Scribbles and Horrors

A PDF of this session report is available here: escape-from-special-operations-complex-903.pdf

Players: Shy Owl (Ref), Jenx, xaoseed, Oldhawkeyes, Jay_zer0
5/31/2026 7:00 AM - 8:40 AM PST
Discord voice chat

Deep within the complex, lights flicker on. Cryosleep pods open in unison, waking from indefinite slumber 5 new adventurers eager to escape out into open air…

Diorama Jones, Fool ; Ostiana Mulch, Footman ; Quern Zadoki, Fool ; Garamond Micron, Fool | Later joining the party was: Shunt Organman, Assistant

The party began with a poster map of the complex plastered to the wall, and set to work finding where they were on it.

The party climbed through a vent and went westward, revealing a room which seemed to contain an immaculate red car. The party descended into the room to take a closer look, and the car was revealed to be a shimmering illusion put up by an Omegacron, armed with submachine guns and a phaser.

The omegacron warned against intruders and asked for authoritative identification, but did not engage immediately, enabling the party to slip down the western passage.

The beeping sounds of the omegacron drew a group of 3 heavily armored True Ones, however, who immediately challenged the party to a one-on-one unarmed combat, loser to be eaten.

Quern Zadoki rose to the challenge and put up a good fight, but, lacking the necessary training and chivalric military prowess, could not stand up to the muscular foe.

Moving south as the True Ones feasted, the party went up another vent in hopes of reaching a room from which to mount their escape. Within the room were 6 Galics, horrifying and smiling creatures which rolled a “friendly” on the react roll.

Upon descent, the Galics were quite happy to meet the party, and gave somewhat unhelpful-seeming advice about rafts and boats to make their escape. The galics were eager to shake hands. When shaking the hand of Garamond, a galic named Nine refused to let go and shook so hard that Garamond’s arm fell off. At this point the galics broke into uproarious laughter the arm started twitching, lurching towards its owner aggressively, and the party simply made a break for it eastwards. The new member of the party, Shunt, grabbed the arm in the midst of the flight in case it might be useful later. Honestly the galics didn’t mean much harm, and did not pursue.

At length it was discovered that a slightly ambiguous part of the map did not correspond to navigation in their favor, and the party was puzzled at how to proceed to one of the exits. No path seemed to take them where they needed to go!

They continued northwards and met some mole-like Snets, who ordered them to disarm themselves in fealty to the metaphysical lord Diss. The party simply turned around and went back.

The party re-checked the map and finally found another, secret path out, through the galic room. As a joke, they tied Garamond’s severed arm to him for the Galic to shake. The galics found this ruse delightful, and did not harass them further as the party scrambled up to the vent, which wound around for a long way.

At length the party found themselves in a used car lot run by a solitary Regik. He offered to sell them a low-end model for 6000r. When the party balked at this, he offered an installment plan at 1000r/month over 6 months, but tempers were not running well and Diorama hit it with their nun-chuks. One the second round of combat Ostiana shot him dead outright.

The party found only rusty cars there, but noticed bank deposit boxes in an adjacent room, from which they recovered 300 Chromis, 400 Galiks, 300 Rupniks, 3 Gems (worth 2500r, 1000r, and 250r), and a suit of -5 mech armor.

Knowing they were close to the exit, the party quickly made their way past a treasury room, deftly evading some Gamblers, and stumbled straight into a conference of Politicians who immediately began haranguing them with all kinds of aggressive nonsense. Eventually kerosene splashed around and lit by Shunt Organman caused enough of a ruckus that the party could escape to the exit and into the open air with their treasure. Their first adventure was a success.

Referee notes:

This game was several firsts for me: The Realm of Yolmi was new, the map was untested, and I’d also never run an online game before. I was a little anxious about how it’d turn out. It went great!

The map worked well. Because of the complexity and difficulty of the map, it proved to be a substantive (but not insurmountable) effort to navigate to the exit. The party made some wrong turns, and were able to make informed decisions and gambles.

My idea of having some passageways be vents, accessible near the ceiling, worked okay, though it got sort of muddled. I might try some other approaches to adding variety to the map.

The Realm of Yolmi is an odd duck, in part because it seems to insist on giving characters very little to work with. In practice, I’m finding that the treasure tables aren’t too bad and the combat is usable and exciting.

Fights are slightly more crunchy than my usual taste–I’m a big group initiative kinda guy–but the ability of firearms/tech devices to completely reshape the combat landscape makes for a cool system. Each weapon has its own little system, which is overwhelming at first but works well in play. We didn’t have a big combat with lots of participants, so this will need to be tested further.

I took the reaction results very seriously, which meant that most creatures didn’t attack. Even creatures which had preprogrammed behavior, like the galics with handshaking, were subject to strict reaction rolls. For the most part reactions were positive. What ended up happening is that each creature they encountered would let the party pass peaceably if they are willing to pay a cost: the True Ones demand one-on-one combat, the Galics take arms, the Snets only wish to see you disarmed, the Regik wants money, the Politicians want one of the party to be taken in as one of their own. It was a neat dynamic.

All in all my crazy idea–The Realm of Yolmi on my Zeta III map–worked really well! It was neat to see that something which I’d assumed would only really work as a wilderness adventure can work pretty well as a dungeon game.

I definitely am interested in others’ implementations of Yolmi. There’s great wealth here.

Here are more illustrations, following my first post.

Taekic

Small flying creatures armed with micro-lasers.

Dalek

Giant creatures that open their mouths and let food walk in. Unfortunately for them, their size gives them away every time. Even the most naive of Adventurer could see that it is not a cave since a large body wearing a fluorescent green tunic is attached to it.

H4 234

The last of the servorobots. It mounts two heavy machine guns on its sides and has delusions of being another “Machine Gun Kelly”

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Gamblers

Gaudily dressed, they invite Adventurers to play with them in obviously crooked games for high stakes. If refused, they will attack 45% of the time. They are also quite adept at passing phony rupniks, etc.

Suu

Stony creatures with three long rubbery necks with a head attached to each. They lash these around with tremendous force and speed, causing utter damage.

Completines

5′ monsters that generate electricity. They throw their eyes when hit in the stomach.

Here is a new class for The Realm of Yolmi. Usually I like my games to have very few classes, but this was fun to make and I think it fits with the vibe. Like Soldiers and Scientists, this class also appears in the creature encounter lists.

Politicians

Politicians have a +20% for all initial creature reaction rolls (though not subsequent ones). This stacks with Personality modifiers, but parties with more than one politician only get the 20% once.

They can employ rhetoric to convince any moderately attentive listeners of any policy position, which succeeds 10% of the time and takes 1 day.

They can use no weapons and wear no armor.

Presidents above 13th level are re-elected with -70%, 14th with -90%, etc.

Politicians use d6-1 for hit dice, maximum level 10. +2 hp beyond level 10.

Politicians do not achieve higher levels automatically: they must be elected. A politician may attempt to be elected to any higher position if they have the required experience. Elections are modified by the prime requisite % bonus or penalty for the politician’s Personality. If a politician fails to win an election for a particular position, they may try again at a -10% penalty for each previous attempt.

There is a 10% chance each month that a politician’s term is ending, and they must choose to either be elected to a higher position or be re-elected at their current position. Otherwise their political life will be over and they must retire.

Each time a politician is re-elected, the chance of being re-elected again in that position is modified by -10%.

In addition to Personality, election success can be modified by the following activities:

Lobbyists with deep pockets will of course be happy to assist politicians with any of these expenses.

Various political offices will have benefits by virtue of their station: Presidents will be the Commander in Chief of any military encountered 60% of the time; Vice Presidents become Presidents if one dies, Mayors can bestow keys to population centers, Representatives can introduce legislation, etc.

When simulations fail, we lay our hopes at the feet of metaphor.

And metaphor is no thing at all, only an illusion peddled by foolish people lacking the stamina to see things as they are.

To metaphor we sacrifice perceptions out of vain conviction they will be reborn as truths. We slay substance for effervescence, mistaken for essence. Metaphor is all sparkle, only glimmer, mere gleam–gold paint slopped carelessly upon delicate reality. Ostensibly of course done to protect reality—to emphasize its salient aspects—but everyone knows metaphor is garish and spiritually bleak. Only out of fear, fear of true meaning do we cling to the notion.

To gaze upon the face of the world is to gaze into the face of God: infinite and almighty Being. Doing so will ruin us. We know it will ruin us, which is why we invented philosophy and science to cushion the blow: measuring out truth in drips and drams ‘til we work up a tolerance.

—

The problem with metaphor is not that it claims too much, but that it accounts for too little.

Metaphor-mongers insist there is revelation in the differences between similar objects. But to do this they must hold apart pieces of the world, claiming the world as incommensurable with itself, maintaining artificial dichotomies. For metaphor to work you have to deny the fabric of the world, and this is too great a sacrifice.

The hard reality is that things are indeed literally other things. Mathematicians know this. Poets know it, too. Beauty is sharp-edged and ungainly, terrifying beyond belief.

And so the metaphorists try to soften the world, make jelly of human experience. They sneer at absurdities as only illustrating a point. Their toothless arguments they celebrate for the sake of being simulacra. Their aesthetic senses are gooey, murky messes. They applaud seeming as delightfully untrue, and refuse to consider the scary possibility that it might really be. As if shadows were the things worth thinking about.

What a bunch of hogwash. Discard it. The metaphorical is a bankrupt concept: useless, saccharine, and ugly.

When you no longer believe in metaphor, all that’s left is simulation.

When you no longer believe in metaphor, all that’s left is simulation.

What happens when the sparkles of clever allusion grow dim, when resonance tends shallow, and the waters of shared cultural familiarity show signs of drought? How can we proceed through the desert, for who knows how long, until we reach the oasis of the next shared cultural moment?

To persevere through such perils games have developed Simulationism, a method for carrying on despite madness and incoherence, maugre flagging zeal, irrespective of creative famine. A simulation continues to tell you what happens next long after excitement has let out its last gasp.

Simulation sustains faith that an imagined place can correspond to a real one. It justifies the experience of wonder we sometimes get in glimmers and glances. Simulation lets us maintain our toys without having to moor them so directly to our psyche, protected from hurricanes of moodiness and earthquakes of self-doubt.

But simulation comes at a cost. It is a simple cost, no more than is fitting. The cost of simulation is making the imaginary real through time and labor. The debt can be paid in one of two ways: Counting or Scale.

To counting belong dice and statistics, models, maps, and scientific expertise. To scale belong big groups of players, swathes of literature, and so on. Expenses pile up, and have a knack of compounding with interest.

Physical and mental limitations will conspire against simulations eventually, not because there is too little, but because there is too much. There is only so far simulation can take us before collapsing under the weight of its own success into burnout.

We must hope, then, that before this happens a new oasis will have been found, another wellspring of spontaneous connective fantasy delight.

When simulations fail, we lay our hopes at the feet of metaphor.