Both stared off into the sea, simply content in each other’s company for the moment. A fleeting moment, as the young girl spoke up. “Smythe, you've told me many stories over the years but you've never told me how you lost your arm. You promised me you would when I was old enough to have tied every knot on the ship, and today was the Scaffold.” With a sigh the old man re-positioned his worn frame on the crow’s nest with his muscular left arm.

“My little Ami. Not so little anymore. I suppose you are old enough for a story of that nature.” The grizzled crewman tamped some fresh tobacco into his pipe. “Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip. It started from a tropic port, aboard a tiny ship.” Ami raised an eyebrow, incredulous of the musical tone. “What, you've never heard that song? Youngins these days, won’t spare a coin for a good bard.” Ami rolled her eyes. “Aye, aye. I’ll tell you the story of Avaricious.”

Many years back the waters were rough for several seasons and brought within a day’s sail of the mainland a wondrous floating island. The people called it Magpie Island for two reasons. The first was it was surrounded by birds, and the second is that magical trinkets seemed to follow in its wake. It was not more than a few days before it was swept back into the Dead of the gyre. In that short time it had sparked all kinds of commotion, rumors of pirate treasure, dragon hordes, wealth beyond imagining. Nobles, mages, and merchants alike all decided to mount expeditions, chasing after the island into the Dead. No one returned with any success, if they returned at all. Ours was going to be the ship to change that.

The Dead is a dangerous place for a ship. Without currents or air cabin fever sets in mighty fast, but this was the age of great magic, and we had a very wealthy patron. It was believed such things could easily be overcome with imprisoned elementals, citruses in preservation containers, and a water purification system with enough charges. They were right; sailing through the Dead was as easy as a dream for us. Some sailors claimed to see things in the water but we paid them no mind.

Expectations are treacherous things. When we arrived I could not, did not, want to believe this was the place of wonder and adventure so many of us had spent months dreaming of. The smell was simply indescribable, so laden with decay it was as if the whole island consisted of the bodies every dead fish and sea creature. Stepping onto the treacherous surface it even gave way like a bloated corpse. Perhaps the assessment was not too far off, as the surrounding waters seemed utterly devoid of sea life. Of course, it wasn't. Even in the massive floating pile of human refuse stranded in the middle of the Dead there was life. They had followed us. Skin whiter than cream and faces without eyes that see- they thrust up our discarded food tins, rigged playing cards, a pipe which no longer lit itself, every item of trash thrown overboard followed us to the filthy heap in their webbed fingers.

We couldn't leave empty handed. There was magic here, all of us could feel it in the fetid air, surely there were some artifacts worth saving. So the search began. I was the first to run into them, the crew of the Justification. They had been missing for months and presumed lost at sea but there was their ship, and most of the crew. They all looked in a bad way; salt crusting over their faces and sea-blind eyes staring vacantly out of hunched and withered bodies. Yet each of them, even the lowest crewman, had a pile of wealth beyond imagining. Enchanted music boxes, almost-full wands, ancient swords, things men kill for all discarded and floating in the ocean. The captain was excited, and asked to see what one of the men had found that day. He didn't understand it then, when the fellow pulled off his back the same pipe that had come from our ship. He grabbed the pipe from him and threw it off into the pile in disgust, the man running after it as if it was his most prized possession. Poor sap didn't get a dozen paces when several of his crewmates shoved him aside in pursuit. All of them fell into a soft spot in the debris, a trap created by one of the trash golems the place was infested with. The ones the golem did not get before they went under the water the pale ones did. A life holds magic too, you know.

Avaricious is a special sort of hell; it's the hell we created ourselves. It is the hell we deserve. How fitting that we should become so enamored of our worthless possessions we do not see the filth we create with it, fighting and killing and bleeding until only one man stands king of the rotting heap. You will remain trapped there as long as you cannot let go, and collecting is addictive. Even the smallest most worthless piece of vaguely enchanted garbage must be relinquished if you are to be set free, otherwise the pale ones will not let you leave. They will hunt you as you lie stranded without magic in the Dead praying for a swift death and drinking their sweet blue blood-

Smythe blinked, clearing the haze of memory from his eyes. He emptied the ashes from within the pipe, cleaned it, and set it within his pocket. Ami sat patiently, waiting for the story to continue. As Smythe began to descend from the nest Ami looked over the edge. "You promised you would tell me how you lost your arm." Smythe did not look up from his footing on the rigging.

"Who do you think was king?"

Corpsefall

Somewhere, beyond the veil of dreams, beyond the bounds of sanity or reality, lies the dread realm of Corpsefall. A desert without end, with a sunless, yet dreadfully intense sky above, adorned by swirling white clouds. From time to time, a titanic beast of strange form will come crashing down from the heavens, providing life to the desperate inhabitants of the realm with its gruesome bounty. It these corpses which give the realm its name, and provides all that is not sand.

Few are the ways to come to Corpsefall, and fewer still are the ways to leave. It has served as a final resting place for many criminals from many worlds, and not a few persons who had dabbled in arts that had best been untouched.

Water is very rare, normally drawn from the carrion, though if one digs deep enough, water can be found below the surface. These wells are dangerous to make, for their depth makes the digging challenging, and only bone is available as a construction material on this world.

Anything beyond sand is brought by the Corpsefalls; food, fuel, building materials and anything else, or it is wrested from those who have it. It is the corpses drive life on this world, that bring plenty and conflict.

Corpsefalls

Getting crushed by the great falling corpses is as likely as getting struck by lightning, but unlike lightning, is invariable fatal. Though frequent, the lands are wide enough that most falls are no closer than 5-10 miles. One can hear the impact from at least that distance, so once or twice a day, a low rumble can be heard. Being near one is nearly as dangerous as being struck, for the noise will bring scavengers running from all directions towards the corpse, and those between them and food will most assuredly be considered food as well.

Inhabitants of Corpsefall

Unlike most worlds, vegetation does not form the base of the food chain - instead virtually everything feeds upon the ever-falling corpses or in turn, upon those that so feed. Even those few plants that exist are invariably found near old corpses, and are quite often carnivorous themselves. In some areas, Fungi has taken hold, forming temporary jungles while the food lasts.

The Griz

These dreadful beings are of truly abhorrent appearance. They appear as furless humanoid rats with vulture-like beaks replacing their jaws. Their naked skin is tanned dark from the hostile sun that bakes the lands of Corpsefall. They are short, slender and emaciated, but capable of great feats of strength. They do not shy from battle, as many scavengers do, but will fearlessly swarm their enemies. Outside of battle, the Griz are unpleasant company, being both arrogant and insulting. Surprisingly enough, they take great care to be clean, using sand to remove the remnants of prior meals from their flesh.

The Griz have a city, though its name is never spoken - they have only the one and have not needed to name it.

The Renders

Only vaguely humanoid, these creatures have huge, bullet-shaped heads with six bladed mandibles. A toothed mouth opens at the apex of their odd skull, and at the base of their skull hangs a fringe of eyestalks bearing blueberry-sized eyeballs. Their bodies are long and thin with slender but strong arms and legs. The skin is thick and leathery, ranging from dark brown to pale white. Renders feed, as most inhabitants of Corpsefall do, on the leviathan corpses which fall with mad frequency onto the desert world. Having to move quickly to profit from new corpses, they can run much faster than their odd appearance would suggest. They prefer to feed by burrowing deep in the fleshy parts of their meal. They are, of course, more than happy to eat smaller meals, using their burrowing mandibles to shred prey.

Boneslug

Perhaps the slowest of the scavengers, the Boneslug is not overly concerned with speed. They range greatly in size, from small, finger sized specimens, to enormous specimens the size of small cities. They are slug-shaped with a skin of articulated bony plates. Their head has a cluster of eyestalks and a pair of crushing mandibles. As suggested by their name, they feed mainly on bones, and can burrow through solid bone should the opportunity arise. Like all other inhabitants of the world, they are not above taking fresh prey, but they usually do not get the opportunity with their slow speed. It is they that keep the world of Corpsefall from becoming a simple pile of bones, for they are able to consume even the largest bones in time.

Locations of Note

The Bone City

A massive structure built from bone and rolling on massive bone rollers, this moving city is drawn by a herd of huge Boneslugs. The slugs have been altered - most of their eyes have been removed, with the remaining pair fitted with restraints that allow the driver to direct the slug. The city is home to a mixed population, mostly Anon, with a large number of Griz as well. Humans and other peoples from other worlds dwell here as well, lucky individuals who came upon the city before falling to the hazards of the world.

Veshpether

- This basalt spire, hundreds of feet tall, stands like a horn protruding from the red-stained sand. Once in a long while, a corpse will directly strike the spire and become impaled. This is considered a bad omen, and the scavengers will leave the corpse to the elements rather than approach.

The City of the Griz

The city of the Griz is a massive, underground city where thousands of Griz reside. It is one of the places here considered 'civilization', though the hostile Griz make poor company. However, beings powerful enough to cow the Griz are not unknown, and beings of great power live side by side with the teeming scavengers. The Bone City will arrive, time to time, to trade with the Griz, though this is always a short, tense visit.

The Skull of the Leviathan

The single largest enduring structure in Corpsefall, this is a skull of immense proportion, being nearly a mile long from jaw to back. It is strong enough to have survived other Corpsefalls to this point and is the home of a teaming host of Renders and Boneslugs. There is also, nestled in one of the cavernous eye sockets, a monastery of the Monks of the Grey. These monks are a group of exiled criminals who formed a society in this cursed land. They hold in their numbers a few sorcerers of fell power that help them survive in this terrible world.

The Shunned Lands

This expanse of land is rarely if ever visited by the inhabitants of Corpsefall, for the simple reason no corpses fall here. No corpses to provide food or other resources, only more, featureless sand. What lies in the center of this expanse, none alive outside of the region know.

The Great Mound

An immense pyramid of bone and leathery flesh, this place was the location of a tremendous succession of Corpsefalls, with such frequency that it caused the slaughter of countless legions of scavengers. All within many miles were drawn to their destruction, as titanic corpse after titanic corpse rained down. Only the limit of sound stopped the victims from coming, and then the Boneslugs arrived. This great store of corpses is now infested by Boneslugs beyond number, riddled with tunnels carved by the creatures.

Items of Corpsefall

The Muthrurs

These are huge drums used by the Griz to deceive and prey upon other scavengers. When sounded, their boom resembles that of a nearby Corpsefall and will draw other scavengers to be ambushed. The drums are nearly 8 feet in diameter and weigh about 250lbs. They are constructed from bone and leather and inscribed with Griz runes.

Corpsecompass

This item, a small bone container filled with optical jelly and containing a specially runed sliver of bone, will direct the user to the nearest Corpsefall, and will spin wildly if one is falling dangerously close. Usually, this means so close that it is too late to run.

Bonearmor

Built and used by the Griz, these are usually just breastplates fashioned from Boneslug plates. The bones of the Corpsefalls are usually too large to be made into something as small as armor. Similarly, single Boneslug plates are used as shields.

Campaign Use of Corpsefall

Um, where _are_ we?

Through action of an enemy, a cursed item http://strolen.com/viewing/The_Damning_Sack, a trap or their own meddling, the PCs have been cast into this realm. They need to survive long enough to get out,

We've got to go there?

Whether it is an item, a person or information, the PCs find that they need to go to Corpsefall.

The realm could be the location of something or somewhat that needs retrieval or rescue.

Where am I from, mortal? An interesting question..

The PCs enter conversation with some foul creature from beyond, one that calls the realm of Corpsefall home. GMs can use the material here to flesh out the dialog, and perhaps prepare the PCs for more direct future involvement. "Oh crap, isn't this the place that demon told us about?"

A Cursed Land

Corpsefall could be a location on the regular world, found in the center region of a normal desert, or even a large island far from the known lands. This avoids the need for an extraplanar nature, but makes one wonder what other horrors could exist in the world.

A land of Nightmares

Corpsefall could be solely a dream realm, not existing physically. PCs travelling through dreams may find this realm and become trapped at first.

The Mystery of Corpsefall

The most obvious one, where do the corpses come from, is deliberately left unanswered. It really should not matter - unless the PCs possess very powerful flying magic, they cannot investigate. I personally think it should be left unanswered, having a mythic origin like that of magic. Explaining why these corpses rain down would be akin to knowing the tricks of a magician - a killer of wonder and atmosphere.

“The sages claim it is a simple matter to achieve eternal bliss in the afterlife.  Simply repent and atone for your sins during this life, so that your soul has nothing left to account for on the other side.  The rest of us know it’s not nearly that easy.”
-- Unknown

Core Concept: Katumus is where a soul goes to learn remorse, and to atone for its crimes during life.  Everything must be accounted for -- from childhood theft to cold-blooded murder.

Consequence: It is nearly impossible for any soul to pass on to the other side.  If it has forgotten to atone for even a small thing while living, it will be forced to revisit the incident in the afterlife -- even if the soul had no knowledge of the harm it caused another.  After true repentance is achieved, the soul is still not allowed to have eternal rest but must instead be reborn to try again.

Suru: The First Level of Katumus (Remorse)

"Remorse for what? You people have done everything in the world to me. Doesn't that give me equal right?"
-- Charles Manson

Suru is an endless labyrinth of white hallways, marked with plain wooden doors marching in a line on either side.  The silence is broken only by the muffled footsteps of the party and those of the doorkeepers.  Each door is marked with the name of the accused within, and their heart lies on a small set of scales above the mantle, protected by an invisible force.  Though the doors are all identical at creation, they will show visible signs of aging the longer a soul has been in this stage -- the name plaque fades, the hinges rust, cobwebs accumulate, etc.  Many of the doors, unfortunately, show signs of great age.  Additionally, the heroes should recognize many of the names on the doors: great villains from history, certainly, but also great heroes.

The hallways are patrolled by blindfolded figures, robed in white, each weighed down with a great ring of keys and a large ledger.  At each door it comes to, it will pause to weigh the heart and take notes in the ledger.

None of the doors are locked, and the party remains unmolested should they choose to enter one.  Once inside, they will be able to hear and observe the torment of the soul within from a small, screened off viewing platform that bears another door (this one securely locked).  The accused usually stands bound to a chair in the center of a small, dark room as each of its victims testifies against it.  The accused will often jerk violently as it experiences visions from the victims’ perspectives.  The full consequences of their actions on the victims’ lives are forced upon the unwilling soul, in full audio/visual/sensory detail.  The audience, however, will perceive these visions as faint images coalescing around the head of the tormented.  At other times, the accused’s family or friends may be seen expressing their disappointment in him.

The party may not interact with the occupant of the room in any way, unless they have the key to the inner sanctum (carried by the robed figures in the hallway outside).  The soul in torment won’t even be aware of their presence, though some of the extremely paranoid ones may act as if they believe someone is always watching.  If admitted to the inner room, the accused will be able to both see & hear the party.  Touching the accused will draw a party member completely into any vision he may be experiencing.

A soul may only move onto the second level of Katumus when they have either repented fully for all of their earthly crimes or have received forgiveness from the accused party.  When his or her heart is weighed against Remorse and found to be balanced at long last, the soul will be unbound and escorted deeper into Katumus.

Sovitus: The Second Level of Katumus (Atonement)

"There is no person so severely punished, as those who subject themselves to the whip of their own remorse."
-- Lucius Annaeus Seneca

This is a large chambered room, empty of all but a great desk with a giant man seated behind it.  Behind the desk, and obscured mostly by shadows, there are three great doors.  In front of the desk stands a single chair, and the soul is asked kindly to take a seat when he enters the room.

The man will consult a mammoth book for several long moments, before offering the soul a choice: who shall be in charge of determining the just punishment for their crimes?  The soul can pick between the following options:

1. They may decide their own punishment for the crimes that they committed
2. They may allow one of their victims to choose it
3. Or they may allow the Judge to choose

This is a highly personal choice, and by the time a soul gets to this chamber it is fully broken down with remorse.  The harshest punishments are often the ones chosen by the soul itself, the most lenient are usually those chosen by the victims, with the Judge residing somewhere in the middle.  Once they have chosen, the soul is told to walk through the door corresponding to that choice.

Behind the doors are three very different flavors of torment.  Behind the first door, lies a dark, ghostly world steeped in guilt.  Self-flagellation is not merely a figure of speech here.  There are platforms of torture manned by ebony-skinned humanoids with burning eyes, and long lines of people waiting with willing patience for their turn.  Everywhere one looks, they will see people casting themselves off of cliffs, running themselves through with swords, tearing their hair or clawing their own eyes out.  Very few souls ever leave here, and no wonder.  After being broken down so thoroughly by remorse, it is rare that a self-punishing soul will find the strength to forgive itself and move on to its next life.

Behind the second door lies a vast, grey garden, thick with weeping trees, still pools and benches.  The souls here invariably suffer from an incurable longing for forgiveness, and may wander the endless paths in silent introspection for centuries on end.  Their only desire is to meet again with the souls of their victims and seek atonement from them, an event which can only be arranged once that victim has died again.  If the victim cannot pardon him, a soul in the second room will plead for a punishment or a trial that it can undergo in the long years before they meet again, and will religiously carry out that practice until then.  Some are even granted permission to visit the earth as spirits to try and aid the victim or its descendants in their time of need.  Compared to the first room, tenure here is relatively short, as most victims are capable of forgiveness after a lifetime or two of separation from the event.

The last door opens into a sort of still, white void.  Only the souls who enter the door of the Judge are allowed to suffer in private, in a space that no one else may normally enter.  His punishments are both efficient and brutally fair, dealing blow for blow what the soul did to his victims in real life.  An ex-torturer may find himself tied to the rack as his body is visited with each cut, each bruise or indignity he inflicted on others in life.  A rapist will find himself transformed into a female and thrown into a room full of ravaging demons.  An adulteress will be forced to live an illusory life in which the person she loved most betrays her.  One punishment will follow another in unrelenting succession, until the Judge has been satisfied.

Finding the Entrance:

The living may enter Katumus in one of two ways.  In a few, extraordinary cases, a living person’s presence is requested to help the soul of one who has harmed them in the past.  In this case, the assistance is entirely voluntary, and the person will be safely escorted back to the mortal plane when their job is done.  Usually, however, the soul in judgement must wait until all of its victims have died before it can hear their testimony and/or receive their forgiveness.

Otherwise, a person can undertake a spiritual quest on behalf of one already dead.  Those involved must first fast for a week to help loosen the bonds between their souls and their bodies.  Then they must burn an offering at the Temple of Penitence and state both their intentions and the name of the dead clearly.  As a test of sincerity, the offerings must be of significant value to the living -- either emotional or monetary (usually gauged in percentage of total wealth).  This method poses significant risk, however.  The stating of intentions is, in effect, a contract with the Gods.  Until those intentions are fulfilled (say, “Help my brother repent of his sins”), the soul is not allowed to return to the mortal plane.  If the living cannot return to their bodies within seven days, they will die.

Upon arriving in Katumus, each party member will be assigned a guide (basically an animated ball of light with a voice) that will escort them safely through the different levels of Katumus in search of the target soul.  The guide will not prevent them from doing anything, but it will warn them if they are about to break a rule and the consequences for the transgression.

NPCs & Plothooks:

The Eternal Rival:

Upon entering the first level of Katumus, a party member is informed by their guide that their presence is being requested by a soul that identifies himself as “Cainon.”  If asked for information, the guide will say only that the soul has been here longer than most, so his request for the party member’s attention is automatically placed at the top of the queue, as it were.  If the member accepts the request, he/she will be shown to Cainon’s door and given the key to the inner sanctum.  Cainon will greet him/her by the name “Saul,” and may sneer a bit if the party member is female (“A woman this time, eh, Saul?  Suits you, I suppose”).  He will then inform the party member that it has been well over a century since the last time they crossed his path, and that he still feels no remorse for killing Saul in a previous life (“Your death was the crowning moment of my life.”).  He will, however, ask “Saul” for forgiveness, as it is the only way he’ll ever be able to move on from here.

Backstory: Cainon and Saul were childhood friends, but Saul soon outstripped Cainon in everything they did.  No matter what Cainon did, Saul could do it better, faster or more efficiently than he could.  Cainon began to hate Saul after awhile, and spent his life trying to finally get the better of his perceived rival.  Eventually, he snapped and killed Saul in his sleep after he married the woman whom Cainon secretly loved.  Cainon took her for his wife after Saul’s funeral, and abused her horribly for choosing Saul over himself.  It is for her sake that Saul never forgave Cainon for killing him.

The Hero of Ancient Times:

A great hero has been trapped in Suru for centuries.  During his life, the hero made the choice to sacrifice the few (his friends or family) for the sake of the many, and is being held until he feels remorse for his actions on that day.  The hero is so strong in his convictions, however, that he is incapable of feeling remorse for any act he committed in the name of the greater good, and is being tormented again and again with watching their deaths.

Deep in the bowels of the Infinite Abyss, an infernal realm that spirals down into never-ending pain, there lies the plane of Skillet. 5757 Layers below the beginning of the River Styx there is a charred black expanse of steaming metal that stretches forever in every direction. Welcome to skillet, you've just stepped out of the fire and into the fryer.

The Life-forms in Skillet:

Skillet is not home to very much life. It is swelteringly hot and contact with the ground will incinerate flesh at its worst and cause extremely painful burns on the "cool" spots. The little life that lives there varies greatly in temperament, mood, and reactions to outsiders.

The Flames that Feed - A colony of elemental fire creatures lives below the surface of Skillet, the constantly regenerating layer of black metal that resides over their heads in  meant to trap them for their disservice to a great Lord of Fire. Their form is unknown, but it is said that they gather together and roam beneath the layer of metal in search of sweet escape. It is theorized that the hottest parts of Skillet are where you can find The Flames that Feed, though there is no known reason to be looking for them and seems to be a better idea to completely avoid them.

The Black Eggs - Strange, gigantic blob creatures. They fill the sizzling air with the stench of burnt breakfast and slide sightlessly towards their prey: Heat. In essence, they are oversized egg whites with a oozing orange eye of yolk punctuating their center. the whites are burnt black along the edges and they leave a trail of burnt-on egg wherever they go. They will try to smother and scorch anything they encounter, and seem to be completely unintelligent.

The White Clouds of Ouranacht - Ouranacht is said to be a weak angel that resides on the plane. He is never seen, and it is possible that his is simply another carcass fried to dust among the black plains of Skillet, lingering on only in his cloudy saviors. His white clouds can be found hovering about five feet from the surface of Skillet, but are quite rare. They can be ridden by anyone without an evil heart, and are completely insubstantial to those who are. If a good-hearted being climbs onto a White Cloud, they can control its direction, but not height, and even gather fresh, if warm, water from the cloud. It can be tough to find a White cloud, because they usually reside at the center of a larger steam cloud, caused by their constant rain.

Landmarks of Skillet:

The Handle - Some say there is a handle to this pain, as there is with most pans. I'm sure the denizens of Skillet would deny such a claim if any of them were able to speak. The Handle is more of a mythical term for control, it is said that he who holds The Skillet's Handle will be able to free The Flames that Feed, resurrect Ouranacht or escape with their life. Never all three, but the story changes based on the goals and motivations of the listener.

The Great Palace of Egeg - A small metal protrusion in the middle of a flat land of blackened iron. It appears to be a covered stairwell, descending into a dim red light like that of hot coals. This staircase travels roughly sixty feet down into the hot metal. At the bottom you find a solid iron wall carved into the likeness of the protruding horrified face of a bald and burn scarred elf. Egeg is this elf's name, and it is carved in a repeated circle all around the malign face.

The Great Palace of Egeg is the only known exit from skilled. To open the exit, you must place your hand on Egeg's tongue for 5 seconds at a time, then 7, then 5 again, and finally 7 again. This will most likely be unfathomably painful, and possibly fatal. It not known is living flesh is necessary for this to work, but it is possible that a dead man's hand will do just fine. When the proper physical pain has been endured, the Mouth of Egeg will open into the Layer of The Flames where you will find yourself with an hot iron ceiling and surrounded by flaming men who bleed from their eyes. Fortunately, the River Styx continues down here, so you may be able to find your way deeper into the Abyss.

The Box - The Barred Gate - The Tormented's Closet

Welcome to Hell...

As you arrive, you find yourself feeling as a guest. There is a lavish suite designed to suit your needs and ideals of comfort. There is some elaborate furnishings such as twisted glas and metal storm lanters lining the walls, some overstuffed chairs that you could lose yourself in for hours, and even a bowl of rare fruits and exotic desserts.

Then you notice The Window... Covered by a fancy red velvet curtain with gold threaded drawstring, is a horrific view. Your room overlooks a seemingly endless array of suffering people. They are all standing or crouching, sweating, panicked, and all around frightened. None of them more from their position besides the shaking and the occasional eerie spasm, though no chains bind them to their respective spots.

Looking up, above the columns of the invisibly tortured, is a great dome of pulsing light, strange reddish-pink and full of warmth and possible some sort of vile fluids. You're somehow sure this is the source of their suffering, yet you can only imagine what they could possibly be feeling.

The Imprisoned's Point of View:

This varies greatly for each mentally shackled individual. Each of them experiences some sort of bonded or trapped scenario, with no imaginable hope of escape. They are locked in their own fear-soaked minds. One may be trapped in the belly of a gigantic beast, feeling the pulsing flesh on all sides and the acidic stomach juices slowly digesting them. Another may be locked in a narrow, locker-like, cell with an unreachable view of the night sky above. Some more may be screaming as they are crushed by a stone block for all eternity.

The overall mood of one incarcerated here is that of despair, with hints of fear, and they all slowly succumb to mania. Their thoughts, even if somehow roused and freed, will believe there is forever a pit around the corner or giant snake waiting to eat them. One you die and go to The Box, you're in The Box forever.

The idea of smaller, personalized hells of Chinese cosmology seemed much more interesting than the often generic fire and brimstone hells. Thus, do I present the Hell of Dry Bones to be listed along such other luminary hells as the Hell of Boiling Oil and the Hell of Being Skinned Alive. - Thank you

Deep in the underworld, beyond the quiesient cities of the dead, and deeper than the labyrinthine mazes that burrow deep into the cold stone of the underworld lies the Hell of Dry Bones. This is an open hell, one that is hungry, and very much likes visitors. Everything in this hell is comprised of bone, or the remnants of bone. The ground first appears like white beach sand, but it is in fact, pulverized bone, reduced to powder in some places. This powdered bone can rise into white storms when the winds are driven to frenzy.

Bones of all different sort litter the ground. Animals bones are the most common, but only because there are a greater variety of animals than of humans and other races. The hollow bones of birds crunch like brittle twigs, while the larger bones of beasts of burden can be used as clubs, or splintered into spears. Greatest of all are the bones of the long dead giants. No relation to the regular giants, these behemoths once strode the world with strides that could cover three leagues. All that is left are bones that measure hundreds of paces long, and monsterous not quite human skulls large enough to serve as palaces.

Often victims of this hell shelter themselves from the bone storms, and the hailstorms of teeth inside these giant skulls. Unfortunately for them, the demons of this hell often have culled these havens into their own private lounges and lairs.

Bone Eating Demons These are the least of the inhabitants of this hell. Each resembles a hybrid between a bull mastiff canine and a large armored crocodile. Nearly white, they are hard to spot among the bones of their home realm. As their name implies, they eat bone, but not the bone of the realm, only the fresh, wet bone of the mortal souls who inhabit the realm. Particularly strong, or cunning souls, or adventurers, can outsmart, or even kill a Bone Eating Demon as they have only minimal intelligence, and no supernatural powers. Victims consumed by a bone eating demon have the pleasure of being slowly ripped apart and eaten as the demon crunches on their bones. Three to five days after being eaten, the Hell of Dry Bones restores the body of the victim, only to be chased down and brutalized again and again.

Osseoliths - These are the greater demons of the Hell of Dry Bones and they keep personal retinues of their favorite souls, and packs of Bone Eating Demons. most are nine to ten feet tall and resemble thick bodied bone golems. They have multiple layers of ribs, as many as four to six arms, and stare at the world through a variety of skulls. Most are known by their skull and the demons take great pride in having the most rare, or exotic skull. The most powerful of the Osseoliths is known as Crack-Tooth Dragon as he has claimed the skull of a slain Dragon as his own. Most of the Osseoliths serve as administrators in this hell, making sure that all of the souls are suffering properly for their Hellish overlord. They hunt down safe houses, and deal with unexpected visitors in predictable fashion.

Gehenna - This is the Queen of the Hell of Dry Bones. It is said that during her mortal life she was a sorceress of some power, and sold her soul to the Hell Realms for power. Upon her death she descended to hell, where she defeated her demonic master, and turned his domain into the Hell of Dry Bones. This is the official story espoused by the Osseoliths, and half-verbalized by the Bone Eating Demons.

The truth is a little more interesting, and not quite so glorious. In life, Gehenna was a mortal who lived a life of brutal and unforgiving poverty. She lived for sixteen years, surviving as her peers perished to hunger and thirst, illness and violence. Then, in a stroke of fortune she was elevated to a much higher station in life. Perhaps she was even a queen for a time. Rather than remember her roots, and the hardship she endured, she forsook those who had helped her, and even turned to their persecution. In her own defense, none had openly helped her, she would simply keep the tradition alive.

Her cruelty and near barbarism ensured her of a swift passage to hell upon her death. She grew strong in the power of magic, and soon traversed the paths of the damned, defeating demons with wit and skill honed to razor edge by her previously brutal life on the street. She distilled demons into their vital essence, and consumed them. Each made her stronger, more cruel and less human. Eventually in her 300th year of rule, she was struck by a coalition of assassins who sought her death for the misery she espoused. Rather than die, she escaped to a small realm, and shaped it to her will, and peopled it with her first victims.

This action was not unnoticed by the August Personage of Heaven. Gehenna was given her place in the celestial heirarchy, for her hell was to serve a greater purpose than her own private pleasure and font of power. Those souls who had lived lives of cruel wealth and thought of blows of the fist and kicks as charity were relegated to her keeping. Thus do the souls of heartless nobles and cruel merchants wander her realm. They burn with mortal needs, food, water, passion. Their lives have become nothing more than the brutal and hateful lives of the criminally destitute. Their screams are a symphony to Gehenna’s ears.

Gehenna appears as a woman, bone white, and beautiful in an alien fashion. If pressed, she can and will summon warrior caste Osseoliths to defend her. Only in the most dire need will she assume her true form, a writhing pillar of cracked and broken bones, topped with the head of a great hissing serpent.

Escaping from the Hell of Dry Bones
Escape is painfully easy, and almost impossible to find. There are precious few commodities in this hell, and as such charity does not exist in any form save for the giving and sharing of misery, pain, and death repeated. should a soul willingly offer something to another, in the spirit of true charity, their way has been opened. The soul is shortly thereafter taken away from the Hell of Dry Bones by the monitors of the celestial heirarchy. While not all knowing, they are able to cast divinations to auspicious times to observe certain souls in the hell, to witness either another failure and usually death or to escort the now kharmically balanced soul on to its next rebirth.

Alternately, the visitor who entered by accident, or on a mission rather than arriving due to soul debt, cannot escape in this fashion. There are two ways out. One, the visitor can gain release by Gehenna herself. This has NEVER, and will NEVER happen. Gehenna is a cruel and greedy demon and has no intention of allowing anyone who enters her realm to ever leave again. The second way is a daring infiltration into the Castle Ossuary, Gehenna’s personal palace. Somewhere under the palace is a passage out of the hell and into a safer locale. As to be expected, this passage is well guarded by being in the fortress, but its existance is unknown to Gehenna. Some speculate that this is an expression of the August Personage of Heaven’s will.

Plot Hooks
- This is the difficult part, unless you are playing in a game that regularly deals with traversing hells or the underworld.

To Speak with the Dead - The PCs must find a nugget of information, and only one soul in existance knows it. Unfortunately for the PCs, the soul passed on to the hell realms some time ago and now they must hunt out the soul of the dead sage in the Hell of Dry Bones. Once they gain said knowledge, they must then escape from the Hell without becoming a permanent resident.

A Brief Interlude - Rather than permanently damn a soul to such a hell, sometimes the powers that be will grant them a glimpse of what awaits them should they fail to ammend their ways. The PC, or PCs find themselves in a dreamlike, yet completely realm quest to escape the Hell of Dry Bones and return to their real lives.

Broken Mirrors - Gehenna has become increasingly hungry for more souls. Her minions, Osseoliths disguised as humans, have been spreading gospels of materialism and sadism to further her power. Perhaps the pinnacle of her power comes as a heretical church begins rituals that offer the souls of the living to her in exchange for temporal power. Can the PCs intercede, or due they fall for the lure of quick and easy power?

The Station

Some few find their way here through other means, but almost all the denizens (and all of the souls) come here by way of the Station. The Ferryman has changed from a boatsman to a conductor, but he still makes his deliveries of the damned from every multiverse every day. The number of passengers varies between times of war and peace, but regardless of the number of new residents of this forsaken plane, the shrieking sound of the Helltrain whistle can be heard nomatter the distance from the Station.

There is no office, staff or ticket counter, for none are needed; no tickets are sold here. The Helltrain is a one-way trip, and this is the destination. The structure itself is a massive edifice of marble columns and granite walkways covering an inconceivably long strip of land thousands of kilometers long. No human station past or present was ever that large, but then, no mortal station ever had to unload a million souls at once.

The Helltrain

The Helltrain is rather out of place sitting in the Station. Where the latter is drab and lifeless, the former feels alive and malicious. A red and black paint job covers an unyielding metal body, and despite the lack of any spikes or macabre artwork, none who see it doubt for an instant that this is the Chariot of the Gaoler, dragging the damned to their fate.

To describe this machine in terms of size and length is a folly of the mortal mind; such concepts simply do not apply to such a vehicle. One moment the Station is empty, the next the Helltrain is unloading the daily assemblage. With nary a sound, the Station is empty again. Suffice it to say, boarding at this Station is nearly impossible.

The City

Surrounding the Station is the only set of structures within the entire plane that can rightly be called a city. However, the classification is itself something of a misnomer, because the City is best sized in megametres. The Helltrain has been delivering souls here since the dawn of humanity, and the City has been growing nonstop since.

Visually, it looks something like 1800s Paris, with multistory domiciles and broad boulivards. Back streets and alleys are suitably cramped and confined, though strangely there is little to no refuse cluttering them further.

Elsewhere

The land outside the City is vast and truly endless. While possible, it takes an inordinate amount of time to travel far enough to lay eyes on ground not touched by the damned. Most find that they don't actually want to spend an eternity in solitude, and eventually even the staunchest of loners will make their way back to what passes for civilization here.

The True Meaning of Hell

What makes this slightly odd but otherwise normative plane worthy of the title Hell is the nature of its reality, for here there is no mystery. The feeling of surprise is simply absent from this demesne. That isn't to say that everyone knows everything, only that the souls of the damned cannot feel surprised anymore, and with surprise goes innovation, curiousity, and almost every other emotion. They all know of these things, and have memories of them from their time alive, but the memory is not the feeling, and it does nothing but inform them of their lack.

This knowledge of lacking drives the damned to do everything possible to regain what has been forever lost. Men and women drink, but cannot find dissolution. They work, but cannot find enjoyment in the completion of their task. They talk, but it lacks substance, wit, and humor. They laugh, but it has no heart. They make love, but there is no enjoyment in it, only the desire to feel once again what has been lost.

This Hell needs no demons, no nightmarish monstrosities to torture inhabitants for eternity; their memories of life do more than the infernalis ever could. True Hell is in the knowing of the lack, and the inability to change it.

Entrance and Exit

The living who wish to enter this realm need merely to board the Helltrain. Among the infinitude of stops it makes daily, it will stop here to disgorge passengers. Those who wish to leave again will find the task much harder. The only exit is to take the train back out, and as mentioned before, that is no easy task. Even once the train has been reboarded, one must somehow persuade the Conductor to allow passage back across the Veil. This is no trivial task, for the Conductor is a heavyweight in the halls of divine power and takes his task seriously. Souls come into the Hells, they do not come back out.

No mere spirit can withstand his fury, nor can vanilla mortals; only those on level with a godling can hope to stand against him and force their way back out. Assuming they haven't already succumbed to the draining nature of this reality...

In the Non, they are blind, forgotten eyes straining meaninglessly, for there are no photons to see. In the Non, they are deaf, for there are no phonons to hear. In the Non, they are anosmic, for there is no odor to smell. In the Non, they are aguesic, for there is no food to taste. In the Non, they are nothing, for there is nothing in the Non.