Tuesday, February 12, 2013

Random Table : Healing from the Squid God

When healed by a priest of the squid god the target must pass a Fortitude Save (DC 10+ the number of times healed), or roll d20 on the following table:

1. The wound splits open wide, vomiting out loop after loop of a massive and stinking black tentacle that whips around searching for the head of the injured. The pain of the wound ripping apart inflicts the same number of HP damage as the original injury being healed; Its size, strength, attack bonus, armor and hit points depend on the HP of the original injury (5' long per HP/ 15+1 Str per HP/ +1 to attack per HP/ AC 10+1 per HP/ 1HD per HP) and it has one purpose: grab the head of the injured and pull it back through the now-gaping hole that birthed it. Should the tentacle be destroyed before it succeeds, the wound seals up completely healed. But on its first successful attack the tentacle wraps around the head of the injured, and on its next action will retract the entire tentacle back through the wound (make an opposed Strength check between the injured character and the tentacle to remain in this earthly realm). Should the tentacle succeed, the injured target is pulled inside itself and the oroboros-like paradox causes space-time to shit itself ever so slightly: a squirt of nothingness spills from the instance, and a Sphere of Annihilation is born.

2. The wound heals miraculously, with no immediate side effects; but every time the targets wakes from sleep, they find their head undergoing a strange transformation. After the first sleep, the eyes seem ever so slightly bigger and wider, the pupils dilated and what appear to be a ring of wart-like growths form around the mouth; the following night the change is more noticeable as the eyes begin to drift away from the flattening nose and the target's teeth begin to fuse; the following night all hair falls from the target's body, and the growths around the mouth are as long as baby's fingers. And so the transformation continues, the skull reforming as the eyes drift round to where the ears were (they fall off after the fifth sleep); the teeth weld into a single beak, the tongue hardens to become radiata, until the transformation is complete after the tenth sleep: the target is now completely squid-headed, with massive black eyes, writhing tentacles and a hint of fish stink. The transformation can be slowed by foregoing sleep, with attendant penalties and hallucinations, but the squid god will sooner or later mark the target as blessed by its caress. Elves, and other species that view sleep as the province of the weak, undergo a far more brutal transformation: the wound heals instantly, but they are crippled by abdominal pain as their arse sprouts tentacles and a chitinous beak emerges. The new mouth hungers, and the digestive flow is reversed.

3. The wound heals miraculously, with no immediate side effects; but in the middle of the target's next sleep the wound ruptures open to reveal a vast black eye nestled in the target's flesh, staring outwards and clearly alert. What it sees it does not share with its host; covering the eye for more than ten sleeps causes a rash of boils to break out over the hosts skin. Lancing the boils, or letting them burst after several days, reveals that each contains another searching eye. The character may go about their business, but know that the squid god witnesses all they do.

4. The wound heals miraculously, but the target immediately begins to feel extreme nausea, and in moments is on their hands and knees vomiting up gouts of black ink for the next ten minutes. For the next ten days and nights, whenever they breathe out, a small plume of black ink pours from the mouth, and whenever they speak (even whisper) the ink cloud forms the words spoken. After the tenth sleep, a Fortitude save (DC 10+HP of original wound) banishes the effect.

5. The wound heals miraculously, but with strange blotchy patterns flow out under the skin like spilt ink. The blotches flash vividly, from neon blue to scintillating red to the color of the surrounding environment, cycling through the colors in a garish distracting pattern (-2 to attacks to all nearby companions, and +2 to be hit by enemies cause the vibrant display makes them an easy mark). Each day the target may make a Willpower check (DC 20-number of days since being afflicted) to gain control over their new skin spasmodic chromophores. Once successful, the target can now alter their skin color to gain +4 to stealth checks when striped down, or mimic the effects of a Hypnotic Pattern spell 1/day per 3 levels.

6. The wound heals miraculously, but the target is immediately wracked with incredible pain as each joint in their body is broken. A Fortitude Save (DC30) is required to remain conscious, but really the target wants to be out cold for what happens next. Over the next ten hours, each bone in the target's body is slowly expelled one at a time, either vomited or shat out, with only a single fused spine remaining. The quivering mess that remains is still alive, though the skin puckers and boils along the inside of each limb, and suckers emerge, as do siphons at the base of the neck. When the process is complete the target is able to pull itself along the ground at a slow 10' per round. Each limb is able to stretch twice as long as its former length, but they are excellent at grasping and holding on, granting a +4 to climb, grapple, disarm checks and any other appropriate circumstance. In the water however the target is able to move freely and at great speed (60' rnd), and able to dive to great depths. On land though the target is a pathetic puddle of flesh; Cha reduces to 3. Better get a bucket.

7. The open wound heals upon the touch of the squid priest, but does not close. Slashing and piercing wounds well up with blood black as night, and crushing injuries bruise, blacken, bubble and burst. A gout of ink sprays forth, covering the surrounding area in slippery liquid, for several rounds, til the torrent reduces to a steady stream and then peters out to a trickle. It is ink, and it continues to flow unless the wound is blocked by whatever means the characters devise, though blocking it will cause the inkflow to well up under the skin and seek out other openings in the target's body. The ink has a purpose, and wants to spill out into this realm; should the ink be gathered and used for writing or illustration that furthers the squid god's designs, the words will prove most persuasive and the shapes and forms alluring (effectively a +4 blessing to seduce or inspire). Also, should the wound be left unstoppered while asleep, the ink will spill out in esoteric forms that (with appropriate arcane knowledge) supposedly reveal the squid god's dreams and commune the squid god's desires.

8. The wound heals miraculously, with no immediate side effects; but the mark of the squid god is upon  the target. Ancient and implacable foes learn of the bearer of the mark, and seek the bearer out within malicious intentions. The bearer of the squid god's blessing draws the ire of cetaceans, and whenever the bearer is on or near the open sea, aggressive pods of whales and dolphins draw near, and given the opportunity, seek the bearer out to harm them. Should the bearer take to the high seas, the mark serves as a lure to the leviathan, an ancient dire-whale of immense proportions that will cross entire oceans to seek the bearer out (use the biggest whale/athanc/monster-of-the-deep you have handy with max HP).

9. The wound bubbles and bulges with blisters that rise burst with alarming speed, each revealing circular suckers that draw the wound close. Thereafter a patch of small but functional suckers remains, and any light-weight object can be placed upon the suckers and not fall away. How this can be used for the character's advantage depends on the location of the wound and the player's cunning.

10. The wound heals miraculously, but it is clear that the injured flesh and surrounding skin is no longer human. It takes on a pale rubbery appearance, speckled with chromophores, and needs to be bathed daily or it begins to take on the stench of rotting fish (-1 to -3 on social checks in the presence of the stinking character, depending on the size of the original wound). If after three days the flesh has not been bathed, rot sets in, and the dead flesh falls away leaving horrid sores and infections. During this process, the character receives a -2 to -6 penalty on social checks, again dependant on the size or the rotting flesh, and should the rot be in a promenant location they receive a permanent -1 to -3 to Charisma from the terrible scarring.

11. The wound heals miraculously, but leaves behind a hard surface of scar tissue. Over night, the scar tissue begins extruding a stubby and rubbery protrusion, complete with minuscule suckers along one side, that grows with each passing sleep. On the tenth night the tentacular growth is complete, 1 foot long for each HP of damage received in the original wound. It can retract somewhat, shortening to half its overall length, and the suckers are excellent at grappling and holding on to things (+4 to related rolls) but lack the fine motor skills for writing or gunplay. Hopefully the wound was not to the head. 

12. The wound heals miraculously, but immediately after a headache develops behind one of the target's eyes. Overnight the eyeball swells to gargantuan proportions and the skull alters to accomodate the change, leaving the target in crippling pain (-8 to all actions) during the transformation process. The following dawn the pain subsides, but the target now bears a massive eye the size and complexion of a colossal squid. The bulging monstrosity causes -3 to all social rolls, but grants nightvision to 120' (twice that far if the character already had nightvision). Time for some crazy shades. Or the world's biggest eyepatch.

13. The wound heals, but a mass of flailing tentacles erupt from the injury searching for purchase. A small squid emerges, with HP equal to the original injury, and unless there is water handy it flaps on the ground pathetically, losing 1 HP/round til it dies. Should the target take pity on it and place it in water (even a wineskin) it will survive for at least d3 days til it is submerged in salt water. Should it make it that far it will serve the target as a familiar. If the target already has a familiar, the squid will patiently wait for the first opportune moment to choke its rival and bite its face off.
14. The injury heals, but does not close; instead a mess of tentacles burst through the skin surrounding the wound, a chitinous beak emerges, and the injury grows deeper and deeper, the new mouth forming a small portal to the squid god's guts. Each tentacle has the following stats: 1' long per HP of original injury/ 15+1 Str per HP/ +1 to attack per HP/ AC 10+1 per HP/ 1HD per HP. The mouth is hungry, with a taste for the neural matter of sentient beings. Each brain it is fed grants a +1 bonus to one roll of the host's choice, that must be used before the following dawn; the host may accumulate as many +1's as their character level, but the bonuses gained from appeasing the squid god can only be spent on one roll. Failure to feed the squid god accumulates a -1 penalty to all rolls for each dawn that passes. Should the accumulated penalties grow greater than the host's charisma, the tentacles attack the host, attempting to pull them limb from limb and fed them to the mouth. cutting off all the tentacles is enough to sever the connection to the squid god's gullet, and the cavity that remains should be treated as a Bag of Holding of the smallest dimensions.

15. The wound heals miraculously with no apparent side effects; however when the target next sleeps they are plagued by a strange dream in which they are busy at work, when a storm bears down on them from out of nowhere. They flee but cannot help but be sucked up by the storm and hurled miles out to sea. As the dying dreamer sinks into the abyss, their last thought is a sudden awareness of a great leviathan rising up out of the void to devour them. They wake from this dream in dread, suffering a -1 penalty for all actions the following day. The dream returns the following sleep, more realstic this time, and the -1 penalty is cumulative, -2 after the second sleep and -3 after the third, and so on. As the dreams become more vivid the sleeper becomes aware that as they fall into the depths, the squid god watches in silence, tentacles beyond reach. And so it goes on, until the day after the tenth sleep, where the dream suddenly takes place in the waking world; as the character adventures on, the dreamstorm erupts into reality, sucking up the character and hurling them whatever distance through the sky to the sea. The impact with the waves breaks their neck, and they float down, down, down, to be devoured by the leviathan. The only way to avoid this fate is to call out to the squid god, either in dream or in the final occurrence, pledging a life of servitude to the lord of the tentacle, who will reach out and snare the character, rescuing them before they fall into the maw of the beast and returning them to shore fully restored. Should the character do so, the dreams will cease, though they must keep their pledge or suffer the doom they have dreamed.

16. The wound heals miraculously with no apparent side effects, but that night a rash of boils appears along the inside of each limb. Overnight they blossom and burst to reveal a multitude of sucker cups, running from the inside of the upper arm and down to the fingertips, and along the inside thigh and down to the tips of the toes. They are unsightly and strange, with a -2 to social rolls should they be revealed, but they are excellent at grasping and holding on, granting a +4 to climb, grapple, disarm checks and any other appropriate circumstance.

17. The wound heals miraculously, with no immediate side effects; however the touch of the squid god is upon them, and whenever the target is on or near the open sea, great schools of squid draw near, curious to see who bears the mark of their maker. Should the target treat these inquisitive creatures with care they will treat the target with respect and deference, and the target will find the gesturing language of the tentacle is revealed to them. The squid will understand all the target says in return.

18. The wound heals miraculously, with no obvious side effects. However the next time the target touches water directly connected to the sea (even a river that flows into the ocean a thousand miles away), they must make a Fortitude Save (DC 10+HP of original injury) or be permanently transformed into a watery simulacra of the character, with only their neural mass remaining intact inside the water form. But it is not alone. A small squid – an ambassador from the squid god no less – has been chosen to explore the surface world, using the character's form as the vehicular means to do so. With the emissary having a direct link to the squid god, it is able to seek the god's blessing on the character's behalf, granting them access to 1 first level cleric spell per three levels if they are not already a priest of the squid god; if they are a worshipper of the tentacle, their maximum number of spells by level increases by one. The character acts and behaves in the same manner as before, and is able to pursue their own goals; the squid god merely wishes to learn more of the landlubber life. They lose the need to eat, but must drink enough to replenish their volume in water every week. Treat the ambassador squid as a 5th level priest of the squid god, with a full compliment of spells at its own disposal, that if treated well will dispense divine aid to preserve its host and entourage; it will actively defend itself against any attempt to kill it, and can momentarily control the host's body in dire circumstances (requiring a Will Save by the host DC 15 to remain in control; failure place's the host's body under the command of the ambassador for 1d6 rnds, at which point the character can attempt to reassert mastery over their body). Should the ambassador be slain, the character's body returns to its flesh and blood form.

19. The wound heals miraculously, but the body of the target begins to harden and stiffen. After a sleepless night of cramps and convulsions, the target rises to find their inner workings transformed. Small siphons appear below the ear, enabling to the character to breathe underwater til they get bored of it. The character's body has also been repressurized to be able to withstand the crushing weight of water at the bottom of the ocean. The upside to this is the natural toughness of the character increases, granting a +3 AC bonus. The downside to this is high pressure bleeding: should the character be slashed open or pierced they gout blood like deep sea ninjas, losing 1 HP/rnd until the wound is staunched. The other downside is that there is a reason for this transformation: each dawn the character is in earshot of the sea and hears the sound of the sea upon the shore, they must make a Will Save (DC 10+ number of days spent near the ocean) or feel compelled to make the arduous journey across the sea floor and through the abyss to the sunken city of the squid god.

20. The wound heals without incident, but the target immediately becomes aware of a vast, uncaring presence lurking beyond the horizon, that is suddenly aware of them. Whenever the target draws near the sea, the presence feels close by, and should the target take to the waves, a vast dire-kraken will reveal its presence - usually by crushing what ever ship the target is on, and the surrounding fleet should one be handy. That is if the target fails to master the kraken and force the monstrosity to do the target's bidding. This battle of minds involves two things – direct eye contact while mastery is established, plus a single Willpower Save vs DC 25. Should the character succeed, they are able to command the dire kraken and set it on a course of destruction against any one target of the character's choosing. The  dire-kraken's target can be anything accessible from the sea – a person, a ship, a city, a landmark. Whatever the character desires destroyed.

Unless otherwise stated above, all wounds healed have the following conditions:

All slashing wounds healed by a squid priest leave a subtle patina of suckermark scars around the edge of the injury.
Crush damage that is healed by a squid priest leaves an angry patch of boils. Occasionally they swell and burst, spawning a solitary squid that will seek its way back to the sea (or tastes mighty fine on the barbie).
Piercing damage healed by a squid priest does not close up; instead it dribbles intermittent gouts of black ink; annoying at best.
Autopsies conducted on people healed by squid priests will reveal the presence of tentacular growths from the organs throughout the body. The more healing they have received, the greater the size and number of tentacles.
All these effects can be completely mitigated and reversed by taking an oath of obedience to the squid priest's deity.


  1. This is horror gold. I do not know this DC or Fortitude of which you speak but I can see this post coming in very handy for my next CoC game.

  2. Coolio, lemme know what happens. Did you see the Healing of the Spider God table?

  3. I hadn't but I have now. Worryingly bad news for arachnophobes. Are you planning to do any more in this series?

  4. yeah one more, healing from the frog god. for my best friend who is a frogophobe. I am toying with the idea of making a proper series of these into some sort of source book as they do seem to go down well, but that's further down the track.

    1. Would you mind if someone (ie me) did a couple follow up tables along the same lines? I have a handful of thoughts already for "Healing from the Devil" and "Healing from the Worm God".

  5. This is awesome!! If this doesn't become a proper series it'll be a great shame (A comparable shame would be the death of Goku without any dragon balls to find).

  6. well i just created a cleric of Blibdoolpoolp... so a healing from the lobster goddess table seems immanent.