Expedition to Krangor

Krangor smells of skin, of sweet yeast and sour sweat. Krangor lives and breathes as an incarnate god but unlike other proud and boastful deities it whispers with a  silent voice. We heard its enigmatic call, and its unspoken promise. It spoke to us of the Molecular Fire. After all, what else could have catalyzed the birth of such a titian?

We arrived in the space-port of Rump Town ten strong. Rump Town is a benighted place, smelling of waste and desperation. The town is built over a deep upwelling from the bowels of Krangor. The foul odor is compounded by the tube forests that grow from spores carried by incautious astro-travelers.

The foul boutique reeks of alien pollution and the heavings of a great beast. An Overwhelming cocktail to be sure, but I was able to sniff out some unusual essences. There was a tall and proud tube tree with an uncharacteristic noble odor, and a small vermin the smelled of incredible violence. When I had finished with my gatherings, Ise had arranged us travel on a caravan, so we set out.

The skin plains are a lonesome place, an empty eternity under a bruise purple sky. Our guides were sullen and watchful humans, obscured under heavy robes. Even my companions could smell their unease and paranoia and soon we learned of its source. Ise was taken in the night, skewered by a horrible mourn that had crept unseen into our encampment. Too late the alarm was sounded as it skittered away into the darkness. Our guides fired a desultory volley but the beast was long gone. In the mourning we once again ventured forth into the flatness, our minds dark with visions of spear -like limbs. At night we would hear their sad bellows, and in the light we would see their looming forms. We were not attacked again, though I do not know why.

After a week of numbing travel we arrived at the Theatre of the Center, a monastery city. It resembled a jeweled adornment pierced through the skin. Here at last we met the Magocytes. These strange creatures are massive cells that guard and heal Krangor. I could smell the power rolling of them, the creamy burnt smell of psionic metabolisms. As expected, they were reluctant to give me a sample of their cytoplasm, but one unusually gregarious individual accepted Gve as payment. I thanked Gve for his service and took my prize.

Ise had most of our coin when he was taken, so I sold Til and Fal for more funds. At one of the bars they had a most potent brew called ich that would crawl up the sides of the glass under its own power. I added it to my collection, and went to find its source.

This lead me to the nearby scab fields. Here the skin is broken and cracked and thick rivers of red ichor flow to the surface. The blood of Krangor has a will of its own and Dak was grabbed and pulled under during a moment of inattention. Unfortunate, but I was able to collect a sample of the raw ichor.

We were lucky enough to witness the cause of the scablands when a plastic angel burst forth in a shower of gore. These creatures infect Krangor and emerge from its depths according to their own alien whims. From accounts I had heard their forms vary but this one was composed of three orbs orbiting around a central blade. After its violent birth it took notice of us and pointed its body at Vil, who soon collapsed shaking and bleeding. The rest of my party was able to take the creature down with concentrated small arms fire. It's flesh was smooth and smelled of ancient malice. I placed the sample in my most secure jar. Vil body began to swell and contort with the creature's offspring so we burned it and returned it to the theater.

I retired to my rented study to examine my samples. The tube tree's nobility proved false, an ancient forgery. The tree used this ruse to  parasitize true kings. A monarch parasite could be adapted into a weapon easily enough, but it is useless to my art. the vermin was another weapon, a seeker. It's ordained prey was long dead, almost certainly by its fangs. I have no need for genocide .

The cytoplasm, to my resignation decayed quickly. The resulting slurry had a paradoxical flavor. It tasted of great victory and bitter defeat at the same time. I have added it to my spice collection.

I  breed out the yeast from the liquor. It was a vile and aggressive beast that fought the ichor to ferment it. It is powerful with a bellicose flavor. The ichor was the most tantalizing but the most obscure. It hid its scent from me. It used its powers to keep me from its secrets. Its will can only come from the planet itself. For a few precious hours a fragment of a god was dying  on my workbench. In death it catalyzed itself to oblivion in a final blaze of glory. This tiny God corpse will not be long in my possession. I will give it to  the order so that they may ponder its Glory.

While I was conducting my studies, the rest of my party was exploring the city. In a sunken bar beneath the skin Vre heard a curious Tidbit; beyond the subterranean latrines there was a passage to the depths of Krangor. Vre lead is  to the sewer pits where an unknown hand had made a path out of plastic sheets and cast off wood. Within the expected foulness I sensed death. I sent Tan to collect a sample but she slipped and drowned in the foulness before we could rescue her.  We pushed on.

I expected the interior of Krangor  to be a realm of blood and Tissue. while such a place may exist deeper still, what I found was more skin; caverns of folds and wrinkles, deep pores and hidden crypts. The air was poor and stale with a curious vital odor.

We had only just stopped catch our breath when Ove  cried out. A noxious yellow ooze crawled up his leg . I held back Vre as I dug through my pack looking for gloves. As I pulled them out, the smell of a  powerful catalyst filled the air. I tore great handfuls of slime off of him as he wailed in pain. I saw his naked bones under the slime, as my gloves begin to smoke. I ripped them off and come quickly cleansed my hands. Vre passed soon after.  We retraced our steps not without a great deal of terror.

Our manpower depleted and  our funds dwindling, we made our way off-world. Krangor is an old and quarrelsome God and it holds its secrets deep, but our quest is unabated. I or my successor will venture once more into the skin may find the molecular fire.

Editor's Note

Here we have the latest dispatch for Arch Magi Hervin Voss of the order of the Molecular Fire. For those keeping track at home, we're up to 38 assorted casualties among his allies and hirelings. I don't know where he keeps finding these people, and I don't understand how he's still alive.

Some notes: There is a rumor the caravans of Krangor deliberately allow some of their charges to be taken by the horrible mourns, in return for a measure of safety. Now, I can not speak with authority but the events Hervin describes are at least in line with such a thing. I'm not saying it is true but it is certainly suggestive.

Now it might seem like our pal Hervin sold some of his friends into slavery, but that’s not quite the case. Magocytes only accept those who come into their service willingly. These servants are then modified through bio-kinesis into creatures known as skin servitors. By all reports they have a high degree of autonomy and a comfortable standard of living. It is not the best life but it beats following Hervin into the dank corners of the galaxy.

And for the thickos out there, the Galactic Gazetteer only publishes these accounts for informational purposes. We can't be held liable for any expeditions to any of the locations we describe.  If you read the same account I did, I can't imagine any of you wanting to go to Krangor, but you mouth breathers always surprise me. 

Journey to the Temple of Red Waters

If you seek allies for desperate deeds, set out for ShrangGa, the misty jewel of the Reclaimers. From the void dock with the massive hive called the Needle Spines, shrine city of the holy vermin. It's sloping tunnels are filled with scuttling scolependrites, feeding and scheming in the dark.

Travel east from the Needle Spines along the ancient high road. Follow the worn stone path just above the swirling miasma, taking care not to breathe in the spores when they rise and shroud the road like rainbow mist. Travel past the temples of Ego, where the will of Orn issues forth. Travel past the catalytic pits, where the power of Orn churns deep underground. Travel past the hidden villages, where masked and robed humans hide from the corrosive mind of Orn.

Past all that the road finally climbs down to a dismal and rain soak village known as the Lash. This is the edge of the eye of Not Orn, a lawless swamp basin where Orn does not reach. Lash is a benighted place. The constant rains keep the spores away but also keep the villagers inside their insect carapace hovels. The iridescent sheen of chitin is universally marred by creeping brown slime. At the foot of the village where the slope of buildings meets the water is the rotting dark, where silent fishermen trudge through the downpours. Talk to the one eyed woman named Grather, or the 3 meter tall mute enigma know to the locals as Lom. They know the path through the swamp. Be quiet on the ride, for the eye of Orn is stalked by ravenous insects.

 You will know you are close  when the waters turn from brown and green to clear sanguine red. Out of the swamp mute sentinels of stone rise, statues worn down through the ages into abstract figures. This is the shrine of Red Waters, and soon you will meet Gilthain who is not Orn, the high priest of this strange temple. His pale fungal flesh weeps red ichor. He greets all visitors by name and offers them his hospitality.

The Temple is a jumble of stone rising out of the marsh, its ancient purpose lost to rain and water. Now the interiors are furnished with soft wood and paper walls and plush pillows. To swim in the water is to have your weaknesses melted away by subtle acids, to lose your imperfections to a hungry mire. Naked, mute and dirty humans serve in the temple, making food and tending to the massive hookahs. Everywhere is the smiling face of Gilthain, keeping peace and hospitably. Do not challenge him, or his true bulk will rise from the swamp. 

There are many guests at the temple, many outcasts and pirates all enjoying the rough pleasures of this deep and overlooked land. Gilthain is well informed about many things he could not know, and during private dinners of roasted insect and alien fruits he will let you into his confidence. He offers opportunity, and the chance to from convenient fellowships among those  who do not trust easy. Many thefts, murders and dark conspiracies in the wider galaxy had there origin, here on the edge of civilization. The nights here are filled with hunting calls, rain and smoke, cruel laughter and crueler schemes.

Editor's note

Hoy boy, another account from our mystery contributor. I'd stop publishing them but last time I tried they kept leaving bigger and bigger dead animals on our door stop. At least we don't have to pay them.

A couple of notes; As always our spooky friend is vague about the very concrete dangers. The "spores" of ShrangGa are an information exchange medium used by the Orn to facilitate their gestalt mind. When breathed in by non Orn it causes disjointed hallucinations. Long term exposure leads to a condition known as Orn-craze, or more informally, the craze. It is characterized by a general mental decline and a suggestive state. Those afflicted by the Orn craze are compelled to follow the orders of the Orn and other fungal beings. Presumably this is what's up with the naked human servants. So yeah, wear a breathing mask when you're on the surface.

Now a brief word on the giant insects they mention off handily. Surprisingly, they're right to be vague. I could find no respectable monograph on the fauna of Erstvale. Presumably there's a vermin engine somewhere on the planet but the church doesn't advertise it, which makes sense after the recent Neo Floozy invasions of Reclaimer worlds. Still, it’s a bit strange. I can find older pamphlets on the various Vermin engines, but nothing about one on ShrangGa. Something to look into, I guess.

Lastly, and I wish this could go without saying, but if you follow the advice of some creep who doesn't show up on security cams, the Galactic Gazetteer can't be held liable for anything that happens to you. Seriously, this person is a major weirdo and we don't know where they get this stuff, so just don't. Please don't test our legal department, we don't feed it very often

the Empire of Friends

The Empire of Friends is a nomadic state, an empire on the move. The five sacred space stations that form the core of the empire are on an ancient pilgrimage, making a slow sweeping circuit of the galaxy. This is because the way of friendship, the philosophy that rules the empire. By forcing the empire to keep moving, it is pushed into constant conflict which is supposed to hone the social ties that bind society together.

The Friendly Emperor is, by ancient tradition, the scariest psychic in the Empire. While in most endeavors the way of Friendship prizes collective effort, the Emperor must fight alone to keep the title. Those that best the Emperor's chamberlain, even non-citizens earn the right to challenge the Emperor for the throne.

The Empire does not have a formal military. This is not the same as having no military. In their post scarcity, post capitalism society the upper class are those skilled enough to survive in the wider universe. These adventurers form an ad-hoc armed force, responding to crises according to their whims and availability. There is a reputation economy here, with more dire crises  rewarding more notoriety. The most famous adventurers can waltz into any imperial holding and be treated like royalty. The less famous can be expected to be treated like dirt.

 The Empire can be divided into three regions, the core worlds, the frontier and the waning Empire. The frontier is a wild place, home to the empire's outcasts. This means the first envoys from the empire  are heretics, pirates and down on their luck adventurers.

The core worlds are where the bulk of the Imperialism happens. The space around the path of the scared stations and needs to be safe, stable and prosperous. Any instability or poverty in independent systems is therefore a matter of state security, and the system will soon find its independence compromised.

The waning empire are those planets left behind by the pilgrimage, and its home to the scum too cowardly to be pirates. The Imperials here are a loose coalition of colonialists and carpet baggers. This region sees more than its  fair share of revolt and rebellion, which suits the core empire just fine.

Races

Neon Punks were originally servitors of the Obelisk Dreamers, and as such they have a built in desire to be servile. The Way of Friendship acts as a hack on their submissive programing; the higher power they serve being their group of friends and the society they are a part of. Neon Punks live in vast social groups, linked together by their empathic sense. They have individual personalities but in times of stress those are subsumed into the groupmind.

They vary widely in phenotype; they all have humanoid body plans an black skin, but have different builds. Some have wings, tails or horns. Each has vivid markings in a particular color, like hot pink, lime green or safety orange. A select few, known as Alpha Punks are born with strong psychic powers and reduced servile instincts. Their markings are ultraviolet, making them appear black to human eyes.

Power Fetuses were created by the Obelisk Dreamers to be psychic weapons. They have overdeveloped heads and neonatal bodies. They are born with strong psychic powers, which only strengthen with use, the cost of their powers, in addition to their physical underdevelopment, is a sort of progressive monomania. Each Power Fetus develops a psychic specialty, which begins to consume all their mental bandwidth. Old power Fetuses have all their mental faculties atrophy except for their obsession.

They can no reproduce on their own, having to rely on biokinetic specialists to grow  new Power Fetuses. Fine molecular control is required to release the epigenetic locks on their genome .

"Worm Pile" is the name of one of the core races and an apt description of them. An "individual" Worm Pile is a colony of several hundred small worms that move together as a single unit. Psychic linkages between the component creatures make it so that the whole pile functions like one big brain. Worm Pile personalities aren't fixed, rather they travel freely from colony to colony. Worm Piles can have a variety of powerful psychic abilities, including invasive telepathy and biokinesis

Synth Heads are machine Sapients first conceived of by the Obelisk Dreamers. They are geometric shapes made of a translucent glass like material. They can float with telekinesis, or they can control mechanical bodies with techno-kinesis, the ability to psychically manipulate electronic and mechanical systems. It is believed that they were intended to be a counter to the machine ecologies of the Gnomics. They are not manufactured in this dimension, rather they are harvested from a plane known as the Liquid Machine.

Locations

Ular station is the homeland of the Neon Punks. It is the most improvised of the five sacred stations. This is because there are so many Neon Punks. It is a flotilla of scavenged and ad-hoc habits, with many sections open to the vacuum, as the Punks can survive in space. In the Center of the swarm there is the original* cloning machine that makes new Neon Punks. Defending and maintaining this machine is Ular's primary industry, as it is irreplaceable. The center of the city is also where the bubble engine is located. This device generates a massive warp field, allowing the city to move as a single unit. The middle region is home to the station's one tourist attraction; a district of dojos and arenas known as the Whet Stone. Here, visitors can take classes in psychic combat, spectate a wide variety of contests and get their asses kicked in a constructive fashion.

Akraton Station was originally some sort of giant living starship. Long ago, it died and was colonized by Worm Piles. Now it is a floating hunk of Rot and Fungus; its interior a dark, dank maze. The station is home to the Worm Pile afterlives, three gargantuan Worm Piles that host the emulated minds of dead aliens in a simulated reality. "Life" inside these squirming bardos is pleasant enough; the tenants see it as a sort of retirement as their personalities are slowly digested**. The resulting psychic flotsam then congeals into new Worm Pile personalities.

There is an afterlife for celebrities and adventurers, one for normal citizens and one for criminals and enemies of the state. This last one is the most unpleasant, entirely because of the attitude of the inmates. The "geography" of the dreamscape consists of several villages of cooperative prisoners surrounded by outlands haunted by the antisocial.

Lekitar Station is actually an ice covered moon with an internal ocean. This is the home world of the Power Fetuses. Deep in the ocean there is the gestation chamber, where unborn Power Fetuses are grown by ancient biokinetic specialists. The planet is home to many old and powerful Fetuses, silent guardians totally focused on their tasks. It is also home to the Eggs Recursive, an alternate  dimension young Power Fetuses are sent to minimize the damage they could cause.

Getarch Station is the smallest of the five stations. It consists of a  chamber containing the Liquid Obelisk and a shrine city around it. The Obelisk is the source of the Liquid Machine, the dimension the Synth Heads are from. Most inhabitants make their living harvesting new Synth Heads. Ironically, Synth Heads are ill equipped to explore their home dimension.

The Liquid Machine is accessible from a bubble twenty four light-minutes across, centered on the obelisk. Various psychic powers and dimensional technology can transport people and objects inside. Being in the machine is like being in an infinite sunset sky; vast pastel clouds whorl and scud in fractal patterns. The clouds are not water, but a strange self-willed fluid. Where the currents meet there are chaotic confluxes, nodes that are sort of like factories and sort of like storms. It is here new Synth Heads are formed. Harvesters need to beware as these places crackle with energy and have no recognizable safety standards. The Liquid Machine is also haunted by the Crystal Signal, a continuous transmission that causes machines to go berserk and "mutate" into bizarre crystal entities.  Synth Heads are vulnerable to this virus, meaning newborn Synth Heads must be hustled out of the Machine before they wake up for the first time.

Personalities 

The current Emperor is Glarion of the Unpredicted Force, a heavily built Alpha Punk with a muscular tail. His throne room is in the fifth station, Telgravt and it doubles as a combat arena. This is where he defends his title and adjudicates high level disputes. He does little actual governing, as he prefers to spend his time honing his telekinetic abilities. The other member of the Unpredictable Force make up his cabinet, and handle much of the running of the empire. He only becomes personally involved in the most dire of conflicts. In war and single combat he prefers decapitation strikes.

Reddish Blue Three*** is the Emperor's Chamberlain. It is their job to screen all challengers to the Emperor, a chore they prosecute with great cruelty as a preemptive measure to discourage the riffraff. They pilot a four armed humanoid combat mech with 2 automatic slug throwers and a built in shield generator. They also has the ability to project decoy images into her opponents mind. When they are not playing with fools they are handling the Emperors personal affairs, which include handing out imperial commissions, special high priority tasks vital to Imperial security.

Rantz looks like one of the many indignant hordes of Neon Punks that crowd Ular station. She spends her time loitering in back alleys, watching from the shadows. If she sees a fight, she joins in on whatever side catches her interest. She is not the useless bag woman she appears to be. Her orange markings are just paint; below them are ultraviolet lines and swirls. She is an alpha punk, the Emperors old mentor, and this is her retirement. Her hobby is well known, giving the local ne'er-do-wells a phobia of daft old women.

Abbot Ilt Is the leader of the Perdition Monks, a Worm Pile order that keeps order in the criminal afterlife. They protect the villages from the outlanders, but egos can only spend so much time in an afterlife before they suffer degradation. This places a hard limit on how much force the Monks can project. To make up the short fall Ilt hires outsiders for bounty hunting and patrol missions in the outlands. He runs a semisecret deadpool where the monks bet on the life spans of both the inmates and the hired mercenaries.

*For certain philosophical values of "original" There isn't a single part that hasn't been replaced at least once.

**this is less painful than it sounds.

*** They are named after the colors of the factory storm they were harvested from. The numeral means they were the third such Synth Head found in that batch

Farm Gamma and the Heap

Farm Gamma is a world where biology meets industry.  Mothercorp's vast farms are a far cry away from pastoral life. They use engineered flora first designed by the Floozies to replicate the fruits of machine civilization.  Clothing, weapons, computers, even spaceships are grown here. The landscape here is an exercise in managed chaos. Fields of widget plants checker the vista out to the horizon. Indentured workers swarm like the domesticated insects they work with. Thick tangles of vine cabling climb towering stalks, feeding titanic construction pods.

Farm Gamma is hungry for resources, as huge amounts of chon are taken off planet in the form of finished products.

Around Gamma orbits the Heap, a planet sized compost pile. The surface is covered by dead bio mass dumped here from Farm Gamma and from many other worlds. It has mountains of rotten fruit and vast fields of soggy woodchips. Amid the rotting bones and moldering paper there is a riotous tangle of plant life. Millions of species grow wild and strange, and odd things crawl though the garbage.  Mother Corp has armed camps where enslaved criminals mine rich soil. Escapees and rebels live out in the wilderness in hidden camps beneath the surface. They speak of a hidden way out, an unknowable salvation deep within the Heap. It is not a simple journey however. The crust of the world throngs with hives of clever giant insects and vermin. Uncountable kingdoms of beasts live and war beneath the surface. Beneath the swarming baronies there are the moist and crumbling worm tunnels, home to strange fungi and strange cults. Below that there is the anaerobic ocean, a lightless and airless expanse of tainted water. And below that, salvation.

Forward Garden

Forward Garden is the closest Jezoflorid planet to human space. The Jezoflorid capital is on the other side of the galaxy, virtually inaccessible. Thus, forward garden serves as the most convenient location to do business with Mother Corp.  The whole planet is covered in a tangled grid of vegetation to the depth of 2 kilometers. In its forested depths, there are locations of great natural beauty and splendor, making it a premier resort for galactic aristos. The planet also hosts massive farms and processing facilities that grow luxury food items for galactic consumption, as well as farms where Jezoflorids are grown and trained. Jezoflorid servants are a major export, as they are renowned for their loyalty and dedication.  The planet has a criminal underworld, literally, as the deep reaches of the tangle are free of any sort of legal oversight. There is a thriving drug trade, as well as an effective network of assassins who call this planet home. At the bottom of the forest there is an "acid ocean" a double misnomer, as it is actually composed of powerful enzymes, and it is a more like a network of swamps and lakes than an ocean.

Forward Garden can be roughly divided into upper, middle, and lower reaches. The Upper Reaches are light and airy. The plants here are wide and delicate, to catch as much precious sunlight as possible. Flowers and fruits of every conceivable shade give the air a sweet, swirling scent. Insects in the billions dance on wind currents.

The Middle Reaches are defined by twilight. The vegetation is denser here, forming chaotic knots and tangles. The smell is sweet but with hints of rot. The air is still and resounds with the calls of unseen creatures.

The Lower Reaches begin at the midnight zone and end at the acid ocean. The darkness is pierced with bioluminescent life of all kinds, including algae blooms that can light the ever present fog with emerald or aqua luminesces. The water here boils and smokes with caustic fury, dissolving the detritus that falls from above. The air stinks of decay and chemicals. The surface of the planet is doted with ancient concrete structures festooned with moss and vines. Crude stone and wood paths mark the tracks of the few brave explorers of this distant and hostile realm

Law: There is little "official" law. The official settlements have Jezoflorid militias to respond to most crimes. They spend most of their time chasing pickpockets and catching sloppy criminals. It's an open secret that Mother Corp employs assassins to eliminate threats to their power base. Beyond the borders of "civilization", the biosphere itself protects the planet. Any threat or disturbance is met by hostile fauna. It should be noted that this does not eliminate all "illegal" behavior, but instead keeps the  criminal underworld in check. The best way to think about it is as a tax on criminals. The tax is every year a certain number of them are eaten by hornets.

Ecology. The tangle is one massive floral superorganism that covers the entire planet. There is a plethora of symbiotic flora that live on it. The fauna are mostly invertebrates, and mostly flying ones. A staggering variety are pollinators . Many more are parasites and parasitoids. Almost all are subject to the subtle influences of Mother Corp.

Police Hornet (lv. 5) Man sized and aggressive. Can shoot a bolus of acid further than you would expect.

Tax Collectors (lv. 2) Tiny bloodsuckers that travel in swarms. When killed, release tiny amounts of attack pheromone. Kill enough of them and you become a target.

Night apes (lv. 4) Pink, rubbery and incredibly stealthy. They carry off their prey in the middle of the night.

Tangle Dragon (lv. 4) A flying mollusk. It floats by means of hydrogen filled balloons. This also lets it breathe fire.

Feral ferry spider (lv 6) A barge sized spider, related to the domesticated variety. Will grab victims and throw them into its passenger compartment, then make off for parts unknown.

Cystpillar (Lv. 2) These caterpillars make large cysts in animal hosts. After several painful weeks, a butterfly will emerge.

Many of the floral species here are related to the Jezoflorids, and are motile.

Spongeway. A massive tunnel filled growth. Pockets of sweet smelling nectar lure in animals. Most are tagged with pollen. Some are eaten.

Moss wave (lv. 4) A rolling carpet of plant life, migrates from spot to spot, chasing the sun. Will drown you if it can.

Grass star (lv. 2) A crawling plant. Some species have a parasitic stage, where the adults implant flowers into their hosts.

Grass Drake (lv 4) A serpentine plant with leaf wings. A slow, graceful glider. Is a popular steed.

Catapult trees (lv 5) Fling cannonball sized seed pods long distances. You're unlikely to be hit by a lone pod, but groves will fire together in volleys 

Travel: Every official township has a spiderport, where large domesticated arachnids are kept. Silk lines connect destinations, and the spiders effortlessly carry goods and passengers between them. Some of the more remote tourist destinations lack a spider route, and instead are connected by "roads" built through the tangle. These pathways are rarely flat, and can consist of only a set of handholds and a safety rope. Somehow, the Jezoflorids can control the planet's fauna and keep the more dangerous animals away from these roads. There exist "under" roads, unsanctioned paths that lead to unofficial settlements and hidden locations. These illegitimate routes do not enjoy the protection of Mother Corp

Drugs. As a premier vip destination, Froward Garden has a thriving drug culture. Drugs are nominally illegal, though this is mostly a gambit to drive up the prices.

Evolo: Temporarily gives the user biokinesis. They trip out as they become aware of their metabolic functions on a deep level. It is possible to irreparably alter yourself if you choose to do so. Long term users become increasingly mutated.

Master plan: An upper that gives the user an obsessive eye for detail. Any plan that is made while on under the influence will have a higher chance of succeeding. Long term use causes megalomania, delusions, and eccentric fashion choices.

Revelation!: Causes the imbiber to experience contact with some sort of divine entity. Hated by most religions, embraced by a few. Long term users began to receive mandates and holy teachings, becoming prophets. Most people experience a deity they are familiar with culturally, some do not. Junkies tell each other that some people see long forgotten gods that they could never have known about, or that two people have seen the same unknown god. These are probably just rumors.

Weapons. The local Fauna will eventually check out any major disturbances. Explosives, supersonic projectiles and loud engines will draw their ire, making quite weapons a must for anyone planning on fighting. Automatic crossbows and dart throwers are popular, as are chain and whip weapons, as they can also be used as climbing aids

Moss Thrower. A blunderbuss shaped weapon with a back mounted fuel tank. Shots wads of nutrients laced with a quick growing moss. Targets hit are tangled in vegetation and rendered immobile. The planetary militia also uses these weapons to do spot repairs on the tangle's superstructure.

Forrest curse. A liquid pheromone that marks a target for consumption by the local fauna. Typically used in grenades, but can also be sprayed in close range, which risks the attacker accidently hitting themselves

Sapling whip. A motile plant, related to the Jezoflorids but not sapient. When it strikes a target, it comes alive and wraps itself around  it, inflecting continuous damage.

Wasp bomb. Unleashes a swarm of angry wasps. They see Jezoflorids as flora, and ignore them.

Wasp gun. Same principle, but shots a single deadly wasp a long distance. Air powered.

Fungal darts. Laced with dangerous spores. Deadly to organics, and will also damage the superstructure, making it highly destructive.

Blister stick. A wood that produces noxious oils that cause painful lesions. Used by the local militia for crowd control.

Assassin's guilds. There are three related but rival guilds that have their bases here. The Guild of Creeping death, which specializes in assassination through faunal agents, the Guild of verdant Death, who's members kill with flora and the guild of moldering death, who use fungus. All three are mystery cults, with inanition rites available to any who seek them out, though they are notoriously deadly to non-Jezoflorids.  These guilds exist to not to kill, but to strike fear into the enemies of Mother Corp. The killings are really a byproduct of that mission. To that end, they are very theatrical, and will often warn their victims beforehand. Every kill is a production, designed to leave a strong impression. (Some analysts believe they are capable of subtly, though it is hard to tell on a planet with as many accidental deaths as Forward Garden.)

Soft Rain (lv. 5) First comes a small horde of caterpillars, to let the target know they're coming. Then comes the large horde. Most targets are eaten, some have been found crushed or suffocated.

True loyalty (lv. 6) Uses fungus to subvert the target's allies. Tries to arrange ironic deaths, but a plant's conception of irony is a bit loose.  

Path in the woods (lv. 7) A master martial artist who uses living whips. Sends a whip to discreetly kill a target, then makes a show of beating up underlings. Heavily fictionalized accounts of their exploits are popular in local culture.

Industry. Mechanical manufacturing attracts unwanted attention from the local Fauna, limiting the scope of traditional industry. The Jezoflorids compensate with bio technology, growing most of what they need in specialized farms. These are some of the more common facilities that can be found on the planet

Drug lab Apiary. Here, aliens in thick suits tend irregularly shaped hives. The many bee species kept here have one thing in common; narcotic honey. These places are sometimes raided by police hornets.

Soil Farm. These farms are where Jezoflorids turn  organic matter into soil for their consumption.

The compost. A hidden soil farm, staffed by heavily indoctrinate Mother Corp employees. Those Jezoflorids Mother Corp deems defective are dosed with a parasitic fungus. They are compelled to travel on secret paths to the compost, where they through themselves onto a giant pile of their dead kin. The compost is a one of the more productive soil farms, and if its dark nature was revealed, wide spread revolts against Mother Corp would spring up.

Notable locations. These are major tourist destinations, Mother Corp holdings or other sites of note. All have spider ports unless stated otherwise.

Falling petals. A vertical settlement lined with tiny blossoms that periodically shed in great clouds, giving it its name. This resort town is known for its gambling games, where players can place bets on all sorts of strange diversions.  Bets are placed using the house currency, tokens known as bulbs and petals. (there 24 petals in a bulb). Bulbs can be used to buy a random Jezoflorid bulb from a bubble shaped displacer. Some of the possible cultivars are sold nowhere else, making them quite valuable to a collector.

Stump: Players take turns sticking their hands into holes on a stump. They receive payout based on how painful the sting was. 1 in 20 chance of a fatal sting, if you live through it you get the jackpot.

Garden: Players take turns issuing orders to insect servitors, trying to grow the best garden. Fast growing plants are used, so the games only take about a day.

Alms: Beggars are given signs with point values and are released into a gallery. Each player has a different color fruit to throw at the targets.

There are vending machines throughout this settlement that take bulbs and dispense seed packets. Roll 2d6

2.Brain baby. This cultivar can read surface level thoughts of any being within 50 feet..

3.syzygy. This one is two bulbs fused together. When it grows, it will have two minds. The upshot is it can learn two specialties as a juvenile. Requires periodic relationship consoling to remain whole

4.Big Sib. A plant of unusual size.

5.Dank. Its leaves have a potent psychoactive effect. Sometimes can be found smoking itself.

6.Tasty boy. Even as a juvenile, it grows sterile but juicy fruits.

7.Forward garden regular. The basic local cultivar

8.wise one. Even as a juvenile it grows bitter fruits that have nootropic properties

9.Eye flower. Has working eyespots on its flowers, giving it exceptional eyesight.

10.Liquid color. Has chromatophores in its flowers, allowing to change its color.

11.Pallid devourer. Lacks pigment, but can digest almost anything

12.Push boy. Can move things with its mind. If you want it to be good at it, it needs to be trained, taking up its specialty slot

The Celestial Orphanage. In the gloom of the under forest a spear of bright light stabs down onto a majestic giant tree. Mirrors at the tree top level create this dramatic vista whenever the sun shines. The old tree is full of polished tunnels and massive cathedral caverns lined with thousands of icons and idols. This temple complex hosts idols and avatars of gods that have been displaced by wars and disasters. This place sees brisk business from pilgrims. The library here is one of kind, as it’s the only place to view the unexpunged blog of the being that would be come to known as the atomic messiah. The  complex is overseen by a high priest known as Elder Careful Care (lv 6), a venerable and large Jezoflorid. They are soft-spoken but subtly menacing. They keep the disparate priesthoods in check through quite blackmail and intimidation.

Flesh 7 Village. An unofficial settlement, the Flesh 7 here are reserved and secretive. They favor arachnid bioforms, and are continuously exploring the tangle. A guide from this village is invaluable for anyone that wants to plumb the dark reaches of the planet. Their leader is Klarg (lv 4), an impetuous young warrior who was the daughter of the previous leader. She wants to find a way to get her people off planet, but something is keeping them there. She will only divulge their secret mission to find an ancient crashed spaceship to those she trusts. There is no spiderport here.

Garden of commerce. An open air market where the stalls are built into flowers. Guide hives dot the walk ways. If you tell the hive what you're looking for, a bee will guide you to it.

The Spawn Flower. A massive bromeliad-like flower full of water. Home to race of frog-like aliens who have been living here for generations. They stage pirate raids all over the tangle. The bottom of the lake is full of ill gotten gains. They have some secret method of placating the police hornets. There is no spiderport here.

Honey Springs. An exceptionally productive apiary. Rivers of honey flow out of the hives and into intricate channels. A must visit for any sapient with a sweet tooth.  This place is a haven for candymen cultists. As long as they don't plot against Forward Garden, Mother Corp leaves them alone.

Data Hive. Here, the bees function as one vast super computer. It is from here that Mother Corp manages the running of the planet. Here is the best place to find Elder Long Term Plans (lv 6), the planetary governor. While not rude to outsiders, they are enigmatic and reserved. They give off the impression that they don't need outside help for anything.

Leviathan Pond. Another bromeliad lake. A resort village is built on the flowers that float on its surface. Sapients dreaming here have vast, incomprehensible  dreams that are said to come from the creature that lives in the lake. Some find these dreams inspiring, some just want to see something fucked up. No one is ever exactly the same after a leviathan dream, but it's hard to tell what changes about them.

Wave Grove. This settlement is inside a massive crack in a rotting support tree. Inside is a fungal microcosm of waving stalks and shifting rugose matts. The air is cool and still and fragrant with strange rot. A host of shady gurus run trip huts in the depths, using drugs to convert curious aristos to their strange creeds.

The soup pits. Deep in the forest, massive vines carry water and nutrients between the titanic trees. This town is built into an intersection of these vines, thatched huts hanging on the undersides supported by thick ropes. The air is full of steam and smoke from hundreds of cook fires heating the famous cauldrons. Each cauldron hosts a different soup or stew, some of which have been in continuous use for hundreds of years. These are soups with personality, with histories as complex as some nations. The Militia regiment here is known as the Chef's Guard. They are exceptionally well armed and exist to protect the soup pits from foreign contamination, as well destroy any illegal soups. They have their work cut out for them, as candy cultists are always trying to horn in with their own sweet stews. At any given time, there is at least one candy speakeasy in operation. Elder Virtuous Flavor is the head chief and ecologist, a position that has more power than the local mayor. He is responsible for directing the evolution of the stews, and as such is his very interested in any culinary innovations.

Noted soup pits:

1.  Iridescence. Has a bright, oily sheen. It has an ever-shifting kaleidoscope of flavor
2. Heartache. Emits a thick, clinging fog. Tastes of forgotten nostalgia
3. Hunter. Filled with assorted creepy crawlies and slimy things, all still alive. Not favored by many humans, but popular with those that eat live prey.
4. Victor and Vanquished. A half a day's hike from the center of town there is a fighting pit. The Arena is a catwalk above Vanquished. Losers are thrown in. The winners get a substantial purse, in exchange for a portion of biomass to be added to Victor. Vanquished is a murky, rowdy stew, while Victor is clear and refined. Of the two, Victor is the more expensive, served in the VIP booth, while the hoi pollio guzzle mugs of vanquished in the stands.
5.  Dragon's Bowl. Full of cooked "noodlings" a starchy and savory motile plant creature thought to be a close relative of the Jezoflorid. Every day huge baskets of them are caught and sorted, with only the most perfect specimens added to the soup. They bud off of the "eel dragon", an enormous serpent that lairs somewhere below the pits. Every year it ascends and is given Dragon's Bowl as tribute. It is said the without this sacrifice it would destroy the town. A small kaiju cult has arisen. Currently they are try to feed one of their number to the dragon. So far, they have been unsuccessful.

The Flitter Circuit. The name is a bit of misnomer. This small city contains lodgings, stables, guest accommodations and smaller race tracks as well as the famous Flitter Circuit, a race track for flying insets and grass drakes. A treacherous text of dexterity, the Flitter circuit winds through the tangle, following a path of tight turns and frequent obstacles. The racers in the circuit are employed by Mother Corp and live at the Circuit full time. They are mostly retired galactic prix racers, with a couple eccentric oddballs thrown in to make it more entertaining. The Circuit has a reputation as an elephant graveyard of racers. The most famous racer here is Blag Soner (lv 4), a Pertanguan who was a second place finisher in the Galactic Prix. He is still a competent racer, but otherwise he is the very image of a washed up superstar. When he's not racing he is drunk, and even more scandalous for a  Pertanguan, he is frequently stationary.

Flutter meadows. This tranquil area right below the canopy is formed by a horizontal weave of branches, upon which a thick layer of soil has formed. It is famed for its wild flowers, as well as its beautiful flying insects, who have intricate and colorful patterns on their wings. This is a peaceful resort town, home to an order of shape changing escorts known as the Mercury Flowers. Their origins are obscure, but they are currently in the employ of Mother Corp. Their power to assume any shape has given them a sinister reputation, but they've never been linked to any shady business. Their leader is Red Templar (lv 6), who isn't an individual but a persona. It is only channeled by a flower when a customer needs to be reprimanded.

The Stump. The lowest settlement in the tangle, built into a decaying tree right above the acid ocean. This is where most of the heavy industry of Forward Garden takes places. Scavenger Teams recover metal and other precious scrap that has fallen from above, and catalytic forges use the caustic water to produce needed goods. The Spider's Dinner is a tavern and guildhall for the adventures who venture out into the acid ocean. It is run by Gunver Hublr (lv. 3), an acid scared human male.

Fruiting Station. An organic space station in geosynchronous orbit with the planet below, which it is connected to by a space elevator made of super strong vines. This is the only official entrance  to the planet, and it has the heaviest militia presence. There is a small community of foreigners here, doing the sort of shady business you would expect in a major spaceport. This is the safest place to be a criminal on forward garden, and most major crime lords have at least a safe house here. The station master is Adult Diligence (lv. 3), a mid level Mother Corp functionary who is quick to accept a bribe. What most don't know is he is still loyal to Mother Corp, and he gives his ill-gotten gains back to the company.

The Neo Floozies

The Floozy empire was based on a sort of benign expansionism, colonizing lifeless worlds and uplifting non sapient life forms. Each new sapient race would be incorporated into the empire as equals. In this way the empire spread across the stars, growing in diversity and complexity. The Neo Floozies see themselves as the heirs to this vanished empire, but they fall far short of their predecessor's noble ideals. In this more crowded galactic era bloodless expansion is not possible. Instead of seeding new worlds they seek to reconquer old Floozy planets. New arrivals to the empire are greeted with feudal oppression instead of egalitarianism.

The Neo Floozies have a professed aversion to technology. They believe that things like computers and robots can lead to moral decline if used without discipline. In practice this means all advanced technology is in the hands of the Imperial Bureaucracy. There is a sharp divide in the standard of living between citizens and officials. Conditions on Neo Floozy worlds are primitive by  galactic standards. All high tech industry and manufacturing is in the hands of the empire, as well as all major businesses and commercial interests. Imperial citizens are generally well fed but otherwise impoverished. The only accepted route out of this poverty is imperial service.

In theory, the Empire is meritocracy, with the most qualified sophonts given the highest positions. The problem is that this merit is assessed by the Judges of Worth, a deeply political and corrupt body. The judges are responsible for assigning literal merits for attributes such as intelligence or charisma that make their recipients eligible for various positions. Having the right list of merits only gets the foot in the door; the position's immediate supervisor selects the applicant.  Outside of the application process, positional authority is more important than merits. Often an official will have more merits than their superiors, which can led to insubordination*. The Judges also assign hidden demerits which are only visible to employers. Demerits are disproportionately given out to client races for being uncultured, ideologically unsuitable or just kind of funny looking 

The Neo Floozy empire see its mandate to reunite all planets and stations formerly under floozy control. This has brought them into conflict with other former floozy polities such as the reclaimers and the Republic of Sea Serpents. The Empires wars against these major powers have proved mostly fruitless, so they have refocused on unaligned planets. All it takes is some dubious star chart or a local tall tale of ancient alien contact for the Neo Floozies to declare a planet part of their empire. They don't have the patience or technology to terraform dead worlds like their namesakes. They are working on uplift techniques, but that technology is still in its crude and grim early stages.

Core Races

The OverCrabs have no record or any real proof that they were uplifted by the Floozies.  Neither the less they were so sure of their descent that they founded the neo Floozy empire. Outside observers might doubt this founding myth, but they are sure the OverCrabs were genetically engineered.  They have massively redundant internal organs, hyper efficient musculature and incredible anaerobic metabolisms. An OverCrab can survive 2 hours in hard vacuum and can live for a day without a head. Outside the empire it is believed that they were created as soldiers. Inside the empire the state mythology is that the OverCrabs were made to be the perfect successors to the Floozies

As r-selectors, OverCrabs lay hundreds of eggs at a time. Historically, many of these eggs and young would be eaten by aquatic predators. In the modern era, protected creche pools have led to an unprecedented number of OverCrabs surviving until their juvenile  stage.  They have compensated by forming the "Child Brigades", military divisions formed entirely out of pre adult OverCrabs. They are used as shock troops and borders. More than one space ship has fallen beneath a tide of armed toddlers. Surviving a term of service in a brigade earns them a decent amount of merits, giving them a head start in adult life.

The PondScum people are another race that is definitely the product of genetic engineering. Their brains have been miniaturized allowing them to be both fully sapient and microscopic. Other than their intelligence, they resemble typical freshwater microorganisms. Their technological civilization was destroyed during the fall of the Floozy empire, and they have only just painstakingly rebuilt. To intricate with the world at the scale   most sophonts exist at they build vast**  mobile cities complete with manipulator arms. Due to a loophole in the merit system, a city is considered to be a single entity with all the merits of its denizens. There are only around a thousand PondScum cities in the empire but they occupy many positions of power.

The EverSnakes are the cultural heart of the Neo Floozy Empire. They have a racial memory of belonging to the original Floozy empire. This is because they pass identity and memory from one generation to the next. This ability is under their conscious control; when they are gravid they can make the decision to imprint the egg with their ego***. This leads to a sort of royalty; the older the mind, the higher rank they occupy. Neo Floozy merits are also passed along this way and indeed the merit system is an outgrowth of EverSnakes tradition.

Planets

The planet Ingav, also known as the Pond is the homeworld of the PondScum people. Nowhere is the technological divide more stark. Not only do most of the planet's 7 trillion inhabitants not have access to information technology, they lack basic  metallurgy. The planet is covered in an intricate series of artificial  marshlands that are home to a million small underwater cities. Each of these cities belongs to a domain which is ruled by a single mobile capital city. What they lack in modern technology, the stationary cities make up for in agriculture. By using domesticated beasts thousands of times their size, they have turned the entire planet into farmland. Inglav is the damp bread basket of the empire. The stationary cities resent their mobile overlords are constantly plotting to overthrow them. If they succeed, they take over the domain and become the new mobile capital. Mobile cities spend most of their time off planet, ruling by heralded decree, only returning to enforce their will through force of arms.

Arlot, also known as The Pit is the ancestral homeworld  of the EverSnakes. Though the surface biosphere is fairly anodyne, the extensive cave network beneath the surface is home to a strange ecosystem leftover from the old Floozy days. The whole thing acts like a supercomputer, processing information and spitting out results. Unfortunately, the user interfaces have mostly been either lost or destroyed. The EverSnakes treat the subterranean world with mystical reverence, see omens and signs in its churning cycle. The deeper the site, the more holy it is, and the older the ego that guards it. The "upper crust" of the EverSnakes is found in the deepest recesses.

The planet Ortle, popularly called The Pool, has had its surface ravaged by the internecine wars of the OverCrabs for millennia.  Only with the advent of the Neo Floozy empire has the planet had a brief chance to recover. But now, instead of war, Ortle is plagued by industry. The Pool is the most technologically advanced planet in the empire, and most of its inhabitants are members of the  Imperial Bureaucracy. Shrev port is the largest city and spaceport on the planet, and it's here the empire sees most of its foreign trade.  While the itself is a decent trading partner, business here is hampered by the local customs officials. Derisively known as the sea lice, they are infamously corrupt and hostile

Personalities 

Ovpherton the 67th is a high ranking EverSnake who's domain includes an important site deep in the Bowels of the Pit. The droning oracle is a spherical  mass of beetles  that makes a slow circuit through a maze of tunnels. Its buzzing song contains vague prophecies and bits of destiny relevant to the listener.   Ovoherton has an ancient charge to keep the path to the oracle "relatively safe****." The problem is that the Oracle has begun to speak of the empire's doom. As an official of high standing, Ovpherton has a vested interest in suppressing this doomsaying. He has begun to create illegal forks of himself. His own personal bandit army waylays all potential pilgrims, while he fabricates beast attacks. It's only a matter of time before someone realizes they haven't heard from the oracle in a while.

Phrax is an OverCrab who owns the cloudy cave, a fighting pit off the coast of Shrev Port. The main attraction are the baby fights, where various contenders have to fend off swarms of low class OverCrab babies. He pays the survivors based on how many babies they've taken out, so a skilled fighter can make a quick buck. Plus, it’s a good way to see how many toddlers you could really take in a fight.

Phrenkle city is a mobile city that serves as an ambassador for the Neo Floozies. They have built a luxury resort in the heart of their domain on the Pond, where they wine and dine foreign politicos. The resort boasts sweeping vistas of the marshlands, first class dining, and special spa treatments where visitors have every inch of their bodies tended to by PondScum. The stationary cities in the domain have been planning a revolt by breeding massive turtle-like creatures.

*Which in turn leads to swift and decisive disciplinary action. A "merit flasher" or "flasher" is someone who has an inflated sense of their own importance due to their merits and they are not tolerated.

**vast on their scale. The largest cities can be 3 meters tall and have half a billion residents

***Every EverSnake is allowed to do this exactly once, though this is a law and not a biological limitation. Criminals who violate this sanction are known as forkers.

**** Potentially dangerous encounters with the local fauna is seen as a necessary test for receiving  the oracle's wisdom

Father Corp

Father Corp deals in dreams. It harvests wonders from dreamscapes around the galaxy and sells them to aristos, so that they may live in luxury even as they sleep. Father Corp is based out of the dream factory, a decaying space station. In the dreaming world the factory lives up to its name; it is a vast whirring contraption of activity and industry. Here the dream matter of a hundred dreamscapes is processed and refined. Emotions are distilled and packaged as elixirs, nightmares are sanitized and made thrilling, and wonders are melted down and reforged. The nominal head of Father Corp is the factory foreman, but everyone knows they are just a mouthpiece for the factory itself.

Most employees of Father Corp are Prime Strain, a "race" of clones. They are born from vats at the center of the real world side of the dream factory. They are grey, moist looking humanoids with tentacles for legs  and thin, flat crest where their heads should be. Because they are all genetically identical, they are locked in a brutal struggle with their many pathogens and they are forced to rely on expensive artificial immune systems.

The richest Prime Strains enjoy few material comforts. They have private rooms in the real world, better grade slop and living symbiotic jewelry. The poorest live in abject squalor, crammed into communal dormitories and fed low grade protein slurry. Rich and poor alike enjoy dreams of luxury and excess. In the quite corners of the Dream Factories lofts and manses host wild parties where the unconscious fruits of the galaxy are sampled. This is how Father Corp earns the loyalty of its subjects.

Father Corp is split into dozens of sub division called houses. Each house has its own merchant ships and territories within the factory, and they all specialize in certain products and services. For example, house RIVTLE creates mass produced adventure dreams while house TIFLE focuses on expertly catered dream banquets.  Each house has a head that represents that house on the council. The council deicides foreign policy and trade agreements. Above the council is the Foreman, who governs modifications to the factory itself.

Father Corp has one of the largest dream armadas in the galaxy. The outer edges of the Dream factory are studded with shipyards, where vessels capable of traveling interstellar distances between dreams are built. The armada is mostly fat merchant vessels used to transport bulk dream matter back to the factory, but there also sleek corvettes to protect them, and few monstrous capital ships. Father Corp has  a much smaller real world presence, just a single small, aging fleet. The real world side of the Dream Factory is mobile, which provides some defense. In times of real peril Father Corp relies on mercenary forces to defend their real world holdings.

 Locations

The Dream Factory's history is unknown, though most are certain it predates the Prime Strain. The oddest feature of the real world side are the analog sections. These dark and greasy compartments are home to clanking gears and pistons. The function of these archaic mechanisms is not clear, but they are carefully maintained by prime strain workers.

The dream side of the factory  is divided into thousands of subsections. The Prime Strain work to shape the machines of the factory into useful configurations, modifying input and output streams to create production lines. Without their ministration the factory tends to warp in on itself, making endless useless loops. The Prime Strain have also claimed and cleared out many compartments, turning them into private and public spaces. Here is where they hold their socials and bacchanals to distract from the misery and grime of their waking lives.

The Large Notion Collector is a massive antenna built in the depths of space. Far away from any populated world, the antenna picks up faint astral transmissions, the cosmic background radiation of thought that permeates the universe. These errant ideas are then sent to the Factory for processing. Despite its productivity, the collector is seen as an isolated backwater by the Prime Strain. Its reputation is not help by rumors of memetic invaders hiding in the cosmic noise.

The Hateful Fluid is an ancient dreamscape of a ruined city beneath a hostile yellow ocean.  The ocean is hot, dark and corrosive, and its also full of vicious liquid creatures known as seethes. Father Corp maintains a small outpost called the shrine of odium. Though dangerous, the city is full of ancient dream artifacts and sea life, both of which are harvested to full the factory.  Of particular note are the spite pearls, volatile jewels of destructive energy created by dull mollusks.

Personalities 

The Foreman is the most powerful Prime Strain, but only the most ambitious seek out the position. The Foreman is in direct communication with the factory itself, and contact with such a powerful and alien entity often proves ruinous. The current Foreman is named WVSTL, and they appear distant yet affable. Kind and helpful, WVSTL always seems distracted, as if by a noise only they can hear. They are always drooling from their chest mouths, and they have a habit of unpredictably shoving small animals into one of their mouths.

Head Technician QWVL is in charge of the Large Notion Collector. It is a difficult, largely thankless job to keep the collector working, as it requires many specialized parts, some of which are beyond Father Corp's manufactory capabilities, forcing them to deal with outsiders. QWVL comes off as excitable and lonely.   They sell exotic thoughtforms in exchange for rare parts and cash. This side business isn't exactly Father Corp approved, but the collector is too far away and QWVL keeps matters on the dl. Also the rumors about memetic invaders are true, and QWVL has some choice specimens for sale.

CKLX, also known as "cookie" is the head chief in the shrine of odium. A former scavenger, they retired after being badly burned by a seethe. Few have spent as much time in the Hateful Fluid, and almost none of them are still alive. Though the shrine is under official control of House PIVTL, CKLX is the power behind the scenes, using their wisdom and experience to coordinate the scavenger teams. If you need something hidden within the Hateful Fluid, cookie knows where to start looking. They are easy to bribe with expensive liquor.