Drunk in a Space Hulk

I’ve been playing more Sun Rot (shocking, I know), carving out a world with each die roll, flipped card and death suffered. Defining exactly what the version of this world my friends and I are inhabiting looks and behaves like. What dangers or even glimmers of hope might exist around the corner, or in a nearby ruined building. It’s been a freeing and inspiring experience, watching this Dark Souls meets Dying Earth world emerge. A communally crafted place, something that didn’t exist before we started.

I’ve ran a couple introductory games new, teaching people how things work and then watching them dream up new approaches to the game I would never have though of myself. As part of bringing them into the fold, I’ve written an introduction to set the scene and hopefully immerse them in the narrative we’re about to play out. Inspired by one of the game hooks in the rule book, in the intro games I’ve have the characters emerge from a prison that has crumbled and cracked open due to the apocalyptic happenings of the world.

I’m including that intro I’ve used below, to give people an idea of how to approach the game from a narrative heavy angle. I want to be clear though, that level of world-building is not necessary what so ever to get enjoyment out of this game. Playing it as a skirmish game is an intensely valid way to approach it and if that’s your jam, you should do exactly that. As I said in another piece about Sun Rot, that’s one of the most enjoyable things about this game – seeing how each person approaches it differently. This writing represents some of what I personally enjoy about the game and how I choose to play it. Acting as GM for Sun Rot allows write in a fictional world for the first time in decades, so finding something that puts me in the mindset has been a surprise and something I’m just going to go with.

What I attempt to do with the below is weave as much of the objectives and ideas of the game into both the description of the world, how to save themselves, and the first NPC they meet in this doomed city who will function as their Oracle for this session. My gaol in writing this is to enable learning the goals of the game be part of the narrative, instead of just me explaining them outright before we start. There is still some plain language explanation that inescapable (not sure how to have an NPC explain card flipping or rolling dice. Yet anyways.) but I find this helps set the tone.

Your characters emerge from the ruins of the prison into a world no mortal has or was ever meant to witness. The sun above you pulses a dire purple; its light casting long, unstable shadows across the city district you find yourselves in. The air itself seems to be unraveling on the edges of your vision and there is an acrid scent is on the wind. The foul odour reminds you of food long gone to rot; of bodies burned in pits after a pitched battle; of death itself. There is a wispy yellow hued fog blanketing the streets; one that obscures the distant streets and alleys from sight.

This city, once a structured and normal space, is crowded with buildings that squeeze over each other in ways that should be impossible. New buildings, courtyards, and streets are constantly appearing and disappearing. Whatever has happened to turn the sun against the world seems to be shifting the cities landscape into a maze that is nearly impossible to navigate physically or comprehend mentally. If one dwells too long on the diabolic geometry around every corner,  they would be driven to madness. You are filled with an instinctual sense that all moments not spent on the move are only hastening your demise. 

Not far from you, a threadlike figure sits huddled neck to a burning pile of remnants from a ruined structure. The man, unmoving except for the shallow breath that causes his chest to rise and fall, is wearing broken shackles and a large iron mask. Clearly also a former resident of the prison that has now found freedom during this calamity. You approach the man with caution and call out to him. No response is given, he simply turns his iron shod head towards your characters ever so slightly. There is suffering in even this small gesture. In a trice, he is overcome by a coughing fit, as if the very act of being alive in this world is anguish to him. Through ragged breaths, stifled with phlegm, he speaks: 

“This world is dying. The life giver has abandoned us. That we are still walking upright and not lying dead like so much refuse in the streets is a cruel joke perpetrated by the gods. In other lives that I’ve lived, before my imprisonment in this weak cage of flesh, I was a scholar. I studied sacred texts, many of which make mention of events like this –  cities and even entire worlds engulfed in shifting miasmic fogs, reality rent from the bones of what is known and rebuilt in ways incomprehensible. This rending brings with it never borne creatures,  to stalk any mortal beings that haven’t been killed or driven to madness by the revulsion this fog has for anything with a soul. 

There are whispers among the Ancients though, of ways to cleanse this rot before it fully takes this place. There are stories of a tablet not of this or any other realm man walks; a tablet shattered and divided. If the shards of this plaque are found and brought together in ritual, this horrid fog may yet dissipate and return the terrors that lurk within to their homes, whatever wretched planes those may be. I say that these are whispers, as I have never found a text documenting a successful attempt at this ritual. 

There are however multiple texts that speak of refugees from these cursed cities and worlds that have made an escape to other, safer, places. Their old lives gone, this selfish but preservative path is the option most seek. Who knows what will be left of what this place even if they do clear this fog and unblot the sun. The path is never the same for any lucky enough to find it, but one commonality ties them together – this exit to another place is located within a portal.”

The speech seems to have taken what little strength the iron-masked man had and he falls silent again. His head, heavy from both the cruel iron helm and the knowledge within, hangs. He will not be able to take up swords against any enemy you encounter, but you sense that his presence is necessary to find these shards or an exit. He will be a useful, if burdensome, companion.

Maybe reading this helps someone sort out how they want to run a game, or maybe just you’ll enjoy what I’ve written? One can only hope, but really only time will truly tell. It’s your world, craft it as you see fit. I plan on posting more in the future about what the world we’re building together looks like and the things we’ve found lurking inside of it but that’s enough words for now.

Grab a copy of Sun Rot from Matt over at Smash Bash and Rise with the rest of us!

– Scott