The City Who Slumbers Not

City! I am true son of thine;

Ne’er dwelt I where great mornings shine

Around the bleating pens;

Ne’er by the rivulets I strayed,

And ne’er upon my childhood weighed

The silence of the glens.

Instead of shores where ocean beats,

I hear the ebb and flow of streets.

—Alexander Smith, 'Glasgow'

The City is an old thing, built long before living memory. It reaches out endlessly in every direction—east & west, up & and down, inward & out. Layers of new creation spring up over layers of ruin, the old consumed to make way for the present. Petty factions vie for power, each eager to further their goals and advance their standing—councils, unions, cults, and consortiums of all stripes always interfering in each other's works.

The City is alive, change its near-sole constant; a fixed map is of little use to anyone, save perhaps as something to blow your nose with. Everything in the City matters to someone; quite who might not matter yet, but they do exist. Life is everywhere, even in those bits abandoned by humanity.

By Stephan Martiniere

The Sewer-Ferry Syndicate

The Sewer-Ferry Syndicate are one of the City's most wealthy purveyors of transport, providing passage all across its lower regions. They provide financial and military backing to gondoliers and boat captains of all kinds, undercutting or threatening any potential operators who refuse to pay their dues. They often draw the ire of those who call the sewers their home—the Rat-Speakers, fungus cults, &c.—and are quick to ally themselves to those who might see the City's annals 'cleaned up', as it were.

Goal: Outcompete financial opponents, regulate all passage through the sewage network

Allies: The Plumber's Guild, Waterworks, the Sludgemarket

Enemies: Other transport suppliers, the splintered Fishing Coalition, native denizens of the sewer system

The Church of Urbis

Members of the Church of Urbis are worshippers the City itself, ever-eager to perform good deeds in Her service. They revere those who work to maintain Her various boroughs and enclaves, and often take it upon themselves to clean up messes or decorate empty spaces in Her honour. They deride other forms of faith as idolatry and heresy, including those who worship the City in the "wrong" ways. Bureaucrats, lawmen, and officers of local governments are among the Church's most common adherents.

Goal: Convert all to the light of the City's worship.
Allies: Hapsmire District Council, the Street-Sweeper's Guild
Enemies: Litterers, loiterers, other faiths (especially the Cult of Metros)

Their Majesty's College of Wizardly Study

No one quite recalls whose majesty the College was named in reference to, but the College Board's bureaucracy thinks it adds an air of grandeur. It is but one among many institutions offering tutelage in the practice of magic, each eager to draw the eye of new prospective students to extort for money and saddle with debt shape into the next generation of scholars! The College is particularly renowned among its peers for its research into spatial manipulation, though accusations remain of stolen experiments; total codswallop, of course.

Goal: Provide as much return to investors as possible education to all who desire (and can afford) it!
Allies: Very little; the academic world is one of spite, not friendship.
Enemies: Agselsior University, the Institute of Elemental Arts, Gdinsleslav Academy; the list goes on.

1d50 factions for player characters to love, hate, or owe copious amounts of money to:

DISCIPLE OF THE FORGE (GLOG Class)

You are a devotee of Caelis, the Smith, endowed with a fragment of his power either through intent or accident—you may have drawn his attention, forged a pact, or simply swallowed an odd bit of metal. You do not necessarily worship him—indeed, many have turned their back on the G_ds of old—but you follow in his path nonetheless.

By Raymond Swanland

Starting items: smith's tools and leathers, a sacred icon, a medium weapon, a surprisingly portable anvil, 3d4 bits of thumb-sized metallic junk
Skills: metalwork and (1d6): appraisal, architecture, percussive maintenance, bartering, clockwork, scripture

A: Blessings of the Forge, Reshape
B: Artisan's Gifts, Kindling
C: Steel-Saint
D: Reforged

Blessings of the Forge: You may infuse up to [template] items with magic at any given time; the process takes an hour of constant prayer recital. Blessed objects never rust nor tarnish, cannot be damaged by mundane means, and count as magical.

Reshape: You can mold metal in your hands with the ease and accuracy of soft clay. Anything crafted this way is liable to fall apart after 1d6 uses.

Artisan's Gifts: You may replicate any object in metal perfectly, provided you have the original to hand. The process takes minutes for simple things smaller than your hands, hours for something more complex or about as large as an arm, and days or weeks for the largest or most intricate work.

Kindling: You can rub any two flammable objects together in between your palms to set both alight, at no immediate risk to yourself.

Steel-Saint: Damage dealt by blessed objects scalds as boiling water. You may transmute earthen materials (soil, rocks, bone, so on) into workable metal—a fist-sized quantity in a minute, a light sword's worth in 10, &c. It is weaker than natural ore, but just as usable for your purposes.

Reforged: The flame has altered your soul and body alike. Mundane fire is no longer dangerous to you, and objects bearing your blessing strike with all the force of a falling anvil.

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𝟭𝟯 𝗔𝗡𝗗 in the earliest days, when Man was but an idle thought, the G_ds did wrest from Chaos the reigns of creation, and the Void they did fill. The Mountain was raised by the Daughters of the Earth—Keldat, Maken, Isla, Tarn all—and at its peak was raised the City now called Heaven, that place of bounty now marred by War. And in that City were made wonders, true works of the divine, beyond the design of the finest craftsmen and beyond the mind of the highest King of Kings among all on earthen soil, each a miracle in its own. 

𝟭𝟵 𝗔𝗟𝗦𝗢 among their number, those architects of the Sacred City, stood the Firesoul, the Smith, He Who is Called by the Heat of the Forge; that divinity known in the True Tongue by the clang of the hammer; in the old speech of the first peoples, Klissian; and in the common tongue of those born in the wreckage of the Scattering, Caelis.

𝟮𝟬 𝗛𝗘 shaped the fruit of the earth as none other, not merely reshaping it but forming it anew in whole, creating new substance from the ancient and molding it as he pleased. By him were forged the weapons that slayed Those Who Came Before, before the birth of the Mountain and its Heaven—the blade of Nazgas, the powerful one swung about the head of Tel'turon, the mighty bow lost-to-the-ages—and within the City his works were many. Grand palaces of iron, mighty towers as tall as the Mountain itself, new constructions, unlike any come before; to list his works would be as futile as the singing of his endless praises.
—Excerpts from Lebor Breth-Sleev ags a Bhailid, The Book of the Birth of the Mountain and its City, translated in the year 724 by Brother Benedach

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A GLOG-ish spin on one of the more tolerable 5e subclasses, albeit with a number of creative liberties. Kindling stolen from deus ex parbaked's Manufactory. All feedback appreciated, especially on the ~faithposting~ at the end.

Written in Blood

Warlocks. Foul creatures, born of human stock and bound to some higher being for power. Each is defined first by patron and second by pact; the entity to which they owe their power, and the gifts they receive.

You and your compatriots are some such wretched beings.

Michael Maier

At each level, warlocks gain a Magic Die, a d6 representative of some shred of power or minor favour owed to you. Some pact abilities give you the opportunity to roll them. [dice] is the amount of MD you commit, [sum] is the total of all results. MD are expended on a 4-6; dice that roll lower return to your pool to be rolled anew. Whenever you roll doubles, consult your patron's Mishap table; the corresponding result occurs (double sixes result in the sixth entry, double threes the third, &c.).

All warlocks are fated to meet their demise. Whenever a Mishap occurs, note it. Whenever you make the third strike, a Doom is invoked—some greater catastrophe. As with Mishaps, the exact consequences depend on your choice of patron. Few, if any, survive their third Doom.

Patron: The Fiend

Hob. Old Scratch. The Devil. The Fiend bears a thousand names in as many different tongues, but all refer to the same being—the lord themself of the lower planes. They seek to bring out the worst in humanity; violent, impulsive, brutal. All in their thrall embody these virtues, in one way or another.

Michal Kváč

Perk: Can summon a flame as that of a candle with a snap of the fingers.
Drawback: Sacred objects burn to touch.

The boon of your pact—book, sword, or servant—looks as an object of the Hells should. Earthen or crimson tones, a charred scent, wicked spikes, infernal inscriptions.

To forge a pact with the Fiend—whether you sought it out, or it was brought to you—one must take a dip in the fires of the underworld. Few pilgrims make it through unscathed. The mark you bear takes the form of...
1. A marred face.
2. Eyes turned an unnatural shade.
3. A pair of horns jutting from your forehead.
4. An arm-length tail.
5. A shadow twice the length it should be.
6. Breath that reeks of brimstone.
7. A network of scars across your forearms.
8. Bodily fluids (blood, sweat, tears, &c) the deepest black.
9. Nails as sharp as claws.
10. An extra set of canine teeth, jutting out of your mouth.

Mishaps:
1. 1d6 damage to you.
2. MD only return to your pool on a 1-2 for 24 hours.
3. You lose all benefits of your boons for 1d6 rounds.
4. Random hellish mutation for 1d6 rounds. Save with advantage or permanent.
5. Fire spurts out from you. 1d6 damage to you and everything within 2 metres.
6. An imp pops into existence. They seek to cause maximum mischief for those around them until killed and can summon minor illusions—cause flames to flicker or dim, slam open doors shut, call forth harmless tremors, &c.

Dooms:
1. Die for a day. Your soul is taken temporarily to the Underworld, for fiends to do with as they please.
2. As 1, but for the person you care about most in the world.
3. As 1, but for eternity.

Pact: The Blade

You have chosen a path of violence. Your boon takes the form of a weapon of your choice—dagger, sword, axe, &c. You are as skilled with it as any other combatant, and are bound to the blade as much as it is to you.

Gilles Ketting

A: Boon of the Blade: You have taken a weapon of your choice as the object of your pact. It counts as magical, its appearance influenced by your choice of patron. It vanishes into nothing when separated from your or at a moment's thought, and you can summon it from the aether with 10 heartbeats of concentration (a single action in combat).

A: Bloodthirsty Edge: Whenever you make a successful attack against an enemy, you may roll any amount of MD. If you choose to do so, the attack inflicts an extra [dice] damage. Upgrades to [sum] at C.

B: Deft Hands: You've grown more comfortable in your weapon. You never fail to do things with it other than attack—disarming enemies, tripping foes, striking them with the flat of the blade, &c.

C: Indomitable: Your body has improved, infused further with magic. You can roll MD when making saves to add an additional [sum] to your result; whenever you step out of the fight for a moment to take a breather, you may regain [dice] health rather than the norm. 

D: Flurry of Steel: You have been gifted a preternatural speed in combat. You can make two attacks with your pact weapon on each of your turns without penalty. 

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The beginnings of a potential hack, of sorts, replacing the 'race'/class dichotomy with patron and pact. Hopefully makes a degree of sense. Feedback of all forms appreciated—as are riffs on the same concept.

PALADIN OF THE COMMON FOLK (GLOG Class)

You are a PALADIN OF THE COMMON FOLK; you serve not the corrupt G_ds of the Church, instead following the True Ways—the ancient beliefs of Man when they first arrived from the Old Countries. Once an everyday person-of-faith, you've chosen to devote your life to religion and take up the discarded vows once more.

DISGUSTING.
By Simon Fetscher

Start with: medium armor, a peasant's tool of your choice (give it a name—CAST OUT THE NIGHT, for example), healer's pack, holy symbol, oaths of charity and protection, venomous hatred towards established religion

Skills (1d6): farming, smithing, fishing, carpentry, butchery, baking

A: Humble Weaponry, the Ancient Tongues

B: Blessed Rites, +1 MD

C: Stand Tall, Stay Fast, Sacred Senses, +1 MD

D: Smite Those Who Oppose, +1 MD

Humble Weaponry: You shun the greed and extravagance of "normal" priests and paladins; rather than plate or blade, you wear simple armor and wield the implements of your former craft. You can use tools as medium weapons. They count as holy objects.

The Ancient Tongues: As a disciple of the True Ways, you worship the rightful G-ds of this world; you were never one for the high-above "angels" those papist heretics claim to follow. You can speak to the spirits of nature itself, the idols of your devotion; older spirits see less, but know more. Not all wish to share.

Roll 1d6 now, and gain another language each time you receive a PALADIN template:

1. Stone

2. Soil

3. Water

4. Plants

5. Fire

6. Rot

Blessed Rites: You have a single Miracle Die, which is very similar to—but not necessarily interchangeable with—a Magic Die, representative of your favour with the spirits. You receive an additional one each time you take a PALADIN template, and can spend them to heal an ally you can touch for [sum] or give a nearby party member +[highest] to-hit for a round.

Stand Tall, Stay Fast: A beacon in the field, allies look to you in times of terror. You may choose to make save rolls before the rest of your party. Whenever you succeed, everyone else makes their checks with advantage.

Sacred Senses: You have been blessed with the ability to smell it; demons, devils, angels, and devotees of the false G_ds. It is unlike any other smell, though it pervades it touches. Listening to your nose could get you far.

Smite Those Who Oppose: Your tools' damage now counts as magical. They speak to you in mutters and whispers, always wishing to be used. When you make a successful attack roll, you can expend any amount of MD to deal an additional [sum] damage to your target.

Identity Theft Is Fine And Good, Actually (GLOG Class: Face-Stealer)

You are a face-stealer. You may have been human once upon a time, but no longer. You step in and out of identities as another might suits; whatever semblance of “true self” once existed is now all but worn away, corroded by the ceaseless tide of change.

By Sam Flegal

Start with: two glass daggers, reversible clothing (a suit on one side, "scruffy" clothes on the other), a bowler hat, no memory of your original identity

Skills (1d4): forgery, tailoring, cat-burglary, juggling

A: Swap Selves, Right Where You Belong
B: Residual Recollection, Unnerving Stealth
C: Memory Theft
D: Persona Pool

Swap Selves: You can spend 10 minutes to copy other people's features, replacing the current set you have. Those aware of what you're trying to do can resist, perhaps by making funny faces. 

Right Where You Belong: You're an expert at blending in, exuding an air of confidence in your actions. People will always believe you’re in the right place, until they get a reason not to.

Residual Recollection: You don't just take faces. When you copy features, the last day’s worth of memories come along with them. 

Unnatural Stealth: Your footsteps are silent, no matter what surface you walk on.

Memory Theft: When you copy a person’s features, you can ask the Referee up to three questions about things that person might know. They must answer honestly.

Persona Pool: You can keep up to three sets of features memorised, swapping between them with 10 minutes of conscious effort. You can loan these features out to others, for up to a day at a time; recipients must be willing to receive them.

A World in 13 Items

Bandwagon time. Likely more verbose than I should be aiming for, but:

1. Bandolier of rune-inscribed bells, with handles of human bone.
2. Moth-bitten cloak, long and black.
3. Logbook, with descriptions of an expedition to the north. Last dozen pages have been ripped out.
4. Ice-like gem. Whispers when you draw close.
5. Silver pendant. Holds a mirror and a symbol of the Church of Violence.
6. Sack of provisions for a long journey, packed in haste.
7. Tin flask, full of sea water. "In case of emergencies" carved roughly into the side.
8. Leather pouch, containing iron filings and salt.
9. Frog-in-a-jar. Glows in the dark, piercing even the thickest fog.
10. Dive watch, with 13 digits on its face.
11. Knife, carved from a stag's antler.
12. Silver key, kept in a locked chest at the back of a cellar.
13. Unfinished map, labelled "Death, in the year 1833."

Original post by Michael Prescott, of Trilemma Adventures; also take a look at posts from Sundered Shillings, the Slopyard, Nothic's Eye, the Cosmic Orrery, and Colors of Pentagrams, in no particular order.