The Motelands

The Motelands are a collection of flying earth motes held aloft by veins of Shatterstar (the ultra-valuable arcane ore that holds up airships). These Shatterstar-infused motes naturally occur over an area the size of a moderately large kingdom, and range in size from a number of feet across to the amount needed to support a large city bordering a lake, plus outlying farms (so about 10 miles across). A variety of peoples live on these motes, and indeed fight over jurisdiction. Here are d20 forces that live on the motes of the Motelands.

1 The Sovyrian Empire

    This empire of elves, led by the druidic Key Conclave, seeks to dominate the Motelands in order to bring about a second Elvish golden age. Under Empress Zeor Glimmerhand, conquest is going better than it has in decades!

2 The Drakiirian Coalition

    This society, composed primarily of Dragonborn and Gnomes, oddly enough, is one of the forefronts in the world of arcane advancement. Their coliseums and temples dominate the sky, and their rapid expansion is fueled by their acquisition of slaves.

3 The Bottom Feeders (roll again)

    Clans of darkness-dwellers cling to the bottom of motes, acting as savage raiders and masters of crime. Drow and duergar and orc work alike to eke out a larcenous life in, well under the Motelands.

4 The Jalmirash Dynasty

    Mastican and Kazzian colonizers long ago realized that they had much in common, and that they would be nearly unstoppable if they combined their efforts. This human-dominated power is now one of the most prominent forces in the Motelands, in great thanks to this cultural and political blend. Enethina Jalmirash, fourth in their line, is the current Pontifex.

5 The Jade Network

    Wyldeborn clans ally with Elvish defects/rejects of the Sovyrian Empire have created this loose coalition of tribes among themselves. They are one of the few forces who have made good relations with the Skycaller and Suntouched, making them a powerful force in political machinations, which the Jade Network generally tries to stay out of.

6 The Hordes of Belzeken

    The indeigenous Orcs and Goblinfolk of the region. In the shadow of the larger Kin empires and at war with the Skycaller and Suntouched Tribes, their existence often find itself hanging on the fate of a single skirmish. It is said you won’t find more desperate or more dangerous fighters than a Belzeken legionnaire with their back against a wall.

7 Houses Thrune and Cheliax

    Long ago, these two noble houses were cast away from the Mardian Collection for infernal worship and illegal sacrifice. They have since moved to the Motelands, spreading their infernal agenda and leaving a trail of wanton destruction in their wake.

8 The Templars of Lastwall

    This order of knights is pledged to “protect” the Motelands from “dangers that threaten the security of the good peoples who live there”. In practice, this often (but not always) means the extermination of the Belzeken, Skycaller and Suntouched. The Templars are currently led by Mother Aven Mesarchus, a silver-haired woman who’s as tough as nails and won’t take no for an answer.

9 The Moldun Pilgrimage

    The shadow-wracked land of Hadaar to the north is a terrible place to live for everybody, but farmers in particular have a difficult time in the drought-addled plains of cracked red earth. Long ago, a messianic figure named Moldun led a group of farmers to the Motelands, calling it a promised land. The children of the children of the children of those farmers live now, under a weak rule by the clerics of “Saint Moldune”. Unlike most of the Moteland powers, the Pilgrimage is content with the space it has, not being a particularly expansionist power.

10 New Gorumn

    From the far north, Dwarves from the glacial Karzan Empire seeked to forge the next great Dwarvish nation. New Gorumn may not be the supreme center of Dwarvish culture and industry, but the unparalleled Dwarvish skill in mining Shatterstar safely makes New Gorumn a trading giant among the motes.

11 The Sigileavers of Lissala (roll again)

    The only “dead” civilization of the Motelands, some unknown cataclysm wiped them out an Elf-generation ago. Their vaults of rune lore and great magics remain, for the most part, unmolested, and the arms race rages between other civilizations as to who can armament themselves with the most Lissalian magitech.

12 The Skycaller Tribe

    One of the two indigenous tribes that live on the motes and the lands below them, the Skycaller tribe have a long griot and oracle tradition. When the colonizing civilizations aren’t busy trying to wipe these fair-skinned, feather-wearing people off the face of the earth, they’re busy trying to get Skycaller prophets to perform their divinations.

13 The Suntouched Tribe

    If the Skycaller Tribe is an arcane/divine society, the dark-skinned and red-clad Suntouched are warriors. Their training regimen and the drugs they use to put warriors into a battlefocus are nearly unmatched on the entire continent of Kamadara. Unfortunately, the Suntouched and Skycaller tribes are bitter ancestral enemies. As if the colonialism and the various civilization’s constant attempts to secure a Sountouched military force weren’t enough of a problem...

14-15 Roll again on the table below

    1 Sovyrian Empire

    2 Drakiiran Coalition

    3 Jalmirash Dynasty

    4 Templars of Lastwall

    5 Moldune Pilgrimage

    6 New Gorumn

16-18 The mote is uninhabited by the Kin. Why?

    1 It’s too small to be useful, like, feet across

    2 It’s inhabited by a monster

    3 It’s cursed

    4 Its Shatterstar is losing potency, and it could plummet at any time

19-20 The mote is contested territory, or two parties are coexisting. Roll twice

MARROW, First Iteration

Out of nowhere, a GLoG hack! (Well, a BONES hack. But who's counting?)

Click here to see and comment on the google doc.

Please feel free to leave comments in the doc! I know it's poorly laid out and incomplete, but I hope to do a little more work on it. When I make updates, you'll see a post!

The big gimmick of MARROW is that it's basically a (slightly stripped-down) 6-Stat version of BONES, so there's quite a bit of overlap! Some little idiosyncrasies throughout, and I'm sure over time those will increase, but for the most part, I tried to stay as true to BONES as I could!

Thanks to Oblidisideryptch!

Elves and their varieties

Some types of Elf for your games. Are these species, ethnicities, cultures, dispositions? Whatever feels right for you!

Crest Elves. High Elves, Silvanesti. The Crest Elves are primarily responsible for the impression that elves are elitist and bigoted narcassists. Each Crest Elf believes themself the center of the universe, the peak of intelligence and culture, and the perfect product of centuries of evolution. It is their leadership that spearheads elvish crusades and empires, and they are capable both of great works of intellectual advancement and terrible acts of hatred. The most hated of the Orcs, by far.

Wild Elves. Wood Elves, Grugach. All the Elves are spirits of the wild, but the Wood Elves exemplify this. The Wild Elves are plentiful in forests, and most common folk who are told to imagine an elf bring images of these wardens of the natural order into their minds. Often, Wild Elf settlements are led by a single Crest or Dusk Elf acting in a leadership role, as the WIld Elves naturally settle into cooperative and holistic structures instead of hierarchies.

Sun Elves. Ink Elves, Oathborn. Long ago, the Sun Elves allowed living tattoos onto their skin. Each clan swore an oath, or a Shaal-al’Quiir, and the tattoos were a mark of their promise. As their clans propagate, each generation receives the tattoos from their elders, along with an unbreakable promise to follow their Shaal-al’Quiir, else the tattoos would ravage their forms. The Sun Elves are widespread, dedicated, and philosophical, sharing their knowledge with any traveler who wishes to hear from the Ink Elf clans.

Dust Elves. Sand Elves, Embers. Dwellers in the hot desert sands, the Dust Elves have the hardest lives and shortest lifespans of the Elves. Elves on the whole have difficulty finding beauty in such barren and messy locales as deserts, and as such, the Sand Elves are driven, at least partially, by a resentment for their lot in life. Their societies are simple and utilitarian, but they know much, and a Dust Elf is a nearly peerless navigator among the dunes they call home.

Harvest Elves. Fey Elves, Eladrin. Their emotions rule them, in a visceral and tangible sense. When a Harvest Elf is joyful, their form reflects the spring. When a Harvest Elf is filled with wrath, their form reflects the summer. When a Harvest Elf is lamenting, their form reflects the fall. When a Harvest Elf is filled with despair, their form reflects the winter. Like their Fey ancestors, an Eladrin feels no emotion in moderation: strong elation immediately turns into terrible rage, volatile disgust or terrible depression at the drop of a hat. The most hated by the Dwarves (“where’s th’ stability?!”).

Raven Elves. Death Elves, Shadar-Kai. Progeny is not the right word, cultist is not the right word, extension is not the right word, servitor is not the right word, but it’s undeniable that the Shadar-Kai have a deep inherent relationship with the Raven Queen. She guides them, like pawns, and they execute her ineffable will. They are creatures partially composed of Sorrow, and as such, shadows are in their blood.

Moon Elves. Star Elves, Mithrali. The Mithrali take their name from the Elvish myth that these Astral dwellers were the first to pull mithril from the motes they settled. The Moon Elves are filled with a childlike sense of wonder with all that exists outside of their Astral demesne, and since they’ve been isolated from the Elvish zeitgeist and cultural attitudes, they have few qualms with cultural (and genetic) transfer. Most half-elves carry traces of the rainbow-braided and lavender-skinned Star Elves in their blood.

Gold Elves. Mountain Elves, Shimmerglints. Their skin is wrought from precious metals and irons, their unblinking eyes glimmering like gems. A Shimerglint is a walking masterpiece, halfway between biologic artifice and construct. The secret to carving these beautiful denizens of the mountains is well lost to time, so a Shimmerglint is a rare and breathtaking sight indeed. The Mountain Elves are favorites of the Dwarves, being “tolerable companions” instead of “pitiful paper-wills like the rest o’ your lot”.

Pale Elves. Pallid Elves, Painborn. Any Elf who undergoes great tragedy or who live miserable or shadow-touched lives will over time turn into a Pale Elf. Bloodlines of Pale Elves exist in places suffused by shadow or evil, like the barony of Visloch. Their snow white skin and hair betray their pain. Pity the Pallid Elvish child of parents without the mark of the Painborn…

Dark Elves. Demon Elves, Drow. Skin painted dark by the caverns they hid in, the Drow were cursed by Aarnatho when the first of the Matron Mothers turned to the worship of Lolth. Not all Dark Elves are evil, in fact, the Drow of Aaranumbral are a notable exception, but the Matron Mother’s skill in propaganda and societal control result in generation after generation of Dark Elvish children to despise the light and worship the Mother of Spiders in brutal sacrifice. A surface-born Drow and an Underdark-born Drow are very different people…

Dusk Elves. Corpse Elves, Baelnorn. An elf who exceeds a century of living begins to break down. While their mind remains as capable as ever, their body becomes a walking corpse, becoming harder and harder to sustain until all motor function shuts down around 1500, leaving crypts full of barely-living Dusk Elves being waited on by clergy of Barathari. Almost every elvish settlement has at least one Dusk Elf, and their word is treated as sacred. That is, before the madness sets in.

Sea Elves don’t exist. Play an Oceanborn like everyone else.

Vecna

He smiled, exposing teeth yellowed from years of incarceration. A million times, going over the phrases, the gestures, the twitches of his gnarled hands and mutterings of his wrinkled mouth he would need in painstakingly precise measure. Runes scored the ground around him, some scratched in by his browned and cracked nails, some scribed by his captors, magically binding him. He gave yet another experimental tug on the fetters that bound his hands, halfheartedly hoping that after years… no, decades, as death was not an escape he had the luxury of in this oubliette, the chain might finally come undone. But alas, it held firm in its mithril socket, imperiously mocking him from upon the spiral-mosaiced wall.

He thought back. Himself, dressed in flowing robes of grey and brilliant blue and shimmering white. Standing atop a cliff, on a stone podium, feeling the spray of sea salt in his tousled half-elvish hair. Throwing his arms wide as he emphatically and didactically preached of the sublime divinity of the flesh to the mass crowded in front of him, drinking every word like a fine elvish wine. Running his heterochromatic blue-green eyes over the invigorated, youthful faces in front of him, chanting his name, asking for him, goading him to lecture further on his vision of the Kin ascending to the heavens and slaughtering the old gods.

Not yet. Dry, cracked lips rustled out like whispering bellows squeaking into a dwindling fire. It had been a very long time since he had heard his own voice. The feeling was strange, almost otherworldly, in the crypt-like silence of his subterranean cell. It reverbreasted against the lead-reinforced marble, sending tremors through the inky darkness. He rehearsed every gesture, every word, every moment in his mind again. He repeated them over and over again. It must have taken hours. He did not know. Hours meant nothing to him. He had nothing but time, and discipline. Three more rehearsals and he would indulge in recollection. Two more rehearsals. One.

Seated placidly on the patio of the veranda, looking outwards towards Lunus. At his side were three of his practically effervescent attendants, feeding him fruits and rubbing his muscles with oil as his piercing mismatched eyes scoured the heavens, as if looking for some secret. The notes were almost done, the research nearly finished, the ritual nearly complete. His apotheosis was imminent. Damn the Iron Treatise, damn it to Inferno, he would raze the heavens from inside out. The mockery of the gods would be no more. The Age of Kings would fade into the Age of Flesh Made God, and his ascension to divinity would be the piece de resistance. The world would tremble as it never had before.

They would cry my name. One more rehearsal, two more rehearsals, three more rehearsals. The darkness was as deafening as the silence was obfuscating. He shifted, his worn muscles creaking in protest as the chains on his limbs rattled their overbearing retort. Years of agony. Years of agony. Years of agony.

He once stood on the circle. The claret warmed the pads of his feet as he strode to the center, careful to avoid the littered corpses of the unworthy in his path like necrotic debris. His most loyal attendants, no, cultists, stood about, feasting on the flesh and chanting vile words from the text he assembled for them. He smiled gazing upwards one last time to the stars above. Soon he would join them, up above in their sacrosanct courts, and he would profane their halls with their blood as he profaned this hall with the blood of the Kin…

He winced, remembering the swords that cut into his flesh that night, the scars still burning in his body, an eternal reminder of how close he was to his prize. His attendants slaughtered, his precious Book of Vile Darkness locked away, him led away in chains to the deepest dungeon he could be kept in, he and his disciples declared a travesty against the laws of the universe. Years… no, decades of this unending darkness. Had it been centuries? Had it?

He knew. There was a time for everything. When the time is right, they will weep, kiss his feet, worship him as the ionoclast he knew he was. He would make them say his name.

I am the flesh made god.

I am the one who will slaughter the heavens.

I am the half-breed, the mongrel.

I am both, and I am none, and I am greater.

This is who I am.

Vecna.

Job Board Campaigns

I want to get to playtesting PJS as soon as I can. To that end, I want to devise a campaign structure that will allow me to do that (and account for things like changing systems/mechanics abruptly, resetting back to Level 0, and creating as many situations as possible) while being simple and easy to communicate to people or even newbies what to be in for.

So my patently uncreative brain came up with something. A campaign not set on Aeros, but some other blue marble in the same multiversal expanse. A world that would truly built one session, one adventure at a time outward from but a single settlement. Hell, a single tavern.

THE FIVE TENETS OF A JOB BOARD GAME

1. In every town, there is a capital T Tavern. And in that Tavern is a capital J Job Board, with capital J Jobs on it.

2. There will always be 5 Jobs posted. If you complete a Job, it will be replaced. If you go to a new town, there will be different Jobs posted.

3. A Job will have a short description, some way to start the Job, and a payment of some sort listed. None of this necessarily has to be complete or accurate. It’s all diegetic. Some Jobs may look like one thing and turn out to be another. Some Jobs may be very dangerous for very little pay. Not all Jobs are created equal.

4. Your characters are not special. They’re dime a dozen sellswords who show up to these Job Boards looking to make a little cash and a little infamy. You will die with impunity, if you do not keep your wits about you and/or don’t know when to take a tactical retreat. Not all Jobs will be doable, at least with certain approaches.

5. Anything can happen. Anything can carry over. This will be a bumpy ride, hold on to your hats.

SOME SIDE NOTES:

• Trade in 5,000s to level up. You don’t gain Levels from doing Jobs, just by getting filthy rich and spending it all on ale and bards in town.

• If a party gets stuck out on a Job and won’t be returning to a Job Board, the game might follow that party on their non-Job Board based adventures and become a more standard campaign, or the camera might pull away from them and back to some Level 0 schmucks in a Tavern.

• People can hop in and out as they please. Since the only way people level up is with silver shillings, missing a session’s worth of loot acquisition sucks on its own.

• If someone shows up at the session the group finishes a Job and takes their cut of the loot, that’s called “being shrewd” and good on them for it.

• Not all Job rewards are in coin. Maybe they get a property, a favor, or a magic item instead?

And that’s a Job Board campaign. If you get enough DMs running these in similar systems, perhaps you could get up a network where PCs can use the same characters and take Jobs from any DM? Like a cool sort of Flailsnails thing…

Anyways. Back to the PJS redrafting and playtest-polishing mines.

Great and Terrible Cosmic Entities

The multiverse is a dark and unforgiving place. Here are a small smattering of various cosmic entities of intense power and dubious origins to use in your games. Hopefully these entries inspire more questions than answers.

Rusgar

Rusgar is hungry. When this moon, the slightest of rust-colored pinpoints in a nebula-speckled sky, comes into the vision of the Kin, disaster and misfortune follow. Astrological events of terrible and potent significance revolve around the rotations of this distant moon, and auspicious events of a tragic or horrifying nature on a large scale are sometimes followed by Rusgar’s untimely appearance in the sky carrying a massive electric-blue miasma in this lunar atmosphere (hence the phrase “once in a blue moon”). Aeros lies in fear of its neighbor, and with every year astronomers seem to find it moves closer and closer…

What is it? An old and long abandoned (or perhaps not so?) planet coated in malignant technologies, the carapace of a massive living entity that yearns for our destruction, a psychic regulator of negative emotional energy, a great and terrible eye

The Silver Flame

The drow of the city-state of Aaranumbral worship this entity. It sits in the highest chamber of the highest tower of the city, overlooking the placid lake and ethereal forest with a watchful eye. It is waited on hand and feet by the most sacrosanct of its priesthood. It dispenses motes of itself into Crucibles of Possibility, to be spread by the priesthood and used to unlock the ancient cycles of reincarnation in the folk of the Vipernoss woods. Some may well call the work of the Silver Flame heresy. Would their soul know the joy of returning to another body?

What is it? The reincarnated soul of a god (or perhaps a primordial), an ancient and alien AI, a star chained to the earth, a long-dead elvish god

The Raven Queen

The judge of the dead. The Raven Queen, an intelligence of shadow and crystal and silver and mirrors and feathers the color of midnight, is a psychic entity whose sole purpose is to assign the souls of the recently departed to their appropriate afterlives. The Raven Queen cannot be swayed or contacted, her judgement is final, and Charon will ferry any soul where she instructs. It is said her home is on the Shadowfell, but the location of the Castle of the Raven Queen is well-guarded by her elvish servants, the Shadar-Kai.

What is she? The failed resurrection of a goddess of death after the Godswars, the harnessed consciousness of a primordial, a native mind of Meyaphysiacia, a powerful nature spirit revered and elevated by the gods

The Primordials

    They are the elements, in a visceral sense. If we did not have the primordials, the elements around us would fizzle into nothing. If different ones, composed of elements we could not dream of, had survived the war they fought before the gods, the very makeup of our cosmos would be drastically different. We owe the debt of our existence to these unimaginably powerful creatures, who can barely be made aware of our presence even with the most powerful magics the Kin and the gods could ever wield. They are the underlying thought and impulse behind elemental creatures, the body of collective consciousness that encompasses the four inner planes and devolves into chaos at their penumbra.

    What are they? Long dead masses of dispersed power, malevolent minds scheming our destruction on a macrogeologic time scale, the ever-churning elemental planes themselves

The Lady of Pain

    The enigma of Sigil. The Lady of Pain is the only thing between the planar metropolis of Sigil and oblivion. Without the watch and influence of this god-like entity, and her servants the Dabus, Sigil would not exist. It is her mandate that keeps it a godless place. However, her motivations for her upkeeping the urban sprawl are murky. Are we children to her? Fellow inmates? Charges to be watched over? Lambs for the slaughter?

    What is she? A servitor of the Bound One serving their sentence, a manifestation of the Outlands, the sibling of a long-dead god, one of the Five Original Gods, a hungry parasite from the Far Realm

Primus

    The mind of the plane of Order. The goddess Vithitar is not the one who controls the modrons, Primus is. This utterly logical and balance-focused entity is almost exclusively the mover and shaker on Order, issuing commands and manipulating units into planar excursions towards ineffable ends of cosmic equilibrium. One shudders to imagine a mind as great and unpredictable as Primus wielding so much power…

    What is it? The composite computing power of the modron units, an ancient AI set up by the gods, the creator of the universe, the composite device produced by the gears of Order

The Serpent

Some call it Kukulkan, some call it Jormungandr, some call it the World-Eater, some call it the Void Dreadnought. It is massive, its scaled bulk woven from the darkness of demispace spanning miles and its fangs as tall as gods. It is deeply intelligent and malicious, using its psychic might to probe outwards and find rips in demiplanes it can exploit to enter the world. Woe betide our reality if it were to enter the cosmos. It is said that it consumes entire planes at a time, and it is the universe-ender. Some of the most thoroughly broken worship this thing, serving its dark agenda and seeking to create a rip in the multiverse large enough for it to enter and devour us all.

What is it? The progenitor of the Bound One, a failed experiment by the gods, the Bound One itself, a omniversal predator, a myth

Reavers

Widdershins cloaks many dangers in its ur-darkness. Reavers are orbs of antimatter, their corpses fashioned into Spheres of Annihilation. They don’t seem to act with intent or intelligent design, but appear to be highly malicious towards that which exists, devouring matter and energy and growing ever more bloated the more of reality they destroy. Only powerful magics can stop, contain, or lead the Reavers, and it is unknown whether they have any sort of consciousness or coordination, or even how many there are.

What are they? The dividends of a mad wizard trying to create life in Widdershins, extensions of some cosmic and nigh-godlike void beings from before the age of the Primordials, the native species of nothing

Archfey. The Silver Flame

Fiend. Rusgar, Archdevils, Demon Lords, Prime Daemons

Great Old One. Rusgar, the Serpent, the Lady of Pain

Celestial. Primus, the Silver Flame

Hexblade. The Raven Queen, the Locked Travesties, the Dark Powers

Undying. The Raven Queen, many of the Locked Travesties

Spell Chaos

SPELL CHAOS

A d20 table for Spell Chaos I’m using in my games. The entries are currently written in PJS format, but are SUPER convertable to the system of your choice. This list emphasizes the “oh fuck oh shit we’re gonna die we just lost this encounter” side of Spell Chaos than the “huh. that’s odd” side, but that’s how I prefer it!

1 Rebound. The Spell targets you, if it was meant to target someone else, or a random person in range, if it was meant to target you.

2 System Shock. Take 6d6 damage to a random Pool as your body and mind reject the spell, like a cancerous tumor.

3 Flop. The Spell fizzles without an effect. Lose all your MP.

4 Amnesia. The Spell fizzles without an effect, and is erased from your mind and purged from your Grimoire. You no longer know that Spell.

5 Jolt. A small wave of energy sparks around you.You, and all creatures CLOSE to you, take 4d6 Elemental damage, halved on a DEX Initiative roll.

6 Mind Pulse. Reality rips and the minds nearby bend. You, and all creatures NEAR to you, take 6d6 Mental damage, halved on an INT Endurance roll.

7 Flash. Your body explodes in radiant light. Take 2d6 Elemental damage, and everyone who looks at you must make a CON Initiative roll or be blinded. They can repeat the roll to end the effect.

8 Wither. Take a permanent -2 to one stat at random (roll a d6 to determine which one).

9 Crippled. Your max HP is permanently halved. You still increase your maximum as normal upon leveling up.

10 Battered. The Spell overwhelms you, and leaves a mark on you forever. Gain a scar or a trauma as normal.

11 Memory Loss. Choose one Skill at random to lose proficiency in.

12 Rip the Ley Lines. No magic will activate within FAR range ever again.

13 Overflow. Choose an ally you can see. They take 6d6 Elemental damage. You can choose to reduce the amount of damage they take by preemptively choosing to take some dice of it instead of them.

14 Flash Burn. Purging fire wreaths your body. All the items you have on you are Fumbled.

15 Shunt. You teleport yourself and your allies to a random location of your DM’s choice. Familiar locale, exotic one, one you’ve never seen, another plane, another dungeon… anything is fair game!

16 Polymorph. You become something small and harmless (like a chicken or a potted plant) until you Rally or Rest. AC/SC 8, -1 to STR DEX CON, d6 HP, all other stats as normal or as your form, if it’s remarkable in some way. 75% chance that if you die in this form, you’re dead forever (otherwise you return to your normal state upon death).

17 Summoning. Catch the attention of some dangerous otherworldly being. It materializes instantly, with a CR equal to your level.

18 Bloodthirst. Turn against your allies in a murderous rage. Try as hard as you can to kill as many of them as possible. On your turn, make a HARD WIS Perceiving to snap out of it.

19 Rip in Reality. Get sucked onto a random other plane, leave a hostile extraplanar monster and perhaps a gaping portal in your wake.

20 Ultimate Fucking Chaos. The DM decides exactly what happens, and they’re free to fuck you or your allies up as much as they so please.