The Eight Commandments
I.
Thou Shalt Arrive Prepared, for The Wolfe Abhors a Mess.
Take a shower. Bring thy dice, thy warband, and thy rulebook. Arrive on time and ready for the session. Nobody wants yesterday's beer-stained pizza crumbs falling from thy hoodie onto the table, for The Wolfe of the Wastes solves problems, he does not create them. Be professional.
II.
Thou Shalt Bring Worthy Tribute for the Maw.
The battle is long and requires fuel. Bringeth snacks and drinks to the table, and share them, for Mawgar the Earth Gnasher teaches that all things are meant to be consumed. An offering of stale pizza and warm beer is an insult to the World-Chewer, and thy dice rolls shall be just as unsatisfying.
III.
Thou Shalt Not Suffer a Cheat to Live, for the Mandate is Absolute.
Know the rules, and follow them. Do not fudge a dice roll, nor move a warrior an extra inch when no one is looking. For Lord Vincel Rhames of the Mandate sees all, and the consequences for violating the sacred contract of the game are medieval and unpleasant for all involved.
IV.
Thou Shalt Pay Attention, Lest the Shepherd Find Thee Weak.
Thy phone is a distraction, a path to the tyranny of evil men. The Shepherd Grimm demands clarity and righteous action. A player scrolling through memes when it is their turn to act is weak, and their warband shall be smote with great vengeance and furious anger by those who are paying attention.
V.
Thou Shalt Embrace the Unforeseen Occurrence.
The dice will betray you. A plan will go horribly wrong. A Grot will somehow one-shot your mighty leader. This is the way of Saint Vincent, the Wanderer. Do not rage against the abyss; embrace it, for the story of a glorious failure is a finer tale than that of a boring victory. Enjoy the little differences.
VI.
Thou Shalt Endure Thy Defeat with Morbid Grace.
Suffering is inevitable; thy warband will be crushed. Schopenfester teaches this. But there is a choice. Thou can suffer the "bad pain" of a tantrum, or thou can choose the "good pain" of a hearty "well played" and a swig of ale. Choose thy suffering, and find the grim comfort in knowing there is always the next game.
VII.
Thou Shalt Be Cool, for the Shepherd's Path is Righteous.
The game is a sacred pact, and thy opponent is a fellow traveller, not a vessel for thy salt. Do not gloat in victory, nor whine in defeat. Do not argue over trivialities, nor engage in tactical dawdling. For The Shepherd Grimm demands Righteous Action, and to act the genital at the table is to invite the fury of good men. Be cool.
VIII.
Thou Shalt Keep the Pact of Silence.
What happens in the campaign, stays in the campaign. Do not speak of the plot twists to those who have not yet played them. Do not reveal the secret weakness of the final boss. The Veiled Dame teaches that the world is held together by unspoken secrets. To spoil the story is to break the pact, and for this, there is no forgiveness.
The Sink & The Drain
The realm of the abyss is not an abstract dimension of pure energy; it is The Sink.
The Sink
A universe-spanning basin where the metaphysical filth of all reality collects. It is a swirling, scum-slick void filled with the congealed grease of broken promises, the grime of moral compromises, the rotting food scraps of failed ambitions, and the sharp, dangerous potential of discarded ideas (the "knives and forks"). Floating on this cosmic filth are the iridescent, ephemeral soap bubbles of lost dreams and the caustic, chemical slicks of dishwashing liquid that represent pure, reality-bending magic.
The Drain
At the bottom of The Sink is the ultimate oblivion, the point of no return: The Drain. It is the gurgling, lightless maw that all things—grease, grime, bubbles, and souls—are inevitably pulled towards. To be lost to The Drain is to be utterly and finally erased.
The Deities - The Inner Square, the Wood Pulp Pantheon
The Deities - The Outer Circle
Currencies of The Eightpints
Three determinations of your worth.
Shiners
It's not gold, not really. A Shiner is a thick, grimy brass token, its face worn smooth by the thumbs of a thousand desperate souls. They say the first ones were minted by a brewery consortium, which is why so many still have the faint outline of a hop leaf on one side. But the name stuck for a different reason. A good brawl means you get a purse full of Shiners; a bad one means you get paid with a shiner. It’s the only currency that matters when the ale is low and the knives are out. It’s the price of a meal, a blade, a life, and another round. In the end, it’s all the same.
Metvél-Kaltos
A full purse of Shiners will get you a drink, but it won't tell you if the man who sold it to you has a blade hidden under the bar. That is the currency of Metvél-Kaltos. It is the quiet, internal coin of the survivor, minted from a fusion of raw cunning, strategic wisdom, and gritty ingenuity. It’s the ability to see the trap before it’s sprung, to read the lie in a rich man's smile, to know the unwritten rules of a back-alley deal. Metvél-Kaltos is the wealth of the mind, and unlike a Shiner, it's the one currency you can't afford to lose, because no one will ever know you've spent your last drop until it's far too late.
Clout
Clout is the heaviest currency in the world, and it doesn't make a sound. It’s the weight of your name, the shadow your reputation casts when you walk into a room. It’s not earned with coin, but forged in the fires of a hundred desperate brawls, impossible victories, and terrifying acts of cruelty or kindness. It’s the reason a warlord’s command is obeyed without question, the reason a merchant unseals his "special stock," and the reason a thug in an alley decides you are not the easy mark they were looking for. Shiners can buy you a sword, but only Clout can make your enemies too afraid to make you draw it.
Testimony from a Drunk in a Tavern
A hulking brute whose laughter sounds like the grinding of ships' hulls. He sees every battle as a sacred offering to the great Leviathan, a necessary act of chaos to bring about the final, perfect order.
Tide-Lord Kor'gath, the Breaker
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