Paeolian Souls
Ancient Temple of the Bloodless One
A chill-grit wind spits its bitter curse 'cross a rugged, barren expanse.
T'is a thousand miles to each horizon, with naught but pale sun and anaemic stars to guide you on.
Trust not your eyes, but listen well to the chime of dust, the song of stone and shadow.
The whisper of erosion's eons, hark, for there are Voices, unholy and many, here.
Fulsome yearnings, with promises alluring; their longing spat from tongues lost to time.
And there before the standing stones, that sing their thirsting song, upon ravine's edge to chasm floor where stirs the Temple of Paeolian Souls.
Such subterranean scarlet scriptures ring with invocations, and the Well-scry reek of Sanguineous Souls - the blackened heart that cries eternally
for the wonders of the Bloodless One.
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It is threefold, thusly :
At the very centre of a vast, standing stone strewn, rocky expanse known as the Paeolian Plains may be found a narrow, wind-carved Chasm known as The Tear.
All light in this deep crevasse is devoured by an unsettling darkness that obscures a hidden Temple of Wells, carved long ago into the rock.
Many tales weave riddles and songs of a wondrous god there, others cast omens and superstitions of a wrathful demon.
These stories promise glory, and riches, and the gift of immortality given by one known as "the Bloodless One".
All the Traveller need do is open the long sealed Temple Well, and allow the ancient life-force therein to flow freely once more.
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Use this section as a quick reference during play, or at the start of a Session to refresh your GM senses!
Sights
Rock, peppered and streaked with glistening red minerals.Rarely, a lone juniper bush, dry and sparse.
Dry and arid bones of long-dead creatures, blood-drained corpses, and circling vultures high above.
Monoliths, some carved with resplendent runes, others as though scratched by a thousand desperate finger nails.
Sounds
A distant, incessant groan and low-whistle, becoming steadily louder as one approaches the Canyon.Occasional screeches of giant bats.
Crunch of brittle pebbles and shattered glass-like rock beneath the feet.
From time to time a low hum, sometimes dim and distant, other times sharp and close.
Smells
Iron and salt.Sand, and grit, and cold stone.
Rarely, a subtle hint of pine or juniper.
Sweat and mildew.
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T'is a rare sight, indeed, to see a trader here.
There are no settlements, no oases, no shelter, respite, nor shade where a stall or barrow, tent or shack might pin its banner and proffer its wares.
Here and there a lone scavenger may cross the Adventurer's path, but t'is a grim wagon or satchel they keep, offering only that rend from the hands of the dead and the dying.
The Traveller is advised to prepare in advance for their descent into the deep ravine known as "the Tear", for no such civilities shall be encountered thereafter.
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Adventurers come, from time to time, to seek treasure and renown.
Holy-Folk, too, wander the vast rocky plain, many lost, their eyes swollen and blind from the passing glassy grit-storms, others crowned in a fantastical splendour only they may divine.
Many among them thirst for blood and flesh as though it were a madness pierced deeply through them.
It is said that, in ages long passed, armies and empires marched to Paeolian, seeking some powerful, long-forgotten weapon that would have them rule eternally.
None now know of such things, though the monolith stones upon the plains still echo with charms and whispers of it.
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There are some who claim that the ground-down stone of these parts makes for exquisite glassware, said to give out the most beautiful song that any should ever hear when brought close to the heart.
A rare flower is rumoured to bloom here, too, with nectar able to gift invisibility; a good supply of such may fetch obscene sums of coin in faraway places.
Merchant caravans may be spotted from time to time, though such a sight is rare, their routes giving wide berth to the jagged Tear that yawns deeply at the centre of this seemingly-endless plane.
The Traveller might even find something of use in the unusual blood-red ooze that seeps from some of the monolith stones.
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The Paoelian Planes offer little shelter, and the Traveller is advised to bring more than a mere bedroll should they wish to secure adequate rest.
Simple comforts are rare, and proper respite from both the silica-like shrapnel carried upon the air, and the unusual dim light that only promises, but ne'er settles upon, darkness, is not to be expected.
The shadows upon the planes, too, are said to hold strange life, feasting upon fear and sanity.
In the depths of the Paeolian crevasse ("the Tear") the air becomes cooler, cleaner, and a far less exposed option for rest and recuperation presents itself there.
Sheltering within the Temple of Wells, however, is ill advised for all but the most experienced Adventurer, for much else of great and ancient evil hungers and lurks therein.
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The closer one gets to the Tear, and to the Temple of Wells, the more the Monolith Stones whisper, chant, and sing of the Bloodless One.
The Adventurer may notice old blood offerings here, and hear their own hearts beating in new and unusual rhythms.
Once, too, stood Zenith Stones - now smashed and half buried - long ago shimmering with blood-red arcane crystals, wider and taller, looming high and broad and beautiful across the landscape.
These beacon-like monoliths hummed with energies most ancient, and those possessing gifts of foresight or telepathy would see and hear much that alarms, entices, or enraptures.
Some histories tell of each Zenith Stone containing parts of a greater truth - a map, of sorts - joining stars to the horizon whereupon great treasures might be found.
Other legends speak of this interconnection binding and securing the Paeolian Souls, keeping all that is evil from escaping into the ether, for it is written that the Zenith stones held the souls of great champions whose oath bound them to the protection of this place.
Be warned, Traveller - for the scrolls speak of much that is deadly guarding the locations of these long forgotten, long buried Zenith Stones; evil that thirsts and longs for the opening of the Temple Well deep below the earth, wishing to keep those great champions forgotten and lost.
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Much that is ancient, holy, and unholy is said to have sprung from the Paeolian Planes.
Much more is said to have ended here - floods, fire-storms, wars that obliterated nations and empires, and brought both the birth and the death of gods.
Artefacts and objects found here speak of eons, and even the air itself crackles with a primordial presence.
Many of the monolith stones are richly carved, others covered entirely in ancient writings that - if translated - issue repeated utterances of a "Bloodless One" seeking an eternal dominion over all.
Other stones - fire scorched and ravaged by terrible marks - tell of an unspeakable curse that binds this place in unholy darkness, with many-a-mention of "the Bloodless One".
All things here seem to vibrate to the beating of a wickedly merciless, death-enthralled heart, and the blood of the living that feeds it.
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This list is by no means exhaustive, and is intended simply to stir the pot of your own imagination.
Use what follows as starting-pints, or ignore them entirely in favour of your own Adventure Hooks!
1 - The child of a priest/priestess travelled to Paeolian Souls to return great treasures, hoping to aid in the charitable works of their Temple. Having seemingly disappeared, the Party are needed to search for, and rescue, the missing person.2 - A wealthy noble-person will pay an enormous sum of coin for the salvaging, and delivery, of a Zenith Stone. Intact, or in pieces, they do not care, so long as a complete stone is brought.
3 - A Deity worshipped by one of the Adventuring Party is sending ill-omens and warnings to their dreams, and all signs point to Paeolian Souls and a long lost Champion.
4 - A blood curse has befallen a small Village of meaning to the Party. Scraps of parchment found speak of The Bloodless One's influence; a curse that may only be quelled at its source.
5 - A merchant's sky-caravan has crashed into the chasm-opening known at The Tear. Something - or someone - of great importance was aboard.
6 - A weapon of god-killing renown is rumoured to be held in the scarlet waters of the Well of Souls, and it is keenly sought by the nation's Ruler.
7 - An inquisitive Mage requires rare materials for a new spell. Such items may only be found in Paeolian - from the soil, from the air, from the Temple, and from the Well.
8 - A prophecy of ill-aspects is coming to pass, with only the bravest of souls able to avert its disasters. All roads point to Paeolian, and the great evil that sleeps and whispers there!
9 - A mysterious stranger approaches the Party, telling of a loved one imprisoned somewhere in Paeolian’s Temple of Wells. They wish to hire the Adventurers to free their beloved.
10 - A Red Dragon is rumoured to reside somewhere deep within Paeolian. Stories of its presence are causing panic and alarm far and wide.
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ROLL 1d20 for a PAEOLIAN SOULS TRINKET
1 - A thread of fine, silver twine.2 - A curved thigh bone marked with criss-crossed notches, and sharpened to a point at both ends.
3 - An old leather belt to which are affixed a row of small glass phials three-quarters filled with a clear liquid.
4 - A broken oar, sharpened to a point at one end, piercing a vaguely heart-shaped rock.
5 - A small pouch fashioned from fur, half-full of wolf's teeth.
6 - A battered and broken shield with a red-dragon emblem faintly discernible across its front.
7 - A withered hand, its blackened flesh like crinkled tissue-paper, its nails decorated with vengeful runes.
8 - A flask of blood-red wine, its contents thick and viscous, boiling to a violent, steaming froth should it be struck by sunlight.
9 - A large oak-handled mallet, its silvery head etched with the scales of a dragon.
10 - A small skull topped with a pair of antlers, between which are wound several lyre strings.
11 - A cracked and shattered hand-mirror, flecked with old blood.
12 - A breast-plate slashed from shoulder to hip by several ragged, claw-like marks. The armour is lightweight and bears the name of its owner upon the leather-strappings.
13 - A raven's beak that speaks in archaic clicks, squawks & whistles whenever a mist approaches.
14 - A small pane of warped blue glass upon which a ghostly breath appears to pass from time to time, thereafter containing messages scribed by an unseen finger.
15 - Two pig's feet bound together by a red silken thread.
16 - A small lime-coloured glass bottle housing a shadow.
17 - A severed hound's tongue, struck through with an iron nail from which hang various small pewter tear-drops.
18 - A small, desiccated bat that - when squeezed - lets out high-pitched shriek attracting great multitudes of its still-living kin.
19 - A small woven basket, covered over with hempen cloth. Within, a withered and severed head mumbles and curses any who disturb it.
20 - A scrap of flesh emblazoned with a map of what appear to be standing-stones.
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ROLL 1d12 FOR A PAEOLIAN ENCOUNTER
1 - A swarm of giant bats, seemingly slumbering and laid flat upon the ground, hidden by a thin layer of dust and dirt, erupts into the air, engulfing the Party in chaos and darkness.
2 - A lone individual, barefoot and ragged, their skin pale as though drained of all life-force, stumbles from the gloom and collapses into the arms of a Party member.
3 - The first among the Party to have been injured, and spilled blood, in this ungodly place begins to hear the heart-beat of a fellow Adventurer, causing a thirst and a hunger like no other to awaken.
4 - Distant howls and growling grow ever closer, seemingly surrounding the Party on all sides, though naught can be seen of any presence.
5 - A lone carriage, pulled by unknown forces, skitters and rolls across the plain. Its passengers seem frightened, bewildered, and unable to say from whence they have departed, or to where they are travelling.
In fact, they have no memory of anything at all before their time upon the carriage.
6 - The sound of ten thousand footsteps marching in unison, the steel of sword and shield clattering as they approach, and yet no army - nor even a single soldier - can be seen.
7 - The remnants of several standing stones, now mere stumps of rock protruding from the coarse dirt, hide the jaws of a massive creature half-buried in the earth.
8 - A dark voice mutters within the minds of each Party member, offers great, unfathomable riches and rewards to any who would offer the blood of their companions to Paeolian.
9 - Several bodies, strung upside down and drained of all blood, hang lifeless from the remains of a scattering of trees long stripped of bark and branches.
10 - Deep within the Tear, shadows seem to follow the Party, passing from cavernous wall to floor and into the very air itself.
Long shadow-tendril fingers pull at their clothing, hair, and pack-straps, becoming bolder and more aggressive.
11 - A large serpent snakes slowly towards the Party, leaving in its wake a shimmering ooze of blood-red liquids which begin to sprout scorpions.
12 - A caravan of mercantile goods lays devastated on the glistening dirt, its riders slain and seeming to float upon the air.
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Restoring a Zenith Stone may - at the GM's discretion - offer an opportunity to awaken its slumbering Guardian.
Should the Guardian's spirit thereafter be defeated in their unique Trial (see table below), one Player from the Party is granted a Noble Boon.
The full power of these Guardian's Boons lasts only for the duration of the Adventurer's stay in Paeolian Souls, leaving one single, permanent additional ability score increase upon departing the Location.
Roll 1d6 for a Champion's Boon or choose from the Table below :
1 - ZALAK the IMPENETRABLE
a fierce and powerful warrior in life, said to swing a flail fashioned from an enormous boulder, and to do so with the ease of a child tossing a stick.
Upon passing their Trial, their spirit now grants an additional 1d4 increase to your Strength Score.
Zalak's Trial : To defeat their spirit in combat.
2 - TRIZZIT the FLICKERING
a deft warrior whose legends speak of great speed, agility, and poise on the field of battle.
Upon passing their Trial, their spirit grants a 1d4 increase to your Dexterity Score.
Trizzit's Trial : To retrieve a sacred object long-embedded within the antler of a giant, roaming Stag-Beetle.
3 - AMALSH the BOUNDLESS
many believe this great and powerful hero to be immortal, that they feast in the halls of the ancestors eternally awaiting their return to war.
Upon passing their Trial, their spirit grants a 1d4 increase to your Constitution.
Amalsh's Trial : To drink a river, and to eat a mountain between the rising of the sun and its fall.
4 - KRUXENFELL the EVERKNOWING
a tactical master and General of great renown, much loved by those who served with them, and greatly mourned by all who survived the Paeolian Wars.
Upon passing their Trial, their spirit grants a 1d4 increase to your Intelligence.
Kruxenfell's Trial : To bring the stars to the earth, and earth to the stars.
5 - HOLENFARR the ENLIGHTENED
Holenfarr was said to be a Mage of great cunning and experience, having travelled far and wide and attained the largest library in all the many Kingdoms.
Upon passing their Trial, their spirit grants a 1d4 increase to your Wisdom.
Holenfarr's Trial : All must agree upon, and choose, one of their Party to face alone the single most deadly encounter they shall ever know. No details of this encounter are offered by Holenfarr; no clues, nor hints, nor glimpses to be had.
The Party have but a few moments to decide upon their Champion.
This is all. There is no deadly encounter. The choice, and the choosing, is the Trial.
6 - GOODESMORE the MELODIOUS
A learned, and charismatic Captain who enjoyed debating the terms of surrender as much as the swing of their singing sword.
Upon passing their Trial, their spirit grants a 1d4 increase to your Charisma.
Goodesmore's Trial : Convince the Champion - without weaponry or violence - of your worthiness, and the honour inherent in your goals. Goodesmore allow you six sentences to do so, to be delivered in rhyming couplets.
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A great many toppled and broken monoliths litter the approach to the Temple of Wells.
Should a Party Member successfully decipher any ancient writing or symbols upon these stones, you may wish to roll on the table below for a Monolith inscription translation.1 - The Bloodless One seeketh thy heart, and thy heart giveth only life. Thy soul may e'er after wander eternal, to bathe in everlasting darkness, rife.
2 - Seek not the path ahead, nor the trail of yore. Relinquish thy hope, and be free. For the Bloodless One shall behold you, and shall temper your just reward.
3 - The blood there of life, the blood to begin, the blood flows eternal, the blood seals thy name. All of this shall be shared in thy hallowed fall.
4 - Fear thy step, thy standing, thy slumbering, weary eye. Fear thy question, thy weakening, thou wonderest, wandering why.
5 - Seek thy path in the Bloodless One, and rise with the Bloodless One. Begin again, as though awakening, in the embrace of Bloodless One.
6 - Giveth thy heart, thy blood, and thy everlasting, for thy soul is already lost.
Residents of Note:
ancestries have not been allocated, allowing the GM to assign as appropriate.
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These monoliths once bound and sealed the evils of Paeolian Souls safely away from the world.
They lay now shattered and broken, half-buried and defiled by curses and evil; grave-stones marking the boundary of the deep chasm known as The Tear.
The Zenith Stones house the eternal life-force of great Champions who once partook of the final battles upon these Paeolian Plains, thereafter offering themselves to an endless watch over the horrors of the Temple of Wells deep below.
Restoring the Stones, and their Champions, may help bind the Seal of the Temple Well once more, thereafter bringing a physical form to the Bloodless One.
As perilous as this may seem, it might offer the only chance to fetter, and to slay, this accursed, blood-starved monstrosity once and for all.
see the accompanying Zenith Stone Champion roll-table above
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A lone, nomadic individual, who appears and disappears from the pale-grit mists silently, always as though looking for something in a vague, distracted manner.
They seem able to see into the past, and into the future, to divine unusual aspects upon the air, but are equally likely to tumble into incoherent ramblings or yowls and cries of indiscernible origin.
Their eyes shine like glass, and their large ears hear what others cannot. Small eruptions of dark fur sprouts from their skin here and there, clumped and matted and glistening.
Before wandering off again towards one horizon or another they will ask for something to quench their thirst, though nothing seems to satisfy them.
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The largest of the great whispering monoliths, this dark, ruby-red stone stands before the large stone archway entrance to the Hall of the Temple Well.
Its magnificence bares down upon the very soul of those who come near, with a swelling cacophony heard deep in the very core of one's being.
Legends speak of it opening portals to distant worlds, pulling time and space from a shimmering thread of pulsating Paeolian air.
Some believe these doorways are opened through the very hearts of those caught by its deathly enchantments.
All may be naught but a vision, of course - one plunged deeply to the silently shattering mind that surveys its ancient magnificence.
The Sentinel Stone speaks of death, and those who cross its boundary may very well expect to meet their end.
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With vellum-like, rune-peppered skin draped in resin-encrusted rags, this emaciated, black-toothed, and ancient individual seems as though each pained breath were their last.
They have lingered in the shadows within the Temple of Wells for centuries, trapped by the sparkling shards of dim light that pierce and criss-cross the rocky depths of the Temple floor.
The Well-Keeper speaks in angular rasps, each word a bitter needle piercing their taught, dry throat.
A dark ruby mist emanates from their black-toed bare-feet, and two charred stumps jut from their shoulder-blades where glorious wings once were.
They mutter promises of much to the Traveller, needing a living hand to break the Sanguine Seal of the long-buried Well of the Bloodless One, so that they themselves might be restored.
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As sentient as any creature or beast, the Temple is but one aspect of the Bloodless One's unknowable terror.
Its rites and rituals are etched and carved into its labyrinthine walls, and those foolish souls who come are as lapidaries to its foul enchantments.
All about, the Traveller shall see the drained corpses of those who have come before - petrified and mounted in grim and horrifying dioramas depicting the wonder and glories of the Bloodless One, posed in the many holy-rites and ceremonies for which this Temple yearns.
Dead and ancient trees sprout from the Temple's stone roof, crowning the scene in thorns, immense in this cavernous space.
Their leafless branches drip with a faint scarlet that trickles weakly through the cave, sprouting cerisean xenocrysts of dark, unholy energies that hum and scream their endless hunger.
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Bound by an ancient seal of stone, carved richly with scenes of abhorrent horrors, the Well yearns to be opened.
One history recounts that it is a vessel to a hell-heart - a passage way to a river of blood that courses with absolute evil.
To open the Well is to flood the world with this blood, and to bring forth and birth monstrosities such as ne'er been seen before.
These accursed beings answer to naught but the Bloodless One, whose true form shall finally be awoken in the torrent of corrupting life-force.
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A malevolent, ancient spirit. Perhaps a god, or a fallen one, or a remnant of ill things past that were touched by darkness, the Bloodless One hungers for the reopening of the Temple Well, and to bathe and drink in its crimson rivers.
They move - often - as a mist, or shadow, penetrating the minds and hearts of the weak and impure, guiding their hand and their sword.
At other times, they are reflected in stone shards, or shafts of dark light, just out of reach, at the corner of one's eye.
Their evil knows no end, their thirst for blood unquenchable, and their hunger for absolute dominion eternal.
The Bloodless One whispers unknowable secrets, and endless promises, to any who would listen, always seeking to turn friend against friend, sister against brother, in service of their own divine ends.
Albyon’s Final Notes for the GM - pull apart this location so fantastically strange, toss aside all that irks to better rearrange, the unspooling of inspirations, the pearls of this trade, to stitch anew an Adventure & a Quest freshly made, t’wards a tale of your party's own Paeolian Souls
