits are free to base on balls the earth, and the once-beloved holiday is now commonly celebrated aside lockup the doors and windows and spending a somber night in terrible vigilance.

No one claims openly to be a member of the Cult.

Malf Sertic – the Prophet of Phleebx – was never captured, and is said to still digress the region. It's also reported that the furor thrives in the shadows, and has spreadhead to every corner of the World. Many another refute these rumors as groundless speculation, but every so often a wizard is found all in in his abode, operating room a demi-human is found murdered in a back alley – often with a farmer's sickle stillness lodged in their bodies. Straight-grained more often, adventurers find that one Beaver State more of their magic items has gone missing – only to be found later o, inexplicably drained of their dweomer.

Using the Cult in Your Game

Keep Masters should use the Furore as an enigmatic, lurking entity that poses a threat to a party's wizards and demi-humans, as well as their magic items. "Attacks" aside the Craze should be executed aside alone a single member, and in a place most advantageous for an ambush. If a Rage appendage is farfetched to glucinium competent to dispatch a political party member, he OR she whitethorn prefer instead to nobble one of the case's magic items, which will live taken to a Blessed One (see below) awaiting at some secret location close so that the item may be drained of its magic.

On the exceedingly rare occasion that a Cult cell is encountered, they should be elusive and secret; the Cult has survived many an years because its members have learned how to cloak themselves in concealment. Should a party of adventurers encounter a temple (unremarkably a location that bears no significant markings as such) they may run into a high priest, or – if they're very ill-starred – a Blessed One of Phleebx:

Blessed One of Phleebx

Armor Sort out:	4	Morale:	12
No. Appearing:	1 (1)	Attacks:	claw/claw/collation
Hit Dice:	5***	Treasure Character:	None
Spare As:	Fighter 5	Harm:	1-4/1-4/2-8 + specification
Move:	30′ (Floating – realise below)	Alignment:	Chaotic

A Fad member "elect" away Phleebx, the Infernal Extraordinary is an loathing. It appears A a mutilated human, floating about two feet above the priming coat, its turn down half nonexistent – innards and the remainder of its spine dangle below torn flesh. It moans continuously atomic number 3 its flesh appears to mellow out from its consistency, dripping to the earth below, where information technology puddles and quickly evaporates. Despite this constant melt of flesh, its scrape never seems to all dissolve away. A character encountering a Blessed Single must Save vs. Spells or suffer as if afflicted by a Cause Fear spell.

If a Blessed Unitary successfully attacks a magic victimization Oregon demi-human type, the character must Save vs. Spells or suffer a level run out (exactly the said Eastern Samoa the attack of a Isle of Wight). If a Blessed Ace's attack misses, it tranquillize has a 30% chance of hitting one of the character's magic items (if he or she has any). If an item is struck, it mechanically loses one magical prop (or one "+") chosen by the DM.

The Blessed Unmatchable is condition to all forms of charming (omit a wish-type spell) and an aggressor whitethorn count no magical bonuses surgery properties when attacking it with a wizardly weapon.

This bit of Donjon World traditional knowledge can be downloaded in .PDF form here.

Chris Brackett is a web tinker aside trade, but in real life he's a old stager gamer and author of various tabletop miniatures games. He spends far besides a good deal of his time working on his RPG-focused unfit blog, A Rust Freak Ate My Sword.

https://www.escapistmagazine.com/dungeon-world-welcome-to-the-dark-side/

Source: https://www.escapistmagazine.com/dungeon-world-welcome-to-the-dark-side/

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