Happy belated Halloween.  The muse didn't whisper in my ear until today, but here is something to torment your Players with:
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They had heard the bleating for several minutes, covering perhaps a furlong of mist-shrouded rugged ground, littered with scrabble fallen from the nearby ancient outcropping of rock.  Ever vigilant, they had drawn their weapons, anticipating some grotesque cosmic horror, using the vocalization of a young lamb to draw men such as themselves to a horrible death. 

When they topped a small rise and descended into a small depression, they were stunned, yet relieved, to find they had found the source of the bleating to be a young lamb afterall, nervously trotting about the depression, apparently bleating for its mother. 

Until it turned to face them….. 

The first thing Siggi noticed was the inky black patches surrounding the eye sockets.  Whether those socket actually held eyes, he never knew, as while looking at the lamb, it was as if the dark patches were of the Black Gulf made manifest on the creatures face.  Dropping his bearded axe and falling to his knees, his eyes opened wide, his face turned pallid, as if his very life essence was being siphoned from his body.  The last thing he said before falling on his side, in a flacid, raspy voice was, “By Ymir...eternity”. 

Perhaps the rest of the vikings were put at ease by the lamb, or hadn’t looked at it, but they were now fixated on Siggi.  Gathering around him, they were subjected to the creature’s even more devastating weapon.  Opening it mouth unnaturally wide, a drone so low in tone as to be nearly inaudible, yet as loud as a thousand roaring Skalds, vaulted forth from the creature’s throat.  

Clutching at their chests, as their hearts began to falter from the sonic crush, and their lungs could no longer expand to inhale the dank air, the men started to collapse as they sank to the ground, their bones liquifying. 


Lamb of the Black Gulf (AKA: Death Scaep, Boreal Sheep) 
No. Encountered: 1
Alignment: Neutral
Size: S
Movement: 30
Dexterity: 13
Armour Class: 5
Hit Dice: 8+8
Attack Rate: 1 (bite or kick)
Damage: 1d3/1d6
Saving Throw: 9
Morale: 11
Experience Points: 1900
Treasure Class: Special 

Looking exactly like a small, young lamb, except for the pure black patches surrounding its eyes, even the most wary adventurer may fall to this fearsome, horrific creature.  Some Sages surmise that these creatures are of flock of sheep Boreas keep.  Others scoff at that notion, thinking these must be related to the fabled “Black Goat of the Woods” found in some ancient Old Earth manuscripts.  Whatever the case, nobody really knows why the come to Hyperborea, nor why they depart, only that they portend great woe. 

Special:

Level Drain: Looking at the Lamb’s “eye” from a distance of 50 feet or less requires a saving throw, or the creature loses 2 levels. 

Drone of Death: The Lamb can send forth a sonic “breath weapon”, which does 8d6 of damage each round creatures or objects are subjected to it, with a save halving the damage.  Unfortunately, once caught it the 60 foot long, 30 foot wide at the end cone, an Extraordinary Test of Strength is required to escape it.  The Lamb can maintain the Drone for 3 rounds, 3 times per day.  If damage equal to max HP is inflicted by the Drone, the victim’s bones are liquified, and the victim collapses into a pool of flesh. 

Treasure: No exact treasure type is given.  Instead, roll up 1-3 NPC parties, of low-mid level, equip with mundane and magical items, and that is the treasure found.
 

Last edited by francisca (11/01/2017 5:28 pm)