Gryphon-Rider of Riphaea (TROIKA! Background & Creature)

According to Pliny the Elder, savage gryphons and a tribe of one-eyed Scythians battle endlessly over gold in the mountains of Hyperborea.

Also according to Pliny the Elder, it's a good idea to sail one's fleet into the toxic fume cloud of an erupting volcano while suffering from a chronic respiratory condition. So, grain of salt and all that.

But there is a kernel of truth to the stories reported by Pliny and others. Once upon the time, the nations of Grypes and Arimaspoi did fight a long, endemic war against each other. A tribe of Scythians was pushed into the Riphaean Mountains by their belligerent neighbors, as so often occurs in nomadic politics. That cold, hard land was unsuited for their traditional equestrian lifestyle, but it soon revealed to them an alternate source of wealth; gold. The mountains were struck through with gold deposits, as well as many agates, though those were often overlooked.

Though the gold was plentiful, it was not free for the taking; it all laid within the territory of the endemic gryphons, who reacted defensively at the despoliation of their land and the disturbing of their nests. Many Scythians were mauled, and many gryphons were downed by javelins and arrows. Yet little gold was earned, and few interlopers were driven away for long. The two peoples settled into a long, ugly stalemate.

This continued until the younger generation looked upon the evils they had inherited from their forebears and decided "no more".

A camp of wounded veterans, bereaved families, and the occasional opportunist selected as their leader a princeling named Arimaspos. They overthrew his hidebound, warlike father and installed him on the throne of gold, bronze, and gryphon bones from which one last decree would ever be issued before it was dismantled; make amends.

Arimaspos led a delegation into the Riphaeans, where after much peril and precarity they came face-to-face with the Clutch Mother, eldest and wisest of the surviving gryphons. She listened to their petition for peace and considered it at length, surrounded by her bristling and wary children. Then, she leaned forward and plucked Arimaspos' eye right out of its socket, sucking down and devouring it in one lightning-fast snap.

After a tense, uncertain moment, both sides let out a cheer of relief that rang out across the mountains. For the Clutch Mother had been promised his eye as part of the treaty, his blood her signature. His people had done the first harm by invading their home, after all. It is said that he smiled when it happened, through all the screaming and crying. The Clutch Mother in her great magnanimity even permitted him to ride upon her back down to his people, woozy from blood loss as he was.

In return for his eye and the friendship of his people, the gryphons would permit the newly-dubbed Arimaspians to settle and live in the Riphaean lowlands. Again in turn, the Arismaspians would defend the gryphons and their nesting grounds from all other humans who would try to ransack them for their riches. Never again would a pickaxe fall upon Riphaea.

Finally, the compact made between Arismaspos and the Clutch Mother would be renewed with every generation.

Somewhere along the line there, more and more people came to have their eyes plucked out as a demonstration of friendship, emulating the bond between chieftain and paramount gryphon. From those grizzly dainties emerged a radical new class of people who've completed the bridge between their cultures: the gryphon-riders.

Finial: Apollo on Griffin, 4th Century BCE, Scythian, Bronze.
Found at the Slonovskaya Bliznitsa kurgan archaeological site,
Housed in the State Hermitage Museum of Saint Petersburg.

You carried an agate decoy egg to your companion's home roost, symbolically filling the place you've taken them from and vowing to return them home one day. They gazed deep into your eye, waiting patiently for the last vestiges of fear and hesitation to dissipate from it. You nodded and stroked their plumage, and then that razor-sharp beak descended.

Now you are as one, patrolling the Riphaean skies together in a lethal fusion of bronze and feathers. With your good eye and strong bow-arm you make pincushions of threats from afar, and with beak and claws your beloved eye-bearer makes short work of any who would dare get close.

Possessions

• One Eye (luckily it's your best one)
• Four-Bolstered Gryphon Saddle
• Composite Bow and 2d6 Poison-Tipped Arrows
• Hemp-rope Lasso

Advanced Skills

3 Bow Fighting

3 Ride
2 Awareness
2 Language - Gryphon
1 Tracking

Special

You are an accomplished gryphon-rider with a reasonably loyal companion. So long as a gryphon is willing to bear you, you can loose an arrow from midair without penalty and perform all manner of aerial stunts without risk of falling out of your saddle or succumbing to altitude sickness. All other risks from using the Ride skill are still fair game, however.

Additionally, you lack binocular vision. You've been living without it long enough that it doesn't affect depth perception beyond 5 feet or so, though.

Riphaean Gryphon

Skill 13
Stamina 16
Initiative 4
Armour 1
Damage as Modest Beast

Workhorse-sized amalgamations of lion and eagle who make their home in the cold north beyond the steppe. They have a reputation as territorial people, being unwilling to let others mine their mountains for gold. They peck chunks of agate into egg-shaped decoys with their diamond-hard beaks and place them in their nests to deceive ovivores, leading to the myth that their eggs are actually chalcedonous.

Contrary to popular belief, gryphons don't actually like human eyes all that much. They enjoy a diet of reptiles, smaller winged creatures like birds, certain fruits and nuts, and occasionally horseflesh.

Special

If a Riphaean gryphon strikes the same target twice in one Round it attempts to peck out their eye. They must Test their Luck (or Skill for NPCs) or lose one eye. Needless to say, failing the Test twice results in complete blindness.

MEIN
1	Napping
2	Hungry
3	Playful
4	Regal
5	Defensive
6	Preening

Destige Class: Ashworm Dragoon for OSE (Sandstorm, 2005)

I know backwards-looking system conversions of classes, species, monsters, etc. have been around for decades, since the time we had more than 1 system. But I didn't get inspired to try my hand at it until I mentally connected it to the more recent trend of retraux demakes of music and video games. Which are separate phenomena in very different media, but they're just close enough that I can conceptually append my writing to them in a pointless attempt at self-legitimization.

I also know how late to the party I am on this, so I've decided to do things Slightly Differently, and take a page from my OdditEs series. Hence the 'destige' class; one of the weirder prestige classes from 3E or later, adapted or at least used as "inspiration" for a roughly old school base class in the vein of BFRPG, OSE, or whatever feels most appropriate in the moment. Balancing is likely to be suspect, but fortunately a good chunk of the OSR abhors balance (whether it be mechanical, mental, or otherwise).

Link to the original 3E PrC that inspired this one: Ashworm Dragoon

Ashworm Dragoon

Requirements: Minimum STR 9, minimum CON 9
Prime Requisite: DEX
Hit Dice: 1d8
Maximum level: 14
Armour: Leather, chainmail, shields
Weapons: Any
Languages: Alignment, Common

Nomadic desert tribes long ago learned how to capture and train the giant, sand-burrowing ashworms, also called thunderherders. Ashworm dragoons form a bond with their ashworm steeds so strong that they become like extensions of one another. They blend mounted combat with exotic monstrous abilities to become some of the most formidable forces in (or below) the desert and beyond.

Ashworm Mount

A dragoon begins play with a bonded ashworm- an ashworm with AC 5 [14], 3+3 HD, and a movement rate of 120' (40') / 180' (60') burrowing. If the worm dies, the dragoon may spend one month taming and training a replacement in a desert or waste known to be inhabited by ashworms.

Hardy Mount

Upon reaching 3rd level, an ash dragoon's mount gains a +1 AC bonus and +1 HD. This increases to +2 at 5th level, and +3 at 7th level. If the dragoon's worm dies or is released, its replacement gains these benefits at the end of its training.

Poison Stinger

From 4th level, an ash dragoon can induce their worm to inject a target with poison using its stinger attack a number of times per day equal to their class level. If the attack hits, the victim must save versus Death or be paralyzed for 1d2 rounds, in addition to normal attack damage.

Weather-Beaten

Ash dragoons gain +2 to all saves against nonmagical heat and exhaustion from years of riding across the sands. At the referee's discretion  the bonus against heat may be exchanged for a bonus against cold if a dragoon rides the rare woolly ashworm native to the frozen deserts of the south.

Worm Riding

Ashworm dragoons gain a +1 bonus to attack rolls when mounted. Their bizarre and elaborate saddles also give them a 25% chance to stay seated when otherwise they would be knocked off.

Worm Sign

A dragoon of 6th level or higher can dive below sand or other soft ground with their worm mount and move using its burrowing speed for up to 1 minute per level per day before coming up for air. At 8th level the dragoon and worm can burrow through packed earth, but not solid rock. If still underground when time runs out, the dragoon suffocates in 2d6 rounds unless they are dug out or their worm surfaces on its own.

After Reaching 9th Level

An ash dragoon may construct a stronghold at the edge of a desert or wasteland. Once a stronghold is established, it becomes a meeting ground for nomad tribes who come from far and wide to trade and exchange news. The stronghold also attracts 2d6 apprentices of levels 1-3 to study worm-handling under the ash dragoon.

Ashworm Dragoon Level Progression
Level	XP	HD	THAC0	Saving Throws
				D	W	P	B	S
1	0	1d8	19 [0]	12	13	14	15	16
2	2,500	2d8	19 [0]	12	13	14	15	16
3	5,000	3d8	19 [0]	12	13	14	15	16
4	10,000	4d8	17 [+2]	10	11	12	13	14
5	18,500	5d8	17 [+2]	10	11	12	13	14
6	37,000	6d8	17 [+2]	10	11	12	13	14
7	85,000	7d8	14 [+5]	8	9	10	10	12
8	140,000	8d8	14 [+5]	8	9	10	10	12
9	270,000	9d8	14 [+5]	8	9	10	10	12
10	400,000	9d8+2*	12 [+7]	6	7	8	8	10
11	530,000	9d8+4*	12 [+7]	6	7	8	8	10
12	660,000	9d8+6*	12 [+7]	6	7	8	8	10
13	790,000	9d8+8*	10 [+9]	4	5	6	5	8
14	920,000	9d8+10*	10 [+9]	4	5	6	5	8

* Modifiers from CON no longer apply.
D: Death / poison; W: Wands; P: Paralysis / petrify; B: Breath attacks; S: Spells / rods / staves.

Ashworm Monster Stats

A large, eyeless worm the size of a horse covered in chitin. Distant relative of the purple worm. It burrows through sand and wields a nasty poison stinger. Domesticated ashworms have their stingers clipped, except those ridden by ash dragoons.

AC 7 [12], HD 3 (13hp), Att stinger (1d4 + poison), THAC0 17 [+2], MV 120' (40') / 180' (60') burrowing, SV D12 W13 P14 B15 S16 (3), ML 9, AL Neutral, XP 25, NA 1d4 (5d6), TT None
▶ Burrowers: Can flee by burrowing into sand or soft earth.
▶ Melee: When in melee, both rider and worm can attack.
▶ Poison: Causes paralysis 1d2 rounds (save versus poison).

The Lukkawei (Troika! Community Jam: Bestiary 2024 Submission)

I had been considering making a monster for a bit, and it just so happened to line up with my friend TLN sharing the newest Troika! jam hosted by the Melsonian Arts Council. So, I decided why not?

Click here for the Community Jam!

Click here if you really want this mess in PDF form for some reason.

The Lukkawei

SKILL: 10

STAMINA: 12

INITIATIVE: 4

ARMOUR: 5

DAMAGE: Frantic Flailing (As Small Beast)

A drawn, vaguely pellicular creature at home in the shadows like a fish in water. They are normally content to lurk in the deep caverns, ancient ruins, and neglected cellars that spawn them. The unbearable agony of being perceived is lethal to them, so they try stay hidden at all costs, swathed in onion-like layers of shadow. They are not violent by nature, but being intruded upon sends them into a panicked frenzy in which they will attempt to scare away or run away from all observers. They are named for the shriek they emit when startled.

Lukkawei! Lukkawei!

SPECIAL

Once per Round a Lukkawei may send out sheets of tepid darkness to quash all light in a 100 foot area. Anyone holding a torch, lantern, or other personal light source may Test their Luck to keep it alight.

If a Lukkawei is exposed to bright light for 3 consecutive Rounds, its Skill, Initiative, and Armour are reduced to 0 as its protective shadows peel away.

MIEN

1: Paranoid

2: Agoraphobic

3: Bleakly Serene

4: Consternated

5: Anemoiac

6: Exhausted

Crypt Cities Encounters: Forsaken Flesh.

As fleeting and meaningless as it is in the face of an eternity of Need or waking oblivion, many of the Awakened try to resist the draw toward the Crypt Cities for as long as they possibly can. This is easiest for your kind to do when there is something to cling to, and to pour yourselves into entirely. For some it's a craft or art, or revenge, or faith. Vices are difficult to come by when the senses are so deadened, but you'd be surprised at what desperate souls have been able to find.

Surprised, and horrified.

Hedonism is a rare but particularly cruel poison to the Awakened. The absence of physical pleasure should mean that the pursuit of it is pointless, and this is mostly true. But that doesn't dull the ferocity of a few acolytes desperate to indulge in any feeling. Tucked away in the moldering warrens of cities, deep forest glades, and abandoned mountain crags, these secluded groups--hidden for no other reason than the lingering ghost of their own shame--attempt to sate their artificial fixations. To call it sadomasochism would be inaccurate, for that tame little novelty of the living is outstripped by what they do to one another and to themselves.

Still, at least those groups tend to disband within a few years, their members finding that nothing dulls the Need for long, or the unlucky becoming addled and lost.

At least they don't succeed.

Once upon a time, several centuries ago by now, there had been plans to develop a new Crypt City closer to the seas. This distant annex was probably fated to fail anyway, or at best reach overpopulation within a scant few years. But it never got that far along in its construction. The workers began to be attacked or driven off, and more than one masked priest was hacked to pieces and bled of all of their smoke before the site was abandoned. A massive structure still stood there from what work had been completed, lonesome and stark against the wasteland around it. All the interlopers had to do was move in.

Within the failed crypt, the halls were gutted of their sarcophagus alcoves, and the central chamber was enlarged massively. A deep pit was dug in the center, and an amphitheater was built which would house them and everyone drawn to their cause. In the embrace of withered arms, hundreds found love and searing agony. But instead of petering out into another forgotten old distraction, some terrible threshold was breached.

Maybe one among them had been a truly gifted user of the astral or arcane in life. Perhaps some thing beyond our ken had been watching and waiting for an opportunity. It isn't clear exactly how, and perhaps that is best.

What good could come from learning how their flesh separated from their bones in one final, debauched orgy of decay?

Ounce by ounce, their beings sloughed apart, leaving slick skeletons rattling through the corridors or around the edges of the pit, mindlessly repeating the last actions which their former owners had been performing when the Embrace happened. It started as a pool, and then grew hideously in size, piling up on itself, moving, breathing with the life of everyone who had gone into it. Like a shuddering, mewling tumor it grew to fill almost the entire amphitheater.

And there, centuries after it should have rotted away to nothing, that mound of Forsaken Flesh still churns upon itself. It calls out with hundreds of voices, begging for others to come and join their embrace, to feel their piteous love, and to add their human dregs to the mass.

Sometimes its calls are answered, either by those seeking to add their voice to it, or those who would silence it for good.

In either case, they tend not to be heard from again.

Domicile of the Forsaken Flesh

This unfurnished basalt edifice was once meant to be the core of a new Crypt City. From its domed center extend four wings, each one oriented toward the cardinal directions, but slightly skewed to one way or the other. It is entirely windowless in the traditional Crypt style, though the interior may occasionally be lit by a hole in the roof or walls caused by the slow dilapidation of the entire structure. Hallways extend in all directions within, mimicking spiderweb patterns meant to maximize the "living" space of the death priests who would have presided over the City and its occupants. All paths which remain intact lead toward the central chamber.

Forsakers

Stripped of all skin, muscle, and sinew, even hollowed of all their marrow, the bones of the old celebrants still walk the halls of the Domicile. It is unclear if they now serve the Flesh, or if they are still possessed of enough of their old selves to recognize the vile thing they contributed to, and wish not for it to be seen or added to. In either case, they will attack intruders without hesitation, breaking their otherwise mindless routines to attack with whatever is at hand- including the discarded bits of their fellows.

Free the Imprisoned: If a Forsaker succeeds in grabbing a hold of its target, it will proceed to tear at any flesh left on it, dealing unarmed damage. If its target is incapacitated--or more rarely, the target is a genuinely dead corpse--the Forsaker will strip it to the bone in an attempt to free the skeleton within. It is not clear if they are aware that this does not have the desired result of animating the skeleton most of the time. But rarely, a skeleton so flensed will stand back up, and appreciatively join its new kin in rattling vigil. It is seemingly random whether the Forsakers discard any resulting meat, carry it back out of the Domicile to rot at the doorway, or leave it at the edge of the Amphitheater to be absorbed.

Reassemble: The Forsakers do not stay down for very long. As soon as a day after its destruction, a shattered Forsaker will reassemble itself to be more-or-less as functional as it previously was, barring the loss of any bones which it cannot retrieve or replace. The oldest Forsakers are little more than swirling jumbles of fragments and bone meal.

The Amphitheater of Flesh

This massive, vaulted chamber holds up a weathered old dome which overlooks the central pit. Better sheltered from the elements here, trappings of the old coven can still be spotted amid the ruin. Stone carvings, fragments of pottery, and implements of unclear but probably unpleasant purpose abound. The flat stone floor is entirely bare around the edge of the pit, which is about one hundred feet in diameter and twenty feet deep. The floors and walls here are covered in a sheen of grease and flecks like what is leftover on a cutting board after preparing meat. Most of the pit is occupied by the Flesh.

The Covetous Singer, Forsaken Flesh

Massive, pungent, and possessed of both solid and liquid qualities, the Flesh is constantly moving. Sometimes its surface only churns or ripples, while at others it erupts into selfsame geysers which nearly reach the domed ceiling before raining back down upon the area and reuniting with the central mass. Vague suggestions of organs, vacant faces, or throbbing veins occasionally break the surface of its otherwise uniform melange of tissues. It sings with hundreds of different voices, each at an unsettling midpoint between bliss and agony. If attacked, it lashes out with countless ephemeral limbs, smashing and grabbing at anything within its considerable reach. It is not known for certain what could damage or kill it, but fire or exposure to the elements is as good a bet as any.

Seething & Slippery: The area around the Forsaken Flesh is difficult to navigate and maintain one's balance upon, being perpetually slick with all manner of bodily fluids. Yes, all manner.

Acquaint Thyself: A target which is touching the Flesh, or which is struck by one of its many pseudopods, must resist a sudden wave of dreadful nostalgia which comes over them. Failure causes the target to be lulled into inactivity, taking no actions and becoming incapable of moving or defending itself.

Come into the Fold: An acquainted target, if not removed from proximity to the Flesh, will be enveloped and held within its central mass for a full minute. If the target fails to shake off its addling nostalgia or is not removed with outside assistance before that time, it will be assimilated into the Forsaken Flesh. The target's voice joins the chorus, and a very scandalized-looking skeleton climbs up out of the pit and leaves after being unceremoniously spat out.